Begging for the Lucien Kanthony fic!!! I feel like having reader and Lucien be mated would be even more angsty than him and elain!
Omgg I am in the process of drafting it!! Though I am on a mini-vacation trip so it may come out a little late but its in the works ;) And yes, the mating thing will probably happen in the story as it goes so no worries🫠
hellooo lovely ! your work is fantastic, never change ! i’d really really appreciate if you could write something where y/n’s pined openly and unashamedly for azriel for centuries and he’s always found her irritating and spurned her at every moment. but something happens where y/n loses her memory and when she wakes up she forgets about her feelings for azriel and treats him like an acquaintance. even angstier if her affections go to someone else and azriel is jealous and like “shit i kinda actually like her 😭” and the roles flip and he’s pining hard? much love ! 💞
A Memory He Never Earned- Azriel x fem!reader
Warnings: angst, memory loss, not proofread (yet)
A/N: This was so sad and yet so beautiful to write🥲 thank you for the request!
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For centuries, Y/N had loved Azriel without shame and never tried to hide it.
Her love for him was obvious. In the way she always found him in a crowded room, like some invisible thread pulled her gaze toward him. In the way her voice softened when she said his name, like it was something fragile. Sacred.
"Azriel," she would say, as if it meant more coming from her.
He never answered the same way and still, she tried.
She learned the rhythm of his silences long before she learned how to fill them. Learned which days his shadows curled tighter around him, which nights he disappeared for hours and returned with blood on his hands and nothing in his eyes.
She never asked questions he didn't want to answer. Instead, she stayed. Always, she stayed.
There had been a night, long ago, when he returned worse than usual. Shoulders stiff, wings slightly dragging, shadows restless and sharp as blades. No one else noticed. Or maybe they did, and knew better than to interfere.
Y/N didn't.
She followed him quietly to the balcony, a blanket draped over her arm, a cup of tea warming her hands. "You shouldn't be out here," she'd said gently, stepping into the cold beside him.
Azriel didn't look at her. "Neither should you."
But he didn't tell her to leave. So she didn't.
She set the tea beside him. Draped the blanket over the back of a chair, not touching him, never forcing closeness he hadn't given.
"I thought you might want this," she murmured.
"I didn't ask for it."
The words should've stung. They did.
But Y/N only smiled, soft and unwavering. "I know."
And that was the problem. She always knew.
Knew he wouldn’t thank her. Knew he wouldn’t look at her the way she looked at him. Knew that every small kindness she offered would be met with indifference at best, quiet dismissal at worst.
And still, she came back the next night.
And the next....and the next.
Centuries of quiet offerings. Of standing at his side when he allowed it, and a step behind when he didn't. Of loving him in all the ways he never asked for, never returned.
There were moments, small and fleeting, that she held onto like they were something more. A glance that lingered a second too long, a rare and tired "thank you", the absence of rejection, they were enough for her. They always had been.
Even when he turned away first, even when he chose others over her, again and again. Even when it became painfully, undeniably clear that Azriel did not love her.
And perhaps he never would.
The words had been waiting long enough. Though, Y/N didnt plan to say them at night.
It wasn't supposed to happen like this, on the edge of a war-camp clearing, the air thick with ash and lingering magic. Everything was too loud, too chaotic.
Too real.
But maybe that was why the words finally slipped free. "Azriel- "
He was already turning away and that is when something in her snapped.
"I love you."
It cut hrough everything. Through the crackling embers, through Cassian's voice, through the ringing in her own ears.
Azriel stilled. Slowly, so slowly, he looked back at her. There was no surprise on his face.
He knew and didn't care.
That was what hurt the most.
"You shouldn't," he said.
Not cruel, not loud. Just...final.
Y/N felt it like a physical blow, like the ones she took a few hours ago when they were on the battlefield. But she didn't look away, not this time.
"I know you don't feel the same," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "I'm not asking you to. I just- I needed you to hear it once. Truly."
His hazel eyes held hers, unreadable. Distant.
Cold.
"I've heard it," Azriel replied. "For centuries."
Her breath caught.
"And it hasn't changed anything," he continued, quieter now, but no softer. "It won't."
There it was. No anger, no hesitation.
Y/N swallowed, her chest tightening, something fragile inside her finally, finally, cracking.
"Right," she whispered.
For a moment neither of them moved.
Then, with a small nod, more to herself than to him, she stepped back and this time, she didn't stay.
It happened minutes later, maybe even less.
Cassian shouted something, her name, she thought, but it was drowned out by the surge of darke magic ripping through the clearing. A trap.
"Down!" Mor yelled, her shield raised up as she turned...too slow.
The blast was aimed for Azriel. Not Rhysand.
Y/N didn't think, didn't hesitate. Didn't remember the way his words had hollowed her out only moments ago. She moved.
"Y/N!" Rhysands voice cracked.
Power collided with her body like a storm unleashed. White-hot. Binding, endless.
For a second, just a second, everything went silent. Then, pain.
Agonising and consuming. She felt herself being thrown back, felt something in her mind tear, like threads snapping one by one. Distantly, she heard shouting.
"Y/N!"
This one sounded closer. Desperate.
Familiar strong hands caught her before she hit the ground.
Her vision blurred, edges darkening, the world slipping through her fingers like sand. She forced her eyes open, just once more. Azriel's face hovered above hers.
Not distant, not cold.
Something else, something she'd never seen before, fractured across his expression.
Fear.
Her lips parted, but no words came. Strangely, she couldn't remember what she wanted to say. Only that it had once meant everything.
His name lingered on the edge of her mind and then, nothing. Darkness swallowed her whole.
Azriel had seen war before.
He had stood in blood-soaked fields, heard the screams of the dying, felt the weight of lives lost settle into his bones like something permanent.
None of it compared to this. Y/N lay too still on the narrow cot inside the healer’s tent. Too pale, too quiet.
Wrong.
Azriel stood at her bedside, hands clasped behind his back so tightly his knuckles ached beneath his leathers. Not a single tremor showed in his posture. Not a flicker of panic crossed his face.
But inside...inside everything was unraveling.
You shouldn't.
The words echoed over and over, sharp as a blade driven between his ribs.
It won't.
He could still see her face when he said it. The way something in her had...given way. And then she'd still chosen him.
Still stepped in front of that magic. Still-
Azriel's jaw tightened. He didn't deserve that, he never had.
"Where the fuck did that magic come from?!"
Rhysand's voice cut through the tent, quiet, sharp, furious, edged with something dangerously close to fear. Azriel didn't look away from Y/N.
Cassian swore under his breath somewhere behind him. "I’ve never seen anything like it- just came out of nowhere- ”
“It didn’t come out of nowhere,” Mor snapped, pacing. Golden power flickered faintly at her fingertips, unstable. “Someone set that trap. Deliberately.”
Amren's voice, cool and cutting: "Then someone wanted Azriel dead."
Azriel didn't hear the rest, didn't care.
All of it, strategy, enemies, blame, it faded into nothing beneath the steady, fragile rise and fall of Y/N’s chest.
Barely there.
His shadows hovered restlessly, brushing against her like they didn’t understand why she wasn’t responding. Why she wasn’t smiling at them, the way she always did.
Why she wasn’t-
Azriel swallowed, his gaze traced every inch of her face, as if committing it to memory. As if bracing for the possibility that--no. He forced the thought down. She wasn’t gone. She couldn’t be, not like this.
Not after....his throat tightened, something unfamiliar clawing its way up his chest.
Regret.
It settled heavy and suffocating. Centuries of it, all at once. Every time he'd turned away, every quiet offering he'd dismissed, every soft "Azriel" he'd ignored. And that look on her face, right before she stepped back, right before she left. His chest felt too tight. Too small.
"She took the full hit."
Mor's voice broke slightly now, closer than before. "If she hadn't, Azriel, that would've been you."
He knew. The Cauldron damn him he knew.
That knowledge sat like poison in his veins. He didn't move. Didn't speak. Because if he did, if he opened his mouth, he wasn't sure what would come out.
Rhys exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. "Madja, how bad is it?"
The healer didn't answer immediately.
Azriel finally shifted, just barely, as she moved closer to the bed, her magic a soft, steady glow as it hovered over Y/N.
“She’s alive,” Madja said at last.
Alive. The word didn’t ease the pressure in his chest.
“But,” she continued, quieter now, “the damage was not only physical.”
Azriel stilled completely.
“What do you mean?” Cassian demanded.
Madja’s eyes flicked between them. “That kind of magic… it didn’t just strike her body. It struck her mind.”
Something cold slid down Azriel’s spine.
“She may not wake as she was.”
Silence fell again. Heavy and final. Azriel’s gaze snapped back to Y/N. Not as she was. His stomach turned.
“No,” he said.
The word was quiet, controlled. But it wasn’t a suggestion. Madja didn’t argue, didn’t soften it. “I will do what I can.”
Azriel stepped closer to the bed without realizing it. Just a fraction.
Just enough that if she reached...
But she didn’t, of course she didn’t. Minutes stretched, or hours. He didn’t know. Time had lost meaning the moment she fell. Then...a shift. So small he almost missed it. A breath, deeper this time.
Madja straightened immediately. “Careful.”
Y/N stirred. A faint sound left her lips, barely more than air.
Azriel’s entire body went still.
Her fingers twitched against the blanket.
Cassian leaned forward. “Y/N?”
Her lashes fluttered, once. Twice.
The slowly, her eyes opened. Relief hit the room like a breaking wave. Mor let out a shaky laugh. "Thank the Mother."
Rhys stepped closer. "Easy, you're alright,"
Y/N's gaze moved sluggishly between them, confused and dazed.
But alive.
She looked at Cassian and gave him a faint, tired smile. At Mor, another smile.
Even Rhys and Amren, she recognized them too.
Azriel didn't breathe. Her eyes moved again, and then...they landed on him. Everything in him stilled and waited.
Her brows drew together slightly. Not in hurt or longing. In confusion. Her lips parted, voice weak, unsteady-
"Who...are you?"
The world stopped. And this time, Azriel felt it break.
The words lodged somewhere between his ribs and his lungs, sharp enough to steal breath, heavy enough to keep it from returning. Is this how she'd felt?
Rhys answered for him.
"He's...one of us, don't you remember him?" Rhys asked carefully, stepping in before the silence stretched too long. "You're safe. That's what matters right now."
Azriel didn't look at him, didn't look at anyone.
His gaze remained locked on Y/N, on the absence in her eyes, where there had once been something so constant it had felt...inevitable.
She shook her head slightly in response to the question. And then she looked away like he didn't matter enough to question further.
“It’s selective.”
Azriel stood rigid as Madja spoke, her voice calm in a way that grated against something raw inside him.
“The magic did not erase her entire memory. It disrupted… connections. Emotional imprints, most likely.”
“Meaning?” Cassian demanded.
Madja glanced toward Azriel, just for a second.
“Meaning she remembers what happened. She remembers all of you.” A pause. “But whatever tied her to him… is gone.”
Gone. Not buried, not hidden. Gone. Azriel’s shadows recoiled as if the word itself burned.
“Can it be fixed?” Mor asked, softer now.
Madja didn’t answer immediately. “Perhaps,” she said at last. “Or perhaps her mind has simply… let go of something it deemed too painful to keep.”
Azriel flinched barely, but it was there.
Velaris welcomed them home like it always did--golden, untouched, too peaceful for what they carried back with them. Y/N walked beside Mor through the streets, wrapped in fresh clothes, hair clean, skin no longer pale with blood loss.
She smiled at everything.
At the Sidra, at the lights, at the people.
At them.
Cassian got a grin. Mor got her arm hooked through hers. Even Amren earned Y/N's usual curious questions.
Azriel...Azriel got nothing. Or worse, he got civility.
"Thank you," she said once, when he handed her something Mor had asked for. Her fingers brushed his and there was no spark, no lingering, no softening in her gaze. Just a brief, genuine and courteous smile. The kind one gives a stranger. Azriel pulled his hand back like it burned.
He tried, The Cauldron help him, he tried.
First attempt came with a small, safe cup of tea. The same blend she'd always brought him--over and over, for years. He set it on the small table in the balcony, exactly where she used to place it.
"You like this," he said, voice low, controlled.
Y/N glanced at the cup, then back at him. A polite tilt of her head. "Do I? How do you know?"
Something in his chest twisted. "You used to," he said.
A mistake.
He saw it the moment the words left his mouth. Her expression shifted, just slightly. Not recognition, but discomfort.
"I'm sorry," she said gently, like he was the one being inconvenienced. "I wish I could understand what you mean. I don't remember ever meeting you before, let alone telling you about what I like."
Azriel forced himself to nod. "It's nothing. We had only ever crossed paths few times anyway. You mentioned it in passing."
She smiled again. Small, kind and distant.
And then she left the tea untouched.
"You're going about this wrong."
Azriel didn't look up from the blade he was cleaning. "Then enlighten me."
Rhys leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. "You're trying to make her remember."
Azriel's jaw tightened. "Shouldn't she?"
Rhys's voice softened, just slightly. "No. Why would you think that?"
That made him look up. "Because it's the truth."
"And the truth," Rhys said carefully, "is that you spent centuries pushing her away."
The words landed clean, precise. Unavoidable.
Azriel said nothing. Rhys stepped further into the room.
“If she remembers everything exactly as it was, Az, she remembers the rejection too. Over and over again. Why hurt her again?"
Azriel’s grip on the blade tightened.
“She deserves the choice,” Rhys continued. “Not a return to something that only hurt her.”
Silence stretched.
Then, quieter, “You could start over.”
Azriel let out a humorless breath. “With someone who doesn’t even know me?”
Rhys held his gaze. “Maybe that’s the only way she ever will.”
Time did not heal this, it sharpened it. Every interaction was a reminder, every glance that didn’t linger. Every moment she chose someone else to stand beside. She laughed more with Cassian. Walked often with Mor, listened when Amren spoke.
With Azriel, She was careful, respectful, distant.
She never sought him out. Never said his name like it meant something, never looked at him like she was waiting. And that...that was what broke him the most. Because he saw it now. All the things she used to do, all the ways she had loved him, they were gone. Not dulled, not hidden. Gone.
He found her in the training ring alone this time.
Moving carefully, still recovering, but stubborn as ever.
Azriel stepped forward. “You’re not supposed to be training yet.”
She glanced at him, slightly breathless. A small smile. “I don’t like sitting still.”
He almost said I know. Stopped himself.
Instead: “You’ll reopen the injury.”
“I’ll be careful.”
Always that politeness, that distance.
Azriel hesitated. “I can help you.”
She paused and studied him. For a moment, something flickered in her expression. Not recognition. Something… assessing.
“Alright,” she said finally.
Not warm, not cold. Just… neutral. Azriel stepped closer, positioning himself behind her. Careful not to touch.
“Your stance,” he said, voice low. “You’re putting too much weight forward.”
She adjusted slightly. “Like this?”
“Not quite.” He reached out, slowly, giving her time to pull away.
She didn’t.
His hand hovered at her waist, barely brushing, guiding her back a fraction. Her body went still. Not tense, just aware. Like she would be with anyone.
Azriel’s chest tightened. “Better,” he murmured.
She nodded. “Thank you.”
Two words. So simple, so empty.
It wasn't just that she didn't remember him. It was that she had no reason to choose him. Not anymore, at least.
No history, no devotion.
No years of quiet, unwavering love tipping the scales in his favor. Azriel stood at the edge of the training ring long after she'd left, shadows restless around him. For the first time, he understood.
What it feels like to want someone that didn't want you back. To stand close to her, to reach and have nothing in return.
And the worst part?
He would do it. All of it.
Again and again and again. If it meant one day she might look at him like she used to.
It started small. So small Azriel almost missed it.
"Azriel,"
His name, from her mouth. He froze.
Not because she said it--she'd said it before, in that same polite and detached way.
But this time, it sounded different.
Softer.
He turned slowly.
Y/N stood a few steps away, fingers loosely clasped in front of her. There was no urgency in her posture, no expectation, but her gaze lingered just a second longer than usual.
"Yes?" he asked, voice quieter than he intended.
She hesitated.
“I- ” A faint crease appeared between her brows. “I had a question about something Rhys mentioned. About… shadows.”
Azriel’s shadows stilled around him, as if they, too, were listening.
“You came to me?” he asked before he could stop himself.
A flicker of something crossed her face. Not offense, not confusion. Something almost amused.
“Well,” she said lightly, “you are the one with them, aren’t you?”
Not my shadowsinger, not anything that belonged to her. Still, she had chosen him.
Azriel inclined his head. “Ask.”
She stepped a little closer. Not close enough. Never close enough, but closer than before.
And as she spoke--curious, thoughtful, engaged--Azriel found himself watching her in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to in centuries.
Not dismissing, not avoiding. Watching, memorizing.
There were moments, brief and fleeting, where her expression would shift. Where her gaze would linger just a heartbeat too long, like something in her was trying to reach for a memory that refused to come.
Each time, something in his chest tightened with fragile, dangerous hope. Maybe...maybe it wasn’t all gone.
The second time, it was quieter. More accidental.
She laughed at something he said.
Azriel hadn’t even meant it to be funny.
But the sound left her--soft, surprised, real--and it struck him harder than any blade ever had.
For a split second, it felt like before. Like maybe...maybe he could build something new from this. Something...his. Not born from her endless giving. But chosen, earned.
"You're different with her,"
Azriel didn't look away from the window. "Am I?"
Amren leaned beside him, following his line of sight to see where Y/N stood across the riverbank.
"She's different with you too," Amren said.
Azriel's gaze sharpened. Y/N was speaking, animated now, her hands moving slightly as she explained something to someone.
She glanced up, and for a fraction of a second, her eyes met his across the distance. She didn't look away immediately. Azriel's breath caught.
Then, she smiled. A real smile. Something in his chest lifted.
"See?" Amren murmured. Azriel didn't answer, he couldn't.
Because for the first time since she woke, hope didn't feel like a mistake.
And then, everything shifted.
The day Helion arrived per Rhysands request, the air in Velaris felt differen.
Brighter. Warmer. Annoyingly so.
Everyone knew of him, of course. The most effortlessly harismatic High Lord. Charming and powerful.
The kind of male who walked into a room and owned it without trying. The kind of male Y/N would have once-
Azriel's jaw tightened. Would have once ignored, because of him.
He saw it the moment they met. Y/N had been standing beside Mor, listening politely as Rhysand was speaking with him.
And then, Helion's golden gaze landed on her, and sharpened with interest. Not subtle, not restrained, interested.
"Well," Helion drawled, a slow smile forming, "you sure have changed for the better since the last time I saw you, Y/N. You're practically glowing!"
Y/N blinked, caught slightly off guard. Then, she smiled. Not polite, not distant. Genuine. Azriel felt something cold settle in his chest.
It started harmless. Conversations, longer than necessary. Helion asking questions, not surface-level, but deeper, engaging ones.
Y/N answered. Easily, freely. She laughed again, more often now.
And Azriel...Azriel watched. From across rooms, from shadows, from distances he had once chosen. Now forced upon him.
"You're staring." Azriel didn't bother denying it.
Cassian followed his gaze and winced slightly. "Oof."
He leaned closer to Y/N, saying something low enough that only she could hear. She huffed out a laugh, nudging his arm lightly. Lightly.
Like she was comfortable, like she spent years with him.
Azriel's shadows coiled tighter.
"That's new," Cassian muttered.
Azriel's voice was quiet, controlled. "She is happy with him."
Cassian glanced at him sideways. "You never gave her much to be happy about, brother."
The words landed hard.
The worst part wasn’t Helion. It wasn’t the way he looked at her or how easily he drew her in.
It was the way she didn’t look for Azriel anymore.
Not even out of politeness, not even out of habit. The fragile thread that had begun to form between them snapped clean and effortless. Like it had never been there at all.
Azriel found her alone once. Rare occurrence, these days.
She stood on the balcony, overlooking the city, the wind tugging gently at her hair. For a moment, he just watched. Memorized.
Then, quietly, "Y/N."
She turned. And for a heartbeat, just one, something flickered. Recognition?
No.
Not quite.
"Azriel," she said softly.
Almost like before but with less feelings.
He stepped closer. "I haven't seen you much, thanks to Helion."
A mistake.
Her expression shifted, subtle.
Distance slipped back into place.
"Helion has been quite the good company. Rhysand says he is the one that called him to discuss some trade issues in person but it seems like Helion is prolonging his stay for me."
Azriel's anger slowly started sipping in. "What?"
She shrugged, lips turning up in a small smile as she looked back at the city. "I know, that's a crazy assumption. I told Rhys that it's not possible. There is probably some other things he must do before he goes back into Day Court."
Azriel's heart plummeted. Rhysand is a good observer. One that doesn't just throw out random assumptions.
And Y/N knows it too.
Azriel nodded once. "Do you..." he stopped.
Started again, quieter. "Do you enjoy his company?"
Her lips curved slightly. "Yes."
One word. It shouldn't have meant anything.
But it meant everything.
Azriel inclined his head and stepped back. "Good."
It was the right thing to say, the only thing to say. Even as something in his chest quietly, finally, broke.
The garden was everything Y/N had hoped it would be.
Sunlight spilled over the neatly trimmed hedges, catching the petals of the early blooms like scattered gold. She had found a small spot near the fountain, canvas balanced on her knees, paints spread around her like an open rainbow. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and wet earth, the breeze brushing her hair across her face in gentle waves.
For the first time in… she didn’t know how long, she felt light. Free. Happy. Unburdened. No weight pressed down on her shoulders.
She dipped her brush into soft lavender, sweeping it across the canvas. The strokes were confident, playful, unthinking, each one landing exactly where she wanted it. Her mind was quiet, peaceful.
A shadow fell across her work.
She looked up.
Azriel.
He stood there, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders tight, eyes dark and sharp. The sunlight caught the angles of his face, but there was no softness. No casual calm like everyone else.
She blinked. “Oh. Hello.”
He didn’t answer immediately. He didn’t smile. He just watched.
Y/N tilted her head. “Do you… like gardens?” she asked lightly, because that seemed safe. Neutral.
Azriel’s jaw tightened. “Not particularly.”
She laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Me neither, really. I just like painting them.”
He shifted slightly, closer--but not close enough to invade her space. "You're...good at it," he said, finally, voice low.
Her brush paused mid-stroke. "Thank you," she replied politely, wondering why he was suddenly so...intense.
The silence stretched and he didn't leave. She felt no threat, only that strange pull of attention, heavy and charged, that she had no context for.
"I...I need to tell you something, I just can't go on like this." he said finally.
She lifted her head, curious. "Oh?"
His shadows flickered around him, restless, taut with something she didn’t recognize. “You… you need to know. About me. About… us.”
“No,” he snapped, suddenly losing the careful control he’d kept all this time. “You need to hear this. I can’t- Gods, I can’t stand seeing you act like I’m just some stranger when…” His voice cracked for the briefest second, and then steel returned. “When I’ve spent centuries, centuries watching you. Letting you love me. Ignoring you. Rejecting you. And now… now you’re safe, alive, and you don’t even remember it!”
Y/N flinched. The words hit her like a slap. Her hands tightened around her brush.
“I- I don’t understand,” she whispered. “I… I don’t remember…?”
“Of course you don’t!” His shadow flickered sharply, dark as storm clouds. “Because you were hurt by me. Because I was too blind to care about what you felt! Because I- ” He stopped himself, breathing hard, his eyes on her. “Because I loveyou! I’ve loved you for centuries, not even realizing it, not daring to accept it, and you… you don’t even know me!”
The words tumbled out faster now, unrestrained, desperate. Every confession, every regret, every guilt-ridden truth spilled over her, crashing into her mind like a storm she couldn’t weather.
Y/N stumbled backward instinctively, eyes wide. Her chest tightened. She coughed, short, panicked breaths filling her lungs.
“Azriel… I- what- ” she tried to say, but her voice faltered.
“You have to know! You have to understand!” he shouted, stepping closer, shadows flaring, the edge of desperation sharp in his movements. “I was an idiot! I was blind! I didn’t- gods, I didn’t realize I- ”
Her hands flew to her head. The world tilted. Her stomach lurched. The sun and the garden, the canvas, the paint, everything spun.
Azriel froze, his heart lurching in tandem with hers.
“Y/N?” His voice softened, but the panic still rang through it. “Stay with me. Look at me.”
But she couldn’t. She couldn’t process it. Centuries of memories she didn’t have, of emotions she couldn’t feel yet, came crashing all at once.
Her knees buckled. She gasped, gripping the edge of the fountain. The air wouldn’t fill her lungs properly. Her vision blurred, dark spots crawling at the edges.
Azriel dropped to one knee, hands hovering, trembling as he reached for her without touching. “Y/N, please. Don’t- breathe. Look at me. Stay with me.”
She shook her head, panic rising, body trembling, tears welling unbidden. “I- I don’t- I can’t- ”
He cursed under his breath, shadows hissing around him. He had done exactly what he feared.
Not gentle. Not slow. Not patient. Too much, too fast. Too desperate.
She stumbled backward again, pressing her hands to her ears, gasping, utterly unmoored.
Azriel froze. Every fiber of him screamed. Stop. Stop. You’re hurting her.
But he couldn’t. Not yet. Not when he could see the faintest flicker of recognition, a heartbeat of something buried deep beneath the chaos in her mind.
“Y/N… please,” he whispered, quieter now, shadows retracting slightly. “I just… I love you. That’s all. I’ve always, always loved you. I was just too much of a coward, an idiot to accept it. I’m here. I’m here.”
Her body shuddered violently, and the panic overtook her. She sank to the ground near the fountain, gasping, clutching herself, tears streaking her cheeks.
Azriel dropped beside her, careful now, silent but close enough she could feel the warmth radiating from him.
He’d broken the rules. He knew it.
But he couldn’t stop himself. Not when seeing her alive and safe, yet terrified because of him, felt like a blade through his chest.
He wrapped his arms loosely around her trembling form, not forcing anything, not saying more, just letting her know he was there, he wouldn’t leave.
Even if she didn’t remember.
Even if she hated him for a moment. Even if he had just nearly destroyed her calm, happy world. Because for the first time in centuries, he couldn’t hold it in.
Azriel’s chest tightened as she shrank from him, trembling but sharp, like a cornered storm. He had been holding her, wrapping her in what he thought was safety, what he thought was comfort, but it wasn’t.
“Y/N…” he breathed, voice low, calm, desperate.
She pushed him away. Hard. One sharp shove that made him stumble back a step.
“Get away from me!” she shouted, voice cracking with fury and fear both.
Azriel froze, eyes wide. “What?”
“Get away from me!” she repeated, louder, more frantic. Her palms pressed against his chest, forcing him to step back further.
He did, slowly, carefully, taking in the sight of her face. Tears streaked her cheeks, but her eyes burned with anger, sharp as flint.
“How dare you!” she spat. “How dare you?”
Azriel’s heart stopped. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Nothing seemed enough.
“Who do you think you are?” she continued, voice shaking with heat and pain. “I said I don’t know you! I don’t remember anything about you! And here you come, spewing all these… these lies, these made-up fantasies about me that are never going to be true! They… they were never true!”
Her hands clenched at her sides, trembling, and her shoulders shook with the force of her emotions. Azriel swallowed, trying to process her words, to think of anything to say that could fix this--anything--but there was nothing.
The shouting drew attention.
Voices. Footsteps.
“Azriel? What in the…” Rhysand and Helion emerged into the garden, both looking shocked, assessing instantly the situation. Mor and Cassian followed, eyes wide.
Y/N’s gaze didn’t soften. It swept past Azriel as she turned to Helion. “Helion.”
The black-haired High Lord looked slightly startled, but intrigued. “Yes?”
“Take me with you when you go to the Day Court. Please,” she said, her voice steady, deliberate.
Azriel’s shadow coiled, tight, restless. His chest felt like it was breaking.
“Why would you want to go with him?” His voice was low, sharp, rigid with disbelief.
“I need time away,” she said, unwavering. Her gaze snapped back to him, anger still blazing. “I’ve had enough with you. Now I understand why you constantly try to get into my good graces, why you hover, why you push… it’s because you’ve done nothing but try to control me. I don’t… I can’t. Not like this. Not ever again.”
Azriel’s throat went dry. He turned slightly to Rhys, desperation in his eyes. Don’t allow this. Don’t allow this to happen.
Rhysand exhaled, calm, patient, almost tenderly. “Very well, Y/N. You may leave and come whenever you please.”
Azriel froze. The words landed like a dagger.
Helion’s smile widened, warm and genuine. “Well,” he said softly, stepping closer, “if that’s what you want, I’d be honored to take you with me."
Y/N nodded, eyes bright, fierce, but steady. “Let me go pack my things,” she said, voice calm now, resolute.
Azriel’s chest felt impossibly tight. The world had shifted under his feet in seconds.
He looked at her, at Helion, at Rhysand, and for the first time in centuries, he felt utterly powerless.
The shadows around him stirred, restless, coiling, mirroring the turmoil inside him. He wanted to speak, to stop her, to make her see, but every rational thought, every instinct, every ounce of restraint screamed: she doesn’t remember. She doesn’t know. Anything he says now risks breaking her further.
He swallowed.
She was leaving with Helion.
And there was nothing he could do.
Azriel’s fists clenched at his sides. Shadows flickered with rage, guilt, and despair. He wanted to reach out, to call her back, to scream at the injustice of it all.
But he didn’t.
He could only watch her go.
Step by determined step.
And with every one, the weight of centuries of unspoken love, of rejected devotion, of pain he had buried in silence, pressed down on him like a stone he could never lift.
She looked back once, just briefly, but her expression was resolute. No longing. No hesitation. Azriel exhaled slowly, shadows curling tighter around him. The garden seemed impossibly quiet.
And for the first time, he realized something he’d never faced before: he had lost her. Not to magic, not to fate, not to war, he had lost her to himself. And there was nothing left but to watch as she walked away into a life that no longer had him in it.
Rewatching Bridgerton season 2 rn and I just got an idea for a fic with a similar plot line where Y/N is the eldest, more dutiful and reserved Archeron sister with a sharp-tongue who is not afraid to say what she thinks and puts her sisters first always because she believes love isn’t for her and she isn’t that desirable anyway
Then enter Elain who is mated with Lucien and they are courting one another but eventually Y/N and Lucien get closer even though she doesn’t want that and tries everything in her power to keep him at a distance but the universe just keeps bringing them closer and his attention goes to her more and more
And obviously we add in lots of angst, enemies to lovers (?) and smut eventually (who knows)
SHOULD I DO THIS? 🤨🤨 Idk I’m going through a mini-crisis over here (I just love Anthony and Kate Sharma sm they are my fav couple in the show😭)
Heyy! Could you write just some domestic fluff with cassian?
My Home is You- Cassian x fem!reader
Summary: A battle-worn warrior finds his truest peace not on the battlefield but in the quiet, messy love-filled home he builds with you.
See masterlist
"You're coloring out of the lines."
"I am not," Cassian huffed, squinting at the cupboard door like it had personally offended him. "This is called technique."
Y/N folded her arms, trying very hard not to smile. "That's called a disaster. Feyre would cry if she saw this."
He shot her a look over his shoulder, wings twitching faintly. "Feyre isn't here. Which means no one gets to judge my artistic genius."
Y/N sighed dramatically, dragging her brush down the wood in a careful stroke. "We should've called her. Or at least taken lessons before deciding to repaint the entire kitchen at- " she glanced toward the window, still dark with night. " -whatever ungodly hour this is."
"You're the one who shook me awake," he reminded her, dipping his brush again. "Cass, the cupboards look sad," he mimicked, voice softening into a teasing lilt. "Cassian, we need to fix them right now."
'They did look sad," Y/N defended, though a laugh slipped through. "And now they look...worse."
He gasped, hand flying to his chest. "You wound me."
"Oh, please," she snorted. "You'll live."
For a moment, the two of them worked in companionable silence--soft strokes of brushes, the sudden kisses Cassian planted on her cheeks, the faint creak of wood, the quiet hum of Velaris still asleep beyond their walls. There was something almost peaceful about it, despite the mess, despite the fact that there was already paint on the floor, Y/N's hands, and, udging by the streak across Cassian’s cheek, definitely not just the cupboards.
Y/N glanced at him again, biting back a grin. "You missed a spot."
"Where?" he leaned closer to the cabinet, frowning.
"Right...there."
Before he could turn, Y/N flicked her brush. A soft splatter of paint landed square across his jaw. Cassian went very still and slowly, he looked at her.
Y/N's hand flew to her mouth, already giggling. "Oops."
"Oops?" he repeated, voice low, dangerous in the way that meant you were absolutely about to regret your life choices.
Y/N backed away, laughter spilling out. "It was an accident- "
"You're dead, little trouble."
She yelped and bolted, bare feet slipping slightly on the floor as she darted across the kitchen but didn't make it far. Cassian caught her easily, an arm wrapping around her waist as he hauled her back against him, Y/N's laughter dissolving into breathless squeals.
"Cassian- no- "
"Oh, I think yes," he murmured, far too pleased with himself.
Before she could twist away, his brush dragged lightly across the front of her shirt, leaving a bold streak of colour. Y/N gasped, staring down at it. "You did not just- "
He turned her in his arms, clearly ready to deliver some smug remark but the words never came.
Because Y/N surged up and kissed him.
It caught him off guard for exactly half a second before he melted into it, hands tightening at her waist, pulling her closer as the brush slipped forgotten from his fingers. The faint scent of paint mixed with the warmth of him, the quiet of the kitchen wrapping around them both as the kiss deepened: slow, soft, familiar.
When Y/N finally pulled back, slightly breathless, his forehead rested against hers, a grin tugging at his lips.
"You're a menace," he murmured.
"But you love me."
"I do," he said easily, like it was the simplest truth in the world. "Even when you attack me with paint."
Y/N huffed a laugh, nudging his nose with hers, "You started it,"
"I absolutely did not."
"You absolutely did."
He leaned in like he might argue more, then just pressed a quick kiss to her lips instead. "Come on," he said after a moment, glancing back at the half-painted cupboards. "If we don't finish, you'll wake up tomorrow and decide that the walls look sad too."
Y/N shot him a look, but a smile threatened to come out. "Don't give me ideas."
He laughed, grabbing another brush and pressing back into her hand. Side by side again, they returned to the cupboards, still bickering, still teasing, occasionally bumping shoulders or stealing quick kisses in between strokes.
The paint wasn't perfect, he lines definitely weren't straight. But the kitchen felt warmer somehow. Lived-in.
Summary: A forgotten Night Court Heir is rescued by Azriel and Eris--only to discover she's the missing third to their mating bond.
Warnings: Some angst, tension, Azriel and Eris trying to get their shit thgeter, some mentions of slight body insecurity.
Part 1
See masterlist
Y/N woke slowly.
Not gently--never gently--but in fragments. Sensation before thought. Warmth first, unfamiliar and wrong, seeping into limbs that had known only cold stone for years.
A bed.
The realization struck hard enough that her eyes snapped open.
Soft light filtered through gauzy curtains. Pale walls. The faint scent of clean linen and something floral she didn't recognize. Her body was cocooned in blankets far too thick, far too safe.
Her breath hitched. No bars, no chains, no stone ceiling crushing down on her chest.
Panic surged, sharp and immediate.
She bolted upright with a gasp, heart slamming violently against her ribs. The room tilted, nausea rolling through her as vision blurred. Her limbs felt weak, uncooperative--like they didn't belong to her anymore.
Where am I?
What did they do to me?
Her hands flew to her wrists, her throat, her ribs. No restraints. No iron. No damp chill biting into her skin. She wore a loose nightgown, soft and clean, the fabric whispering against her leg when she moved.
That only made it worse.
Her breathing quickened, shallow and uneven. This was wrong. This was a trick. Comfort had always come with a cost.
Memories slammed into her all at once--the breaking wards, the guards screaming, the shadows crawling into mouths and eyes. The two males. One dark and terrible. One burning like flame.
The hand reaching for her.
Her chest tightened painfully.
"No," she whispered hoarsely, scrambling backward until her spine hit the headboard. "No, no, no- "
Her magic stirred in response, skittering beneath her skin like a frightened animal. Weak. Unstable. It flared uselessly, a flicker instead of the blast she'd needed.
The door. Her gaze snapped to it.
Closed. Not locked--she could sense that--but closed all the same.
Of course it is.
Her lips pressed into a thin line as she forced herself to breathe slower. In through her nose. Out through her mouth. The way her mother had once taught her, back when calm was still a thing she believed in.
She scanned the room with sharp, assesing eyes: No weapons. No windows low enough to reach. One chair. A small table with a glass of water she hadn't touched.
Someone had planned this. Thought about it.
Anger flared hot in her gut, cutting through the fear. They'd dragged her out of one cage and put her in another--softer, prettier, but a cage all the same.
Her jaw clenched.
"Cowards," she muttered, voice raw.
She swung her legs over the side of te bed. The moment her feet touched the floor, her knees buckled. She hissed sharply, catching herself on the mattress, heart racing again.
Too weak. Still too weak. Humiliation burned almost as badly as the fear. She straightened softly, refusing to let her body win, refusing to curl back into the sheets like some fragile thing that needed protecting.
She was not fragile. She had survived.
A soft sound reached her ears then...voices, muffled, distant, on the other side of the door. She stilled instantly, every muscle going taut.
Male voices.
One low and controlled. Another sharper, edged with worry.
Her stomach twisted. She backed away from the door instinctively, spine brushing the wall, eyes locked on the handle as if it might turn at any second.
Don’t come in, she thought desperately. Please don’t come in.
Her fingers curled into fists at her sides.
If they did, if they tried to touch her-
She didn't know how much power she had left. But she would use every last shred of it.
Even if it killed her.
She lifted her chin, jaw set, eyes blazing despite the tremor running through her limbs. Whatever this place was, whatever they wanted from her, she would not break quietly. Not now. Not ever.
Her eyes never left the door. When it finally opened, it did so quietly.
Too quietly.
Two figures stepped inside. The males who freed her from the cage.
They moved with the kind of confidence that came from power and familiarity, as though this space already belonged to them. As though she did. Both clearly expected to find her still in the bed--still weak, still pliable.
The shock was instant.
It flashed across both their faces before either could mask it. She bared her teeth in something that wasn't quite a smile.
The first male was all darkness and sharp edges: black hair falling messily around a face carved from restraint and exhaustion, shadows clinging unnaturally close to his shoulders, curling like living things. His hazel eyes snapped to her position, widening just a fraction.
Awake. Alert.
Not broken.
The second male stood half a step behind him, fire made flesh. Short auburn hair, neatly kept, molten amber eyes assessing her with startling speed. His posture was relaxed, but she knew better. He radiated danger in a quieter, more deliberate way.
Both froze when they realized where she was. Against the wall. Cornered--but not cowering.
Her power stirred faintly, responding to the tension, to the threat.
"Easy," the dark-haired male said, voice low, careful. "We're not here to hurt you."
She laughed.
It came out brittle. Broken at the edges.
"Funny," she rasped. "That's what they all say."
The fire-haired male’s jaw tightened. He glanced briefly at the other, a silent exchange passing between them.
“She’s awake,” the dark one murmured, as if that hadn’t been painfully obvious.
She straightened, chin lifting defiantly despite the tremor in her limbs.
“Who are you?” she demanded. “Where am I?”
Neither moved closer. That, at least, earned them a sliver of restraint in her mind.
"You're safe," the dark-haired male said.
Her magic flared weakly, angry.
"Liar."
The fire-haired one exhaled slowly, clearly choosing his words with care. “You’re in the Night Court. Velaris.”
The name hit her like a blade between the ribs.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Let me go,” she said immediately. “I want to leave.”
Silence.
The dark-haired male’s expression tightened, frustration flashing across his features before he could stop it. “We can’t just- ”
She snapped.
“Can’t?” Her voice cracked, fury bleeding through the fear. “You could break into a dungeon and slaughter guards, but you can’t open a door and let me walk away?”
"That's enough."
The fire-haired male cut in sharply, stepping slightly forward--not toward her, but into the space between her and the other male.
“We’ll answer every question you have,” he said evenly. “On one condition.”
Her laugh was hollow. Exhausted.
“You want answers from me.” Her eyes burned. “After everything?”
His gaze held hers, steady and unflinching. "Yes."
She shook her head. "No. I won't trade one cage for another."
Her knees trembled. She ignored it.
"I want out," she whispered fiercely. "Now."For the first time, fear flickered openly across the dark-haired male's face--not of her, but for her.
Before either could speak again, the door opened once more.
A female entered.
Older. Calm.
Older. Calm. Powerful in a way that didn’t need to announce itself. Her silver hair was braided neatly down her back, her sharp eyes taking in the scene in a single sweep--the defensive stance, the men, the raw panic simmering just beneath Y/N’s skin.
Relief punched the breath from her lungs.
A woman.
Thank the gods.
“What did I say about overwhelming patients?” the woman snapped, turning sharply to the males. “Out of the way. Both of you.”
They obeyed instantly.
That alone told Y/N more than she wanted to know.
The woman alone approached slowly, hands visible, voice gentle. "Hello. My name is Madja. I am a healer. You're safe here."
Y/N didn't answer--but she didn't recoil when the woman gestured toward the bed.
"Please," she said softly. "You're running on fumes, sit."
Her legs chose for her.
She sank into the mattress, breathing hard, every nerve still screaming danger.
The healer turned back to the males. "You two, stay near the door. This conversation happens my way."
Neither argued.
Then the woman knelt slightly, bringing herself to Y/N's eye-level.
“We need to ask you a few things,” she said. “Nothing will be done to you without your consent. I swear it.”
Y/N searched her face--searched for deceit, cruelty, calculation. Found none. Her shoulders sagged, just a fraction.
A long, shaky breath left her lungs.
“…Fine,” she whispered.
She nodded once.
The room felt quiet. Too clean. Too watched.
Y/N sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, hands curled into the fabric of the sheets as if she might need to anchor herself at any moment. The healer remained in front of her, calm and steady, while the two males lingered near the door like sentries.
Waiting. Watching.
The healer's voice was gentle when she began.
"Do you remember how long you were down there?"
Y/N didn't hesitate.
"No."
Flat. Empty. Final.
The healer nodded, unsurprised. "That's alright. Do you remember who put you there?"
A pause.
Her jaw tightened slightly.
"...No."
A lie, clearly.
The healer studied her for a moment longer, as if weighing how far she could push.
Y/N felt it. Felt the shift before it even came.
The next question was quieter. Careful.
"Do you know who Rhysand is?"
Silence....then-
Y/N laughed. It wasn't loud or even amused.
It was sharp. Bitter. Broken.
Her head tilted slightly, eyes darkening as something cold and ugly surfaced from deep within her chest. "Of course I do."
The words dripped with venom causing the two males at the door to go still.
"High Lord of the Night Court," she continued, voice gaining strength, gaining heat. "Savior of Velaris. Defender of Dreams. Nightmare." Her lip curled. "That one?"
The healer didn't interrupt. Y/N's fingers tightened in the sheets.
"He knew," she said, quieter now--but far more dangerous. "He had to know."
Her gaze snapped up, locking onto the healer's.
"You're telling me a high lord doesn't know what's happening in his own court?" Her voice rose, cracking at the edges. "You're telling me I was rotting under his mountain for years, and he just...what? Didn't notice?"
Her chest heaved.
"He allowed it," she spat. "He let it happen. He chose not to see."
The dark-haired male shifted sharply at that, tension snapping through his body. His shadows lashed once at his feet. "That's not- " he started, anger bleeding into his voice.
The fire-haired one's hand shot out, stopping him instantly. Still. Silent.
But his own expression had gone completely still, too still.
Y/N didn't notice. Or maybe she did and didn't care anyway.
"Don't," she snapped, eyes blazing now. "I don't know who the fuck you are, but don't you dare stand there and defend him."
Her laugh came again, harsher this time.
"Most powerful High Lord?" she bit out. "He couldn't even find his own blood rotting underground?"
The words hung in the air. Heavy and final.
The healer exhaled softly, exchanging a brief glance with the two males behind her. Something unspoken passed between them. Then, she looked back at Y/N.
"He didn't know."
The words were calm, measured. And yet, Y/N stilled. For a fraction of a second, just one, something flickered in her expression. Then it shattered.
"Don't."
Her voice dropped to a whisper, dangerous and trembling.
"Don't lie to me."
Y/N shook her head, stepping back on the bed as if her words were a threat to her.
“No.” Her breathing sped up. “No, that’s not- no. That’s not how it’s supposed to work.”
Her eyes darted back and forth between them, searching for something, but finding nothing.
“He’s the High Lord,” she whispered, as if to herself. “He would know. He has to know. That’s- ”
Her voice cracked.
Slightly. Enough.
“That’s the whole point.”
Silence fell back into the room.
The truth sat between them now. Unwanted. Unaccepted. Alive.
And Y/N looked at them as if they were trying to tell her to believe in something far worse than cruelty.
In something far worse than pain. In something far worse than death.
Innocence.
He couldn’t stay in that room.
Not with the way she was looking at them. At him.
Azriel stepped out into the hallway without a word, the door clicking shut behind him with a quiet finality that did nothing to ease the storm under his skin.
His shadows followed.
No, clung.
They writhed along the walls, restless, agitated, slipping beneath the crack of the door as if they could crawl back to her. As if they refused to leave her behind.
“Stay,” he muttered under his breath.
They didn’t listen.
They never did when it came to something they wanted.
Azriel dragged a hand down his face, jaw tight.
He had seen broken people before.
He had been one.
He knew what fear looked like. What it did to a person. How it hollowed them out and left only sharp edges behind.
But nothing, nothing in him, knew how to stand still while she looked at him like he was the enemy. Like he had put her there. The thought twisted something ugly in his chest.
Her voice still echoed in his head,
He knew. He allowed it.
Azriel’s wings shifted slightly, tension rippling through him.
“No,” he muttered, more to himself than anything. “No, he didn’t- ”
The door opened behind him.
Eris stepped out quietly, closing it just as softly. For once, there was no smirk, no sharp remark waiting on his tongue.
Just silence.
He came to stand beside Azriel, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed.
His shadows curled tighter around him, some slipping back under the door again despite his earlier command. Drawn to her like a tide he couldn’t hold back.
“She hates us,” Azriel said quietly.
Eris’ jaw ticked. “She doesn’t know us.”
“She looked at me like I was going to hurt her.”
The admission was quieter. Sharper. More dangerous.
Eris turned his head slightly, studying him. “You’re taking that personally.”
Azriel let out a humorless breath. “Shouldn’t I?”
A beat. Then, softer, “I don’t like it.”
That earned him a faint, almost incredulous huff from Eris.
“No,” Eris said. “You don’t.”
Azriel’s fingers curled at his sides.
“I’ve never…” He trailed off, jaw tightening. “I don’t know what this is.”
Eris didn’t answer immediately. When he did, his voice was lower. More careful.
“Neither do I.” Another pause.
“But I know this- ” Eris continued, eyes darkening slightly. “Whatever it is… it didn’t start today.”
Azriel went still.
Because that...that felt true. Dangerously true.
He stood at the end of the hallway.
Unmoving. Listening.
Her words had carried through the door. Every word. Every accusation.
He knew. He allowed it.
Rhysand closed his eyes. It hurt him more than any blade had ever managed to. Because she believed it.
Not as a passing thought.
Not as a fleeting doubt.
But as truth.
Years of it.
Years of believing her brother had abandoned her to rot in darkness.
His chest constricted, a raw and vicious emotion clawing its way up his throat.
He had battled enemies, wars, death itself-
Nothing had ever equaled the horror of knowing there had been a child, his blood, suffering beneath his court…
And he hadn’t even known she existed.
A soft footstep sounded behind him, but he did not turn.
Did not speak.
Because for the first time in a very long time…
Rhysand had no idea what to do.
And worse…
He wasn’t sure she would ever allow him to even try.
The room felt too small for all of them. Not physically, no, the River House was expansive, open, filled with light and air and everything the Court of Nightmares was not.
But the tension...
The tension pressed in from all sides. Eris leaned back against the wall, arms crossed loosely, watching. Always watching.
The infamous Inner Circle of the Night Court stood gathered in a loose semicircle, yet no one looked at ease. No one looked like the untouchable, perfectly balanced force the rest of Prythian feared.
They looked...shaken.
The infamous Inner Circle of the Night Court stood gathered in a loose semicircle, yet no one looked at ease. No one looked like the untouchable, perfectly balanced force the rest of Prythian feared.
No one answered. Because there was no answer.
Azriel stood near the window, unnaturally still. Too still. His shadows coiled around him in tight, restless loops, whispering things only he could hear.
Eris didn't need to be a shadowsinger to know that they were not calm. Neither was he. Rhys stood apart from the rest. Silent.
That, more than anything, unsettled Eris.
He had seen the High Lord angry, calculating.
But this?
This was something else entirely. Guilt hung off him like second skin.
Feyre was beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed, her hand lightly resting against his arm. Grounding him.
Holding him together.
“She believed he knew,” Feyre said quietly, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade wrapped in silk. “That’s what matters right now.”
Nesta, leaning against a nearby table, arms crossed, didn’t soften at that.
“Of course she did,” she said flatly. “What else was she supposed to believe? That she was invisible?”
Silence again, sharp and uncomfortable.
Mor shifted, her usual brightness dimmed, eyes glassy with something dangerously close to grief. “She’s terrified,” she whispered.
Cassian swore under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair.
Amren, however, remained seated. Observant.
Ancient eyes flicking between them all with unsetlling calm.
"This isn't just about fear," she said, voice cool. "That girl has been systematically broken down and kept alive for a reason."
Eris' attention sharpened. There it was. The part no one wanted to say out loud.
“She’s powerful,” Azriel murmured, finally speaking. His voice was quiet, but there was something tight beneath it. Controlled. Barely. “The wards weren’t just to hide her. They were to contain her.”
Amren inclined her head. "Exactly."
Rhys's jaw tightened. Eris watched him carefully.
Watched the way his fingers curled at his sides. The way his power flickered just beneath the surface, restrained by sheer will.
“You’re all missing the immediate problem,” Nesta cut in, sharp as ever. “She doesn’t trust any of you.”
A beat.
“Correction,” she added, glancing pointedly toward Azriel and Cassian. “She doesn’t trust anyone.”
Eris huffed a quiet breath.
“She attacked us the moment she could stand,” he said, tone almost conversational.
“She thought we were part of it,” Eris continued. “Still does.”
Feyre’s expression tightened. “Then we don’t push her.”
All eyes turned to her. Eris tilted his head slightly.
Ah, here it comes.
“We give her space,” Feyre said. “Control. Choice. She’s had none of that for years.” Her gaze moved across the room, steady, deliberate. “No interrogations. No pressure. No forcing her into anything, not conversations, not answers."
“She decides when she talks,” Feyre finished. “When she eats. When she leaves that room.”
Cassian frowned. “And we just… what? Wait?”
“Yes.”
The word was firm.
Unyielding.
Mor nodded slowly. “She needs to feel safe before anything else matters.”
“And if she never does?” Nesta asked, tone cool but not unkind.
Silence.
Heavy. Real.
Feyre didn’t look away.
“Then we keep trying anyway.”
Rhys finally spoke. His voice was quiet. Controlled.
“I’m not going in there,” he said.
That surprised all of them. Eris included.
“Not yet,” Rhys added, more firmly now. “Not until she’s ready to hear me. If I push this too soon…” His jaw tightened. “I’ll lose any chance I have before I even get it.”
Eris studied him.
And for the first time, he saw it clearly...
This wasn’t just guilt, this was something far more dangerous.
Something personal.
Good. It would make him useful.
Azriel shifted slightly beside the window, shadows tightening again.
Eris felt it then. That pull, subtle but persistent.
Pointing back toward her.
He went still. Not now. Not here.
But it was there, unmistakable.
He glanced at Azriel and found him already looking.
The same realization flickered between them.
Unspoken. Unresolved.
And entirely too important to ignore. Eris pushed off the wall, straightening slightly.
“Well,” he said lightly, though nothing about the situation was light, “it seems we have a plan.”
Feyre’s gaze met his. “We give her time.”
Eris smiled faintly.
“Let’s hope,” he murmured, “she gives us anything in return.”
Because something told him...
Time alone wasn’t going to be enough.
Not for her. Not for them.
And certainly not for whatever the hell was already beginning to form between all three of them.
The silence felt different now. Not the suffocating kind she had known in the cell--thick with rot and the promise of pain. This silence was...careful.
Measured.
Like something was holding its breath around her.
Y/N sat near the edge of the bed again, exactly where she'd been left, though hours had passed. Time was still a slippery thing, difficult to hold onto.
No one except the healer, who's name she'd learned to be Madja, had come back.
No guards. No questions. No chains. No punishment.
Her fingers tightened slightly in the fabric beneath her. It didn't make sense.
She'd expected retaliation. Expected consequences for the way she'd spoken--for the way she'd looked at them, challenged them, refused them.
But there had been nothing.
Just...space.
Her gaze flicked to the door for what felt like the hundredth time. Still closed. Still unlocked.
She knew it was unlocked. She could feel it faintly, like her magic was relearning the world around her.
Her jaw clenched.
A soft knock broke the silence.
Y/N went completely still. Not loud. Not demanding.
Just...there.
Her body reacted anyway--shoulders tightening, breath catching, instincts screaming at her to prepare.
The door opened slowly.
And a female stepped inside. Not Madja.
Younger.
Soft light seemed to follow her in, clinging to golden-brown hair and gentle light blue eyes that immediately found Y/N without flinching.
Y/N's gaze sharpened. The female had a tray.
Food.
The scent hit her a second later--warm, rich, real--and her stomach twisted violently in response.
Hated that her body betrayed her like that.
“I hope it’s alright that I came in,” the female said quietly, voice calm in a way that didn’t grate against her nerves. “I brought you something to eat.”
Y/N didn’t answer.
Her eyes tracked every movement as the female stepped further into the room: slowly, deliberately, as if approaching a wounded animal.
Smart.
She set the tray down on the small table, not too close. Not too far.
Then stepped back, giving space.
Y/N noticed. Still, she didn’t move, didn't speak, didn't trust.
“I’m not going to come any closer,” the female added gently. “You don’t have to talk to me either.”
A pause.
“I just thought you might be hungry.”
Y/N’s gaze flicked to the food again. Just for a second. Then back to her.
Suspicious.
Calculating.
“…Why?” she asked finally, voice rough from disuse.
The female didn’t hesitate. “Because you haven’t eaten.”
Simple.
Too simple.
Y/N frowned slightly.
“That’s not an answer.”
A faint smile touched the female’s lips--not mocking, not amused. Just… patient.
“It is for me.”
Silence stretched between them.
Y/N studied her harder now.
There was no fear in the female’s expression. No arrogance either. No pity--thank the gods.
Just… steadiness. It unsettled her more than cruelty ever had.
“You’re one of them,” Y/N said flatly.
It wasn’t a question. The female inclined her head slightly. “Yes.”
“Family.”
Another nod.
Something twisted sharply in Y/N’s chest which made her look away first.
“…Convenient,” she muttered.
The word held more weight than it should have and yet the female didn’t rise to it.
Instead, she shifted slightly, leaning her hip against the table—but still keeping her distance.
“My name is Feyre,” she said after a moment.
Y/N stilled. “I didn’t ask.”
The words came out sharper than intended.
Feyre didn’t react. “That’s alright,” she said softly, “You don’t have to.”
That...That threw her.
Y/N’s brows pulled together slightly. Everything about this felt wrong.
No pressure, no force, no expectation. Just… presence.
Her eyes drifted back to the tray again, steam still curled faintly from the food.
Real food. Not scraps. Not barely edible.
Her stomach twisted again, harder this time. She swallowed. Forced her gaze away.
“I’m not staying,” she said suddenly.
The words came out quiet. Firm. Like a reminder to herself more than anything.
Feyre didn’t argue. “Okay.”
Y/N blinked.
That… wasn’t the response she expected.
Her eyes snapped back to the female. “You’re not going to stop me?”
Feyre met her gaze evenly. “I’m not going to force you to do anything.”
Something in Y/N’s expression flickered.
Confusion. Brief and unwelcome.
“Everyone forces something,” she said bitterly.
Feyre was quiet for a moment before replying, “Not here.”
The certainty in her voice was… unsettling.
Y/N searched her face again.
For cracks. For lies. For something.
But there was nothing obvious to grasp onto, and that made it worse. Her shoulders felt too tight. Her thoughts too loud.
Everything inside her kept waiting.
For the turn. For the catch.
For the moment it all revealed itself as another illusion.
It didn’t come.
Only silence. Only space.
Only that steady, patient presence.
Her eyes drifted back to the food again. This time, she didn’t look away immediately.
“…You’re going to leave?” she asked, quieter now.
Feyre nodded. “If you want me to.”
Another pause, Y/N hesitated.
Then, “…Leave the door open.”
The words were barely above a whisper.
Feyre didn’t question it.
“Okay.”
She moved to the door, opening it wider before stepping out.
And just like that, she was gone.
Y/N was alone again. But not in the same way as before. Her gaze lingered on the open doorway.
Then slowly, carefully, shifted back to the tray. The room remained quiet.
Still. Safe. For now.
After a long moment, she pushed herself to her feet.
Her legs trembled. She ignored it.
One step. Then another.
Until she reached the table and stood there for a while.
Just… looking.
Waiting for something to happen.
For something to stop her.
Nothing did.
Slowly, cautiously, she reached out, her fingers brushed the edge of the plate. Warm. Real. Her throat tightened.
And for the first time since waking...she let herself take something.
Sleep didn't come. It hovered--just out of reach--like everything else in this place. Y/N lay still in the too-soft bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet.
No chains.
No footsteps.
No guards breathing down her neck.
Just...silence.
She waited.
Counted her breaths, tracked the rhythm of the house. Listened for patterns.
And when the night deepened--when the quiet shifted into something softer, something unguarded--she moved.
Slowly, carefully.
Every step was deliberate as she slipped out of the bed, wincing slightly as her legs protested. Her body still wasn't hers. Too weak. Too unsteady.
Didn't matter. She wasn't staying.
The door was still open, just as she had asked. That, somehow, made her chest tighten more than if it had been locked. She paused at the threshold.
Waited...nothing.
And so, she stepped out.
The halls were empty. Dimly lit, quiet, vast.
Nothing like the suffocating tunnels she had clawed her way out of. This place breathed.
It lived.
Her steps were uneven, but she forced herself forward, one hand brushing the wall occasionally to steady herself. Every turn was cautious, every corner checked twice before she moved.
It took longer than it should have.
But eventually...She found the outside.
The doors opened with ease. Too much ease.
And then-
Air.
Fresh. Cold. Real.
It hit her all at once. Y/N froze at the threshold, breath catching sharply in her throat as the night unfolded before her.
Stars. Actual stars.
Not imagined. Not remembered. Not stolen in fragments through cracks in stone.
Endless. Vast. Beautiful.
Her chest tightened painfully.
Grass brushed against her bare feet as she stepped forward slowly, like she expected it to vanish beneath her.
It didn’t. It bent, soft and very much alive.
A shaky breath left her lips.
She walked further out, eyes lifted to the sky, taking it in like she didn’t know where to look first. The gates stood ahead--tall, wrought iron, stretching high into the night. Freedom.
So close. Too close.
She laughed quietly under her breath, the sound fragile, disbelieving.
“This isn’t real…” she murmured.
It couldn’t be, nothing came this easy.
Nothing ever did. She took another step. Then another.
Walking backward now, eyes still on the sky, as if she could drink it in before it was taken from her again-
And collided with something solid.
A chest.
Warm. Unyielding. Y/N gasped, spinning instantly-
And there he was.
The dark-haired male. Closer now. Too close.
Moonlight carved his features into something sharp and almost unreal--high cheekbones, strong jaw, shadows clinging to him like they belonged there. His hazel eyes locked onto hers, steady, watchful, something unreadable flickering beneath the surface.
Her body reacted before her mind did.
She ran.
Pain shot up her legs instantly, her breath hitching, but she pushed through it, panic flooding her veins as she tried to put distance between them.
A shadow flickered.
And then, he was in front of her.
She barely had time to stop before she collided into him again, but this time his hands caught her arms, steadying--no, pinning--her against the nearest wall.
“Wait- ”
“Don’t touch me!” she snapped, thrashing weakly against his hold.
His grip loosened immediately. Then vanished entirely.
He stepped back like she’d burned him.
“Sorry,” he said quickly, voice low. “I’m sorry- I didn’t- ”
She pressed herself harder against the wall, breathing uneven, eyes wide and locked on him.
Space. He gave her space.
That mattered slightly. Not enough.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked, quieter now.
She let out a sharp, humorless breath. “What does it look like?”
His gaze flicked briefly toward the gates. Then back to her. “You’re in no condition to run.”
Her chin lifted, defiance snapping back into place. “That’s not your concern.”
Something tightened in his expression. “It is if you collapse halfway there.”
“I’d rather collapse out there than stay in here.”
The words hung between them.
Raw. Honest. Ugly.
He didn’t argue, didn’t dismiss it. Just watched her. Really watched her. It made her skin itch.
“Move,” she said, pushing off the wall slightly. “I’m leaving.”
He didn’t block her. Didn’t step in her way. Just stood there.
“Then go.”
She stilled.
That- That wasn’t right.
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not going to stop me?”
A pause.
Then, quietly, “I’m not going to force you to stay.”
Her stomach twisted.
That again. That freedom.
It didn’t feel like freedom. It felt like a trap she didn’t understand.
“…Why?” she asked, more guarded now.
He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. “Because you’ve had enough taken from you already.”
The answer hit harder than she expected.
She didn’t like that. Didn’t like him. Didn’t like the way he spoke like he understood anything about her.
“You don’t know anything about me,” she snapped.
“No,” he admitted. “But I want to.”
She scoffed. “That makes one of you.”
Something flickered in his eyes. Pain?
No. Impossible. She looked away first. Silence stretched, heavy, charged. Too close.
“…What’s your name?” she asked suddenly. The question slipped out before she could stop it.
His brows lifted slightly.
“Azriel.”
The name settled strangely in her mind. Sharp. Quiet.
He hesitated only a moment before asking, “Yours?”
She let out a short, bitter laugh. “As if you don’t know.”
Something in his expression shifted. “We didn’t,” he said. “Not until- ”
He stopped too late.
Her head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “Until what?”
He exhaled slowly, debating, choosing. “…Until recently.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the truth.”
Her jaw clenched. “No,” she said coldly. “It’s convenient.”
Silence again. Tension wound tight between them. Finally, he sighed, shoulders dropping slightly.
“Very well,” he said quietly. “You can leave.”
She blinked.
Caught off guard.
“But,” he added, gaze steady now, “at least let your body heal properly before you do.”
Her lips parted slightly.
Closed.
Opened again.
No argument came.
Because he was right. And she hated that.
“…Fine,” she muttered at last. “A few days.”
Relief flickered across his face--quick, restrained, but there.
“Alright.”
Another pause. Then, he gestured faintly toward the house. “I’ll walk you back.”
“I don’t need- ”
“You don’t,” he agreed. “But I will anyway.”
She glared at him. He didn’t budge.
Eventually, with a frustrated exhale, she turned. And walked.
He followed--at a distance. Not crowding, not touching. Just… there. They stopped outside her door and the moment stretched. Neither moved to open it. The air between them felt different now.
Quieter. Thicker.
Her gaze lifted--met his again. Closer than before.
Close enough to see the faint lines of exhaustion on his face. The way his shadows curled tighter around him, as if reacting to her presence. Her chest tightened.
Unwanted. Unexplained.
“Don’t follow me again,” she said softly. A lie and she wasn’t sure if she meant it. His gaze didn’t leave hers. “I won’t,” he said.
Another pause. Too long. Too charged. She reached for the door.
Hesitated, just for a second.
“You’re wrong, you know,” she whispered.
His brows pulled together slightly. “About what?”
She didn’t answer, just opened the door and stepped inside. It shut between them with a quiet click. But his presence...It lingered long after he was gone.
The days blurred. Not into nothing, like before, but into something...unfamiliar.
Measured. Different.
Someone always came. Not all at once, never overwhelming. Always one at a time.
Always careful.
After Feyre, it was the blonde. Bright, too bright.
She had entered like the sunlight didn't belong only outside--like she carried it in with her. Smiled too easily. Talked too much.
"I'm Mor," she'd said, like it mattered and Y/N had only stared.
Mor had filled the silence anyway. While Madja would busy herself with checking Y/N, Mor would sit near her bed and talk nonstop. Stories, useless things, gossips, talks of the latest fashion, small things. Things that didn't matter and yet, somehow, did.
Y/N only listened, never responded. But she hadn't told her to leave, either.
Then came the dark-haired one. Sharp, cold, controlled.
"Nesta."
That'd been all she'd offered at first. Y/N had expected hostility. Challenge. Something biting. Instead, she got understanding. Not spoken or offered, but still there. in the way Nesta didn't push, didn't soften her words, didn't pretend like things were fine.
They sat in silence for a long time. And for once, it wasn't suffocating.
"You don't have to trust them," Nesta had said at one point, staring ahead instead of at her. "But don't lie to yourself either."
Y/N had frowned. "About what?"
Nesta had glanced at her then. "About the fact that you're not where you were anymore."
That'd stayed with her long after Nesta left.
The pretty one came next. Soft, quiet.
"Elain."
She'd spoken like every word needed permission before leaving her lips. Brought flowers. Left them near the window. Didn't expect anything in return.
Y/N didn't understand her, but she didn't throw the flowers away either.
And then...the tiny one.
"Amren."
She didn't pretend or soften. Just like Nesta but harsher, more realistic.
She looked at Y/N like she was something to be studied. Measured. Understood. "You're not weak," Amren had said bluntly. "You're suppressed."
Y/N had stiffened. "By who?"
Amren had only smiled slightly. "Now that," she said, "is the interesting question."
Between them all...something shifted. Not trust, never that. But...space didn't feel like threat anymore. Silence didn't feel like a punishment. Food didn't feel like bait. Her body started to remember itself. Stregth came back slowly, painfully, but it came.
And sometimes...rarely...she caught herself not waiting for something bad to happen. She hated those moments.
On the fourth day, the door opened again. Y/N straightened instinctively, back against the headboard, expecting yet another female with soft voice, gentle eyes and careful steps.
Instead-
Fire.
He filled the doorway like he belonged there.
Auburn hair catching the light, amber eyes sharp and assessing, a smirk already tugging at his mouth like he knew something she didn’t.
The same male from the night. The one who had stood beside the shadows. Y/N sat up straighter.
More alert now, more present. Stronger.
He noticed. Of course he did.
“Well,” he drawled lightly as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him, “this is an improvement. You look less like you’re about to bolt for the nearest exit.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Disappointed?”
His smirk deepened.
“Devastated.”
She didn’t respond.
Didn’t look away either.
He moved further into the room, slower than most would—like he understood that rushing her would end badly.
Smart.
“Eris,” he said, almost lazily, as if introducing himself at a party instead of standing in front of someone who had nearly clawed her way out of his court.
She didn’t offer her name, didn’t need to. His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer. Assessing, curious, not pitying, never pitying. Good.
“So,” he continued, glancing briefly around the room, “I assume the hospitality here is vastly superior to what you’re used to.”
Her jaw tightened. “Don’t.”
A flicker of something crossed his face, gone just as quickly. “Noted.”
Silence fell, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, not like before. He leaned casually against the wall, arms crossing loosely, watching her like he had all the time in the world.
“You’ve been behaving,” he added after a moment.
She scoffed. “Is that what you call it?”
“I call it progress.”
“I call it waiting.”
His brow lifted slightly. “For what?”
Her eyes met his.
“For the moment this all turns into something else.”
Something darker, something real. He didn’t dismiss it, didn’t argue. Just nodded slightly, like he understood exactly what she meant.
“Fair,” he said.
That threw her more than anything else he’d said.
Silence stretched again.
“Take me outside.”
The words came out before she could stop them.
Sharp. Sudden. Demanding.
Eris stilled, actually stilled. His eyes flicked over her face, searching for something, hesitation, maybe. Uncertainty.
There was none. Only resolve.
“I want to go outside,” she added, quieter now. “Not just… look at it. I want to be there.”
A pause. Then, slowly, that smirk returned. Not mocking. Something else. Something almost… pleased.
“Well,” he said, pushing off the wall, “you could have just asked nicely.”
She didn’t react. Didn’t soften. Didn’t take it back.
His gaze held hers for a moment longer.
Then he tilted his head slightly toward the door. “Come on, then.”
Agreement. Clear as anything.
Y/N swung her legs off the bed, rising more steadily this time. And for the first time, She didn’t hesitate before moving toward him.
The clothes felt strange. Not wrong...just unfamiliar. Soft fabric brushed against her skin as she adjusted her sleeves, tugging them down slightly as if that might ground her in them. They fit well anough, too well. Like someone had thought about it, tailored to the soft curve of her hips and the fullness of her figure as if her body had been considered, not hidden.
She didn't like that.
Still, it was better than before. Better than rags, better than cold. Better than nothing. Y/N glanced herself once in the mirror before looking away just as quickly. She barely recognised the girl staring back. Too clean. Too whole.
Too...free. The thought sat uneasily in her chest.
A knock came. Eris, he was waiting for her.
She opened the door.
Eris stood there, already looking her over, quick, assessing, but not intrusive.
Something in his expression shifted. Subtle. Approval? He masked it quickly. “Well,” he said, pushing off the doorframe, “you clean up nicely.”
She rolled her eyes and stepped past him. “Don’t get used to it.”
He chuckled softly, falling into step beside her.
They walked slower this time, not because he couldn't go faster but because she couldn't. And he matched her pace without comment. That didn't go unnoticed.
The River House gardens stretched out around them--lush, quiet, alive in a way that still felt unreal. The scent of flowers lingered in the air, carried by a soft breeze that brushed against her face like something gentle instead of cruel.
Y/N’s steps slowed.
Her fingers brushed against the petals of a nearby bloom.
Soft. Delicate. Real.
She exhaled slowly, something tight in her chest loosening just a fraction.
Eris watched her, and didn’t interrupt. Didn’t make a comment.
Just… let her take it in.
“You’re not taking me out,” she said after a moment, glancing ahead. “Not really.”
His mouth twitched. “You’re not ready for Velaris.”
“I didn’t say I wanted Velaris.”
“No,” he agreed lightly. “But you’d try to disappear into it anyway.”
She didn’t deny that. They walked a few more steps in silence.
Then, she turned towards him. "You don't seem like you belong here."
Eris arched a brow, turning his head toward her. "Oh?" he drawled. "And why is that?"
"...I don't know," she muttered. "You just don't."
His smirk returned, slower this time. "Because of the red hair?"
Heat crept up her neck. "No- I- that's not what I meant."
He laughed. Not loudly, but enough to make her glare at him. "You're right," he said after a moment, tone shifting slightly. "I don't belong here."
She blinked. He didn't slow as he added, "Because I'm the High Lord of Autumn."
Y/N stopped walking, completely shocked. Her mouth parted slightly, clearly gaping at him as she stared at his back. "...You're what?"
He kept going. Didn't even look back. "Try to keep up," he tossed over his shoulder. "I'd hate for you to get lost in a garden."
Her shock snapped into irritation. She hurried after him, ignoring the protest in her legs. "You're lying."
"I rarely lie about titles, my sweet innocent dove."
She caught up to him, eyes scanning his face like she might find proof he was lying. “You’re serious.”
“Tragically.”
Her mind reeled. High Lord.
Another one.
And he was just...walking beside her like it meant nothing.
“What are you even doing here then?” she demanded. “Shouldn’t you be… ruling something? Somewhere else?”
“Oh, I do,” he said casually. “I simply make time for important matters.”
She frowned.
“And this is… important?”
He stopped walking and turned to her. For once, there was no smirk. No amusement. “Very.”
The weight of that single word settled heavily between them. She swallowed and looked away first.
They started walking again.
“You’ve all been… rotating,” she muttered after a moment. “Coming in one by one. Talking. Watching.”
Her eyes flicked to him. “What kind of plan have you all come up with?”
Eris huffed a quiet breath.
“Ah,” he said. “You noticed.”
“I’m not stupid.”
“I never said you were.”
He gestured lightly ahead as they walked.
“The blonde one, Mor. She’s Rhysand’s cousin.”
Y/N blinked. “…What?”
“Feyre,” he continued, “is his mate. High Lady.”
Another pause.
“His what?”
Eris’s mouth twitched.
“Nesta is Cassian’s mate. Warrior. Temper to match.”
"Elain, is their sister and my one-of-a-kind brothers mate."
“And Amren,” he added, glancing at her, “is something you don’t want to underestimate.”
Y/N shook her head slightly, trying to piece it all together.
“They’re all… connected.”
“Yes.”
“Family.”
“Yes.”
Something twisted in her chest again.
She shoved it down. Hard.
“Then why are you here?” she pressed. “You don’t belong to them. You said it yourself.”
Eris was quiet for a moment. “I go back and forth,” he said lightly. “More often than I’d like.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
He stopped again. Turned to her fully this time.
And something in his expression shifted--subtle, but undeniable.
“Because of you.”
Her breath caught. “…What?”
“And,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “because my mate is here.”
The world seemed to tilt. “You- your mate is here?”
He smiled. Slow, knowing. And turned away again.
“Eris,” she snapped, stepping after him. “Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Dropping things like that and then walking away.”
He chuckled. “I thought you enjoyed puzzles.”
“I don’t.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
She glared at his back but kept following. The garden opened into a quieter space, a large tree stretching its branches wide, casting soft shadows across the grass beneath.
They stopped there. For a moment, neither spoke.
Y/N reached out, fingers brushing along the rough bark of the tree, grounding herself in something real, something solid. Eris watched her again.
And for the first time, she caught it.
That slight softening in his expression, gone almost as soon as it appeared, but she had seen it. Her chest tightened and she didn’t understand why.
“…Does he know?” she asked quietly.
Eris glanced at her. “Who?”
“Rhysand.”
His gaze lingered on her for a moment. “He knows you’re here.”
Her jaw clenched.
“Of course he does.”
“He hasn’t come to see you yet.”
“Good.”
The word came out sharper than she intended.
“I’m not seeing him,” she added, more firmly. “Not now. Not ever.”
Eris didn’t argue.
Didn’t try to convince her otherwise. Just leaned slightly against the tree, arms crossing loosely.
“He’s waiting,” he said.
She scoffed. “Let him.”
Silence settled again. But it wasn’t heavy. Not suffocating. Just… there.
“I know what you’re all doing,” she muttered after a while. “Sending them in. One by one. Trying to make this place feel… normal.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line. “It won’t work.”
Eris tilted his head slightly. “Maybe not.”
She glanced at him. “Then why do it?”
His gaze held hers. Steady and unwavering.
“Because,” he said quietly, “you haven’t run yet.”
Her breath hitched. Just slightly, annoyingly. She looked away, but didn’t deny it. And that...that said enough.
The knock came earlier than usual. Not soft or hesitant.
Deliberate.
Y/N glanced toward the door, brows pulling together slightly before she pushed herself off the bed. She opened it.
And froze. It was him.
The shadows curled at his shoulders before slipping back, like they had been waiting just outside.
Azriel.
He looked… composed. More than the last time she had seen him. Controlled in a way that felt practiced.
“Come on,” he said simply.
She blinked. “…What?”
“I’m taking you out.”
Her eyes narrowed immediately. “No, you’re not.”
His expression didn’t change. “I got the all-clear.”
“From who?”
“Madja.”
A pause.
“…Still no.”
His mouth twitched, barely. “You’ll be careful,” he added. “I’ll make sure of it.”
She crossed her arms. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“No,” he agreed calmly. “You do.”
That made her hesitate. Just for a second.
He noticed. Of course he did.
“I’ll be outside,” he said, stepping back. “If you don’t come, I won’t force you.”
And then he turned and left.
Just like that.
Y/N stared at the empty doorway for a long moment. Her jaw tightened. “…Unbelievable.”
She went anyway.
Velaris stole the breath from her lungs. Not violently, not like fear. Gently, completely.
Y/N stepped out beside him, her pace slowing almost instantly as her eyes tried--and failed--to take everything in at once.
Color, light, life.
People moved through the streets like they belonged there—laughing, talking, living without fear clinging to their every step.
It felt… unreal.
“They don’t know,” she murmured.
Azriel glanced at her. “Know what?”
“How lucky they are.”
His gaze lingered on her for a moment, then shifted back ahead. “Some of them do.”
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Because she was still staring at everything.
The first shop he led her into smelled like leather and something warm, something familiar she couldn’t quite place.
Her fingers brushed over fabrics, objects, small trinkets that meant nothing and yet everything all at once. She picked something up, turned it in her hands and set it back down. A moment later it was gone. She frowned and looked around to see Azriel standing near the counter, already handing something over.
Her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t.”
He didn’t even look at her. “It was in your hands too long.”
“That doesn’t mean I wanted it.”
“It does.”
“It doesn’t.”
“It does.”
She scoffed. And yet, She didn’t tell him to put it back.
It kept happening. A glance too long, a touch too curious.
And somehow, he noticed every single one. By the time they left the third shop, his hands were full. Bags hanging from both arms.
She stared at him. “You look ridiculous.”
He glanced down at himself, then back at her. “I’ve been called worse.”
That almost, almost, made her smile.
She was… everything. Not in the way poets spoke. Not soft. Not delicate. But alive.
Even with the scars. Even with the sharp edges and the mistrust still lingering in every glance, she felt like something the world had tried to bury and failed.
Azriel leaned slightly against the wall of the shop, shadows curling low, watching as she moved through the space. Carefully. Curiously.
Like she didn’t trust the beauty around her to stay. His chest tightened. Eris’s words from the night before echoed quietly in his mind.
She’s ours.
Azriel hadn’t answered then, hadn’t needed to.
Because he felt it. In the way his shadows leaned toward her, in the way his instincts sharpened, not in warning, but in protection. In the way something deep inside him settled when she was near. And unraveled when she wasn’t.
Our mate.
The word still sat heavy. Unspoken. Unavoidable. Azriel exhaled slowly. Watched her smile, just barely, at something small in her hands and knew, there was no turning away from this.
The next shop was different.
Softer lighting. Flowing fabrics. Dresses draped like they belonged on bodies far more delicate than hers. Y/N slowed near the entrance, her steps faltered.
Azriel noticed immediately. Of course he did.
“You’re not going in?” he asked quietly.
She crossed her arms, gaze flicking over the displays. “…These won’t fit me.”
The words came out flat, dismissive, practiced. Azriel went still. Not confused, not surprised. Just… still.
“They will,” he said.
She shook her head. “No. They’re made for...” she gestured vaguely at a mannequin. “That.”
Slim. Effortless. Easy.
She turned slightly, already ready to move on, A hand caught her wrist. Firm. Warm. She stilled.
Azriel stepped closer, not crowding, but close enough that she could feel the shift in him. Something darker. Something steadier.
“Wear whatever you want,” he said quietly.
Her breath hitched.
“You have every right to.”
Her gaze flicked up to his. There was no teasing there, no softness, either. Just certainty.
“And if it doesn’t fit,” he added, voice dropping slightly, “we’ll find something that does.”
Something in her chest tightened uncomfortably.
Moments later, after trying on a few clothes, she stepped out.
The dress hugged her curves, soft fabric draping over her hips, cinching slightly at her waist, dipping just enough to feel…exposed.
Y/N shifted. “It’s too much.”
Azriel didn’t answer. Didn’t move. His gaze dragged slowly over her, taking in every line, every curve like he was committing it to memory.
Something dark flickered in his eyes. “Keep it,” he said.
Not a suggestion but a decision. Her stomach flipped. And for the first time, she didn’t argue.
The café was quieter.
Tucked away from the main streets, soft music humming faintly in the background as they sat across from each other.
Y/N turned the cup in her hands, watching the way the liquid inside moved. Still real. Still hers.
Azriel sat across from her, quieter now. Less watchful.
Or maybe just… better at hiding it.
“You all seem very… close,” she said after a moment.
His gaze lifted. “We are.”
She hummed.
“And the High Lord?” she added, tone shifting just slightly. “Is he as perfect as everyone makes him out to be?”
Azriel didn’t rise to the bite. “He’s not perfect.”
She scoffed softly. “Good. That would’ve been unbearable.”
A faint shadow of a smile touched his lips “He cares,” Azriel said instead. “More than most people realize.”
She didn’t look at him. Didn’t want to.
“He respects the people around him,” he continued. “Feyre. Her sisters. Everyone in that house.”
Y/N’s grip tightened slightly on her cup. "Respect,” she echoed. “Right.”
“He didn’t know,” Azriel said quietly.
Her head snapped up. Sharp and immediate. “Don’t.”
“He didn’t- ”
“I said don’t.”
The air between them shifted. Tense. Her walls snapping right back into place. Azriel held her gaze for a moment longer.
Then, he leaned back slightly and changed direction. “…Have you ever thought about it?”
Her brows pulled together. “Thought about what?”
“A mate.”
The word landed heavy. Unexpected. Her fingers tightened slightly around the cup. “I- ” she hesitated. “No.”
A beat. “I never had the time,” she added, quieter now. “Or the right… circumstances.”
His gaze didn’t leave her. “What about now?”
She huffed softly, looking away. “Now?” she muttered. “Now I barely know what to do with freedom.”
Fair. Too fair.
Still, “If you did,” he pressed gently, “what would you want?”
She stilled. Thought about it. For the first time, not as an abstract concept, but something real. “…Someone strong,” she said slowly. “Not just physically.”
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
“Someone who doesn’t break when things get hard.”
His shadows stilled.
“Someone who doesn’t lie,” she added. “Or hide things.”
That hit. She didn’t see it. Didn’t notice the way something darker flickered in his eyes.
Didn’t notice the way his grip on the edge of the table tightened just slightly. She kept going. “Someone who wouldn’t let something like…” she gestured vaguely. “…that happen.”
Silence. Heavy now. She finally looked back at him and caught it. That shift, that darkness.
Her brows pulled together slightly. “What?”
He exhaled slowly, shook his head. “Nothing.”
She didn’t believe him, but she didn’t push. Instead, she leaned back slightly, crossing her arms.
“And you?” she asked, tilting her head. “What about you?”
His gaze met hers again. Steady and Unreadable. “I already know mine.”
Something in her chest tightened. She didn’t understand why, didn’t want to. So she looked away. Back to the city, back to the life moving around them. But the feeling, It stayed. Lingering, unsettling. And far too close to something she wasn’t ready to name.
It almost felt… normal.
That was the most dangerous part.
Y/N sat in one of the open sitting rooms of the River House, sunlight spilling through the wide windows, warming the space in a way she still wasn’t used to. The city stretched beyond the glass: alive, distant, real.
Nesta sat across from her, one leg crossed over the other, watching in that quiet, knowing way of hers.
Feyre stood near the window, speaking softly about something, Velaris, the people, the way the city had been rebuilt, protected. Y/N only half listened, her attention kept drifting. To the door, to the space behind her, to the feeling that something was coming.
She didn’t like being in the same room as Feyre and so, she tolerated it. Barely.
Every time Feyre spoke, every time her presence filled the room with that calm, steady warmth, something sharp twisted in Y/N’s chest. His mate. His cousin. His family. She clenched her jaw slightly. Mor had been easier to ignore. Lighter. Feyre wasn’t. Feyre felt like something real. That made the hatred harder to hold.
“...you don’t have to stay,” Feyre was saying gently.
Y/N blinked, dragged back into the moment. “I know, I will leave soon.” she muttered.
Nesta’s eyes flicked between them, unconvinced.
Azriel stood near the far wall, silent as ever, shadows barely moving. But he was watching, always watching. That, too, she had gotten used to. Almost. The door opened. No one reacted at first, not immediately. Then, everything shifted. Y/N felt it before she saw him. That power.
Cold and vast. Suffocating in a way that made her lungs tighten and her skin prickle all at once. Her head snapped toward the doorway.
And there he was.
Rhysand.
For a moment, the world went completely silent.
All she could see, was him.
And all she could feel, was everything else.
The dungeon. The chains. The blood.
Her mother screaming...Her breath hitched violently.
“No.” The word came out before she could stop it. Rhys stilled completely. Like even breathing too loudly might break something further.
“Y/N- ” he started, voice careful, too careful-
“Don’t.” Her hands trembled. Her vision blurred. “You don’t get to say my name.”
The room shifted around them. Feyre moved slightly. Cassian--when had he come in?--tensed near the doorway.
But Y/N didn’t see any of it.
Couldn’t.
Because he was there. Alive. Whole. Untouched.
While she-
“Where were you?” she demanded, her voice rising, cracking, breaking under the weight of years. “Where were you when I was down there?!”
Rhys flinched, actually flinched. It didn’t matter.
“You’re the High Lord, aren’t you?” she went on, her words tumbling out faster now, sharper, angrier. “Nothing happens in your court without you knowing, so where were you?!”
“I didn’t know- ”
“Liar!”
Power flickered around her, wild, unstable, lashing out in waves she couldn’t control.
The room seemed to tremble with it.
“You knew!” she screamed. “You had to know—no one just disappears for years and you just, what? miss it?!”
“I didn’t know,” Rhys repeated, stronger this time, desperation creeping in. “I swear to you- ”
“Don’t swear to me!”
Her voice broke. Her knees threatened to give out.
“You don’t get to stand there and act like this wasn’t your fault!” she choked out. “Your father, your court, your blood, this is because of you!”
Something shattered across Rhys’s face then. Not anger, not pride.
Grief. Raw and unfiltered.
It flickered there, just for a moment, but it was enough.
Enough to make something inside her stutter.
Feyre stepped forward, a hand reaching for him. “Rhys- ”
Cassian moved too, gripping his shoulder, pulling him back slightly. But Y/N wasn’t done. Couldn’t stop. All the years, all the pain, all the hatred she had kept buried, it poured out. Uncontrolled. Unrelenting.
“I watched her die!” she screamed. “Do you understand that?! I watched them kill her and then they locked me away like I was nothing, and you- ”
Her voice broke completely. “You did nothing.”
Silence crashed down. Heavy and suffocating.
Rhys looked like he’d been struck. Like something vital had been ripped straight out of him. And for just a second, just one, Y/N saw it.
The truth in his face. The devastation. The not knowing.
It hit her hard. Confusing. Wrong. Her breath stuttered, her power flickered wildly, and then her body gave out. She stumbled backward, and collided into something solid. Arms caught her. Strong, steady. Eris.
Azriel was already moving.
In front of her. Blocking her view, blocking him.
“Get her out of here,” Azriel snapped, his voice sharper than she had ever heard it.
Eris didn’t hesitate. His arms tightened around her as her body shook violently, her breaths coming too fast, too broken. The world twisted, darkness curled, and then...nothing.
Grass.
Cool. Soft. Real.
Air filled her lungs in a sharp, desperate inhale as her body jerked forward, hands digging into the ground beneath her. Her entire frame trembled uncontrollably.
“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” a voice murmured close to her ear.
Eris.
His arms were still around her, holding her steady as she shook, as the sobs she hadn’t allowed herself in years finally tore their way out. She couldn’t stop. Didn’t try to.
His hand came up, brushing her hair back gently, grounding her, steadying her. “It’s over,” he said quietly. “You’re alright.”
Her breath hitched again and again, and then slowly, slowly—
She became aware of the air. Of the quiet. Of the scent...different. Her head lifted slightly, her vision cleared and she froze. Endless trees, burning gold and deep crimson. The air was warmer here, richer. Alive in a different way.
Her brows pulled together, confusion breaking through the haze of everything else. “…What?” she whispered.
Eris shifted slightly behind her. She turned and looked at him fully. Really looked. And for once, There was no smirk, no teasing. Just something soft, something real.
He reached up, brushing the remaining tears from her cheeks, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. And smiled. Small and genuine. “Welcome to Autumn, Y/N.”
I haven’t been as active recently due to personal reasons, and also due to the fact that I have the immune system of a victorian child and had been horribly sick and vomiting for quite a while (I’m much better now).
So overall, you could say my mental and physical state wasn’t the best and I just had 0 motivation for anything (which was worsened with my midterms and projects all piling up one after the other)
But, I’m back again, hopefully much more energized and will try my hardest to release my work properly!!
P.S: A Heart Unchained part 2 will be posted today🎉🎉🎉
Thank you for all the support and love on my work🫶🏻
Heyyy! I have a little fanfiction idea with Azriel x reader with a vibe similar to the film She's a Man or Mulan, or maybe the protagonist pretends to be a man in the camps to escape marriage and she befriends the three boys, especially Azriel, so of course when he discovers she's a woman, all hell breaks loose! Thaaaaaaaank’s💋
Clad in Honor, Built on Lies- Azriel x fem!reader
Warnings: violence, angst, fluff towards the end, happy ending
A/N: Hello there! As someone who loooves Mulan, this was such a blast to write. I loved this request so much that I just HAD to do it justice🥹 (some parts have been written somewhat similar to the scenes in the animation)
See masterlist
She learned that silence was safer than honesty.
In her father's house, words were weighed like weapons, and hers were always found wanting. She was praised for stillness, for obedience, for the way she learned to disappear into corners when men spoke of alliances and advantages. Her life wasn't measured in years, but in usefulness--what she could secure, who she could bind herself to, what her body and name could purchase for her family.
The marriage was decided before she was asked.
An Illyrian male, older, brutal by reputation alone. A reward for loyalty. A transaction dressed up as honorary. She was told it would protect her family that this was the way of things, that fear was merely the cost of being born female in a world that prized strength above mercy.
She didn't cry when she heard.
Crying would have meant hope. And hope, she had learned, was the most dangerous thing of all.
She ran away the night before the ceremony.
No jewels. No farewell. Only a blade she barely knew how to wield and a cloak stolen from a servant's peg. The city gates were unguarded at that hour, the sentries half-asleep and drunk on routine. By the time dawn broke, she was already bleeding--hands torn raw from climbing, lungs burning from running without rest.
She did not stop until the world narrowed to survival.
It was in a nameless village near the mountains that the idea took shape. Not all at once--nothing so dramatic--but piece by piece, stolen from overheard conversations and the way soldiers moved through the streets without being questioned. Men were allowed to be angry. Men were allowed to fight. Men were allowed to leave, to do as they please. Men were allowed everything.
Men were allowed to live.
The transformation was not elegant.
She cut her hair herself, hands shaking as the strands fell into the dirt. Bound her chest until breathing hurt. Learned to walk heavier, to take up space instead of shrinking from it. She practiced lowering her voice, roughening it with disuse and hunger, until it sounded passable enough to avoid scrutiny. Every movement became deliberate. Every instinct--rewired.
She chose the name Bran because it was simple. Because it did not invite curiosity. Because it could belong to anyone.
The Illyrian camps did not ask many questions. They never did. A body willing to bleed was more valuable than a story. She arrived thin, bruised, eyes too sharp for her age, and claimed she had nowhere else to go. The male who recorded her name barely looked up.
"Bran," he repeated, scratching it down. "You'll either last or you won't."
That night, lying on a thin cot among strangers who smelled of steel and sweat, she stared at the ceiling and felt something unfamiliar settle in her chest.
Not safety but possibility.
She did not know then who she would meet in those camps. Did not know how deeply a lie could root itself, or how dangerous it was to be seen for the wrong reasons. All she knew was that she had chosen survival over submission.
And for the first time in her life, the choice was hers.
Life as Bran was...surprisingly tolerable. Not easy, but tolerable.
The camp was brutal in the ways it had to be--cold stone or muddy floors, yelling instructors and commanders, rations barely enough to keep a body moving--but she noticed quickly that as a male, no one tried to push her around. She could exist without commentary, without the thinly veiled condescension women were trained to endure. She could sweat, bleed, curse, and no one would think twice.
Bran learned fast how to survive. He bathed in the river when he could, careful to hide himself behind a large rock or a cluster of trees. He learned to keep his hair very short and messy without it being suspicious, to mask softness in his hands with calluses, to lower his voice just enough that no one questioned it. Every meal, every manoeuvre, every training exercise was approached with the same quiet calculation: don't slip. Don't let anyone see the cracks. Don't give anyone a reason to ask too many questions.
Training itself was...merciless. Marching, running, lifting, weapons drill--all of it she could handle. But the hand-to-hand combat, the brawls, were the worst. They required too much proximity. Too much trust. Too much exposure. Every grapple, every thrown punch, made her pulse hammer in terror-not of pain but of discovery. One misstep, one too-close moment, and her secret would crumble.
And yet, she survived. Slowly, her body hardened. Her reflexes sharpened. Bran became just another soldier, at least one on the surface.
Until Cassian appeared.
He was brash, loud, and impossibly confident--exactly the sort of person she would have rolled her eyes at in any other situation. But there he was, leaning against the training wall, smirk in place as he flicked a short blade up and down in one hand.
"You," he called out, pointing at her, "yeah, you with the awkward stance. Ever consider fighting with style, or is that a full-time commitment to looking like you're about to fall over?"
Bran scowled. "I'll have you know I've almost mastered style. Just...not your style."
Cassian grinned, eyes lighting up like he'd found a new toy. "Oh, you got fire, huh? I like that. I'm Cassian. And you are?"
She hesitated, then gave the practiced name she'd chosen so carefully. "Bran."
"Bran, huh?" he circled her like a hawk inspecting prey--or maybe just a friend looking to annoy someone. "Not bad. Not bad at all."
Before she could reply with a pointed remark (or shove him into a mud puddle), a voice cut through.
"And I'm Rhysand," said the newcomer, with a polite smile that carried a hint of mischief. "And if you're going to let him harass everyone, I'll be the one to call him out. Pleasure, Bran."
Bran raised an eyebrow. "You're in on this too?"
Rhys only shrugged, perfectly calm while Cassian laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd heard all day.
Then there was the third. The quiet one. Shadowed at the edge of the group, observing rather than participating. His eyes were dark, sharp, and impossibly still. He spoke little, but when he did, his words cut through the noise.
"Don't encourage him too much," he said to Bran, nodding at Cassian. "He'll think he's invincible."
Bran blinked. Who...was this? He didn't smile, didn't laugh, didn't look like he belonged in the same circus. He simply...existed, watching, judging, interfering only when necessary.
"Bran," Cassian said, louder this time. "don't tell me you're intimidated by him already."
Bran scowled. "Intimidated? No. Just...annoyed. Very annoyed."
Rhysand smirked faintly. "He's Azriel. Don't let his quiet fool you. He'll have the last word eventually. He always does."
Bran groaned. Great. Two loud idiots and a quiet one who somehow made you feel like a misstep would end in public humiliation. And yet… despite all of it, there was a spark of amusement she couldn’t quite hide. The days as Bran had been tense, exhausting, and terrifying. But these three idiots… these three boys would make surviving camp slightly more bearable.
At least until one of them figured out she wasn’t actually Bran.
They days settled into a rhythm--somewhere between gruelling training and stolen moments of quiet--but Bran quickly realized she wasn't alone in her misery.
Cassian, Rhysand, and Azriel had taken it upon themselves to stalk her, or as they called it, "watch over" her. Bran didn't appreciate it. Not at all.
“You know,” she said one afternoon after being nudged into another push-up contest, “I’m starting to think I’ve been singled out for some cosmic form of punishment. Why am I the chosen victim of your constant stalking?”
Cassian leaned back on his elbows, grinning like the world was a playground and she was his favourite toy. “Because you’re… fun to annoy?”
"Fun to annoy?" Bran repeated, incredulous. "Do I look fun to annoy?"
Rhysand, ever the calm one, smirked faintly. "You're...different. Not in a bad way. It's refreshing."
Cassian’s grin widened like he’d been waiting for the perfect moment to drop this gem. “Alsooo,” he said, nudging Bran again with an elbow, “we just want to be friends. You’re the only guy who actually isn’t acting like- ” He paused dramatically, “like every other soldier who thinks training is a contest of ‘who can look the toughest while being completely insufferable.’”
Bran blinked, torn between exasperation and something else she didn’t recognize. Friendship? Not that she trusted the word just yet, but… she allowed herself a small, reluctant smile.
From that day, they followed her less like predators and more like...companions.
Training sessions became collaborative rather than competitive. Bran found herself laughing at Cassian’s ridiculous claims: “I’m going to be the greatest warrior of all time, probably the king of the skies too, and maybe invent a weapon that slices through literally anything”while Azriel rolled his eyes, muttering things like, “And pigs might fly, while we’re at it.”
Rhysand, surprisingly, was the voice of reason and sarcastic commentary all in one. "Try not to die while inventing impossible weapons, Cassian. The camp would miss you...barely."
Bran began to notice small things:
Azriel’s quiet attentions, subtle but intentional--he’d nudge her back into line during drills or be there in the shadows when she had trouble keeping pace.
Rhysand’s calm patience, the way he offered advice without making her feel incompetent.
Cassian’s energy, which was exhausting but strangely comforting.
She started feeling...something she hadn't allowed herself in years: normalcy.
It came out one night, around the fire, when the three of them were sharing stories of why they were in the camp--more like Cassian and Rhysand were sharing their stories while Azriel just watched--and what they hoped to be. Bran had just survived a particularly gruelling sparring match and collapsed into the dirt, listening.
Cassian talked first, of course, puffing out his chest as he kept loudly dreaming about his new glorious visions for himself...again. "I'm going to be the greatest warrior. Maybe I'll have my own squad one day. I'll be the hero everyone talks about in songs!"
Azriel, leaning against a tree, raised an unimpressed brow. "And you'll probably get yourself killed before breakfast."
Cassian laughed. "Details, details. Heroism is never tidy."
Then came Rhysand's turn, quiet as ever, voice low and smooth. “I was sent here by my father. Not… voluntarily. To train, to survive, and to prove myself.”
Bran tilted her head. “Your father?”
“Yes,” Rhysand admitted softly. “I am… not just another soldier. My family expects more of me. One day, I’ll… rule.”
Bran blinked. Prince. She almost choked on the word. For a second, the boy who had teased and joked with her every day seemed impossibly distant. But just as quickly, he leaned back, joking again, “And yes, I am still better at archery than both of you, so quit whining.”
Neither Azriel nor Bran spoke about why they are here, about their pasts. Maybe because the words felt too heavy, too sharp to be handled without drawing blood. Or maybe because some truths, once spoken aloud, refused to stay in the past and demanded to be lived through all over again.
The banter resumed as if nothing had changed, but Bran felt the shift. She was slowly, surprisingly, allowed into their world--not just as Bran, but as someone they trusted. Someone they wanted around.
Bran noticed Azriel most in quiet moments. He was slower to speak, slower to laugh, slower to let her in--but always there, just on the edge of the group. He watched, assessed, and sometimes, in the middle of training, would offer a word or a nudge that made her heart skip without her knowing why.
Cassian and Rhysand’s friendship was loud, full of jokes and jostling, but Azriel’s was quiet, deliberate, and far more dangerous because it made her feel… seen.
And Bran didn’t trust it. Not yet.
But every day, every laugh, every sparring match, every sarcastic comment and ridiculous boasting brought her closer.
Even if she still considered them infuriating little pricks.
The day had started like any other, crisp air, the sound of swords clanging, Cassian's obnoxious laughter echoing through the training yard. Yet something felt off.
Azriel hadn't shown up. Not once.
Normally, it wasn’t alarming. He disappeared into shadows often, brooding, wandering, doing whatever it was he did when he wasn’t training with them. But today… he hadn’t even met them at their usual routine--the stretch by the cliffs before breakfast, the morning sparring sessions, the practice run along the ridges where Bran, Cassian, and Rhysand would inevitably fall laughing into the mud.
"Have you...seen Azriel?" Bran asked, trying to sound casual as she wiped dirt from her hands.
Cassian shrugged, twirling a blade lazily. "He probably went ghosting in the mountains again. You know him."
Rhysand exchanged a glance with Cassian, hesitated. "Yeah...he tends to disappear for long stretches sometimes. It's...normal."
Bran frowned, frustration prickling her skin. "Normal?" She pressed. "How is it normal to just vanish for an entire day without anyone knowing?"
The two boys exchanged a glance. "He'll be fine. trust us, we have known him longer than you." Cassian said finally, but Bran wasn't convinced. Her stomach twisted into anxious knots she didn't usually allow herself.
By nightfall, she could no longer stand it. Every fiber of her being demanded she find him. Wrapping her cloak tight around her, she followed the familiar trail through the woods until the camp faded behind her, and the lake came into view. Its surface was frozen, moonlight glinting off the ice, and there he was--Azriel--sitting at the edge, unmoving, as if carved from shadow himself.
She hesitated, then stepped closer, boots crunching over frost, and sat a respectful distance beside him. Silence stretched between them, long and heavy, filled with all the words neither had yet said.
Finally, he stirred, looking at her with eyes that seemed to pierce straight through her carefully constructed mask. "Why are you here?" he asked, voice low, almost startled as if waking from a dream.
"You didn't show up all day," she said, softly, unsure if she was speaking to Bran or to herself. "And...I guess I just got worried. A little."
He scoffed, turning his gaze back to the frozen lake. "No need to worry for me. I can handle myself."
Bran’s chest tightened. She got up slowly, standing behind him, voice steady but tinged with emotion. “I know,” she said. “Believe me, I know better than anyone what it’s like to be trapped, to have no one care if you live or die. But… there are people who do care. Who would search for you. Who won’t leave you behind. I know that.”
He was silent, taking in her words. After a moment, he finally exhaled a long, tired sigh while staring at the stars. “Today,” he said quietly, almost to himself, “is the anniversary of my escape.”
Bran's heart stuttered. Escape? "Your...escape?" she asked cautiously.
He nodded, lips pressed into a thin line, and let out a cold, humourless laugh. "You think I had these shadows from the moment I was born?"
"No?" she whispered, shocked, unable to hide the awe and horror in her voice.
He glanced at her briefly, expression hardening. “My father… my stepbrothers… they locked me in a cell for years. Tortured me. Separated me from my mother. Thought they could break me. Thought no one would care.”
Bran’s chest tightened so painfully it was almost physical. The parallels to her own life--her escape, her family’s sacrifice, the constant weight of survival--hit her in waves. Carefully, carefully, she recounted her own story, twisting it to fit Bran’s persona, leaving out every detail that would betray her, every softness that would make him suspect.
For a long while, they shared silence again, letting the frozen lake hold their secrets.
Then came the voices--soft but insistent.
"Azriel? You up here?" Rhysand called.
Cassian's voice soon followed, teasing and loud, "Don't hide in the shadows forever. The world's missing your broody glare!"
Azriel only gave a small nod in response, and for the first time that day, Bran saw a faint shadow of a smile tug at his lips. As they headed back to camp, Bran moved to separate from the boys, but Rhysand's hand on her shoulder stopped her.
"No," he said firmly. "Come with us."
Bran raised an eyebrow, cautious. "Am I...allowed?"
Cassian laughed. "Of course you are."
Rhysand smiled. "My mother already knows about you. There's plenty of room in our house for you too."
Bran's eyes widened. "Your...mother?"
Azriel, for the first time ever, made a joke, voice low and dry: “Yes. And she makes the best meat pies in the entire world.”
Her chest twisted with unease, scepticism, and a flicker of fear. Yet the boys calmed her, insisting, guiding, and by the time she followed them, the warmth of their trust felt heavier than any weight she’d carried in years.
The house was… everything she had imagined a prince’s home would be, but somehow more understated. Stone walls and polished floors, tapestries that didn’t scream wealth but whispered it, rooms that were large yet intimate. She found herself marvelling quietly as they moved through the corridors, the firelight glinting in polished wood.
And then she met her.
Rhysand’s mother. She was luminous, serene, and powerful in a quiet, commanding way. Her smile when she saw Bran was warm, like she’d been expecting her all along.
“You must be Bran,” she said softly. “Rhys has told me so much about you.”
Bran’s throat tightened. Rhysand was the spitting image of his mother--same dark eyes, same easy charm. And yet, she could see the gentle warmth he reserved only for those he truly cared for.
And then… the youngest. Estelle. A bright, bubbly girl with a smile that immediately made Bran feel at home. She spoke freely, laughing with her mother and with Rhysand, asking questions, welcoming Bran as if she had always belonged.
Bran allowed herself to feel it--the warmth, the safety, the home. The food placed in front of her, the soft bed in a room just for her, the easy camaraderie. The friendship.
And for the first time in a very long time, she let herself think maybe… maybe she could belong somewhere, be herself, and not just survive.
But then everything changed.
It happened at dawn.
Not the slow, creeping kind that gave warning--but the violent kind, when the sky was still bruised purple and the camp lay half-asleep, weapons stacked, guards relaxed. The first scream cut through the air like a blade.
Then fire.
Spring Court colors flooded the horizon--greens too bright, magic too wild--soldiers pouring in waves, their war cries shattering the morning calm. Tents went up in flames. Steel rang. Orders were shouted and lost all at once.
Bran didn't think. She moved.
Her sword was in her hand before fear could catch her, body responding on instinct honed by months of punishment and repetition. She ducked beneath a blast of magic, rolled through mud and ash, and came up swinging. Training took over--feet grounded, strikes precise, breath controlled.
She didn't know where Rhysand and Cassian were, who they were fighting. But Azriel was there.
She didn’t remember how they ended up back-to-back, only that suddenly his presence was solid at her spine, shadows snapping and striking like living things. They moved as one--her blade flashing low and fast, his daggers ending fights before they began.
"Left," he muttered.
She pivoted, blocked, countered.
"Behind you," she warned, breathless.
He didn't look--just trusted.
The camp was chaos. Illyrians fought desperately, pressed back toward the cliffs that bordered the frozen lake. More Spring Court soldiers kept coming. Too many. Far too many.
They couldn't win this head-on.
Bran's eyes flicked upward--and then she saw it.
The ridge above the lake. Ice layered thick from weeks of cold. The magic blasts cracking the earth beneath it. One well-placed strike...
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
"Azriel," she shouted, grabbing his arm mid-fight. "The ridge. If we bring it down- "
He followed her gaze, understanding flashing instantly. "You'd bury all of us."
"Not if we time it," she said, already moving. "Cover me."
He swore under his breath--but nodded.
She sprinted.
Magic scorched the ground at her heels as she climbed, fingers burning from the cold, lungs screaming. She reached the ridge and drove her blade into a fracture already spreading through the ice. Another strike. Then another.
The world held its breath. Then the ridge gave way.
Ice, rock, and frozen earth thundered down in a roaring wall, swallowing the front lines of the Spring Court soldiers whole. Screams vanished beneath the crushing weight. The lake shattered, water exploding upward in a violent surge.
For a heartbeat, there was silence.
Then cheers.
They had done it. She had done it.
Relief flooded her--too fast, too soon.
She turned to run back...and that is when the blast hit.
Magic slammed into her side, white-hot pain tearing through her body. She was lifted off her feet, thrown hard against stone. Something cracked--maybe bone, maybe more. Her vision blurred, blood warm against the freezing air.
She tried to crawl. Tried to stand.
Another blow grazed her shoulder. Her sword slipped from numb fingers. Azriel shouted her name, but it sounded distant, warped, like she was already underwater.
Her strength gave out.
The sky spun. The noise dulled. Cold crept in where fire had been.
The last thing she felt was the ground rushing up to meet her...and then nothing at all.
Azriel had survived worse fights. That was the cruel irony of it.
The Spring Court attack had been brutal, yes, tents reduced to ash, blood frozen into the mud, bodies carried away in silence, but the fighting itself had been familiar. Manageable. Something he understood. He had moved through it like he always did, shadows striking, daggers precise, instincts honed by years of violence.
What he did not understand was the hollow ache in his chest afterward.
The camp was a ruin by nightfall. Fires smouldered where laughter had once lived. Healers moved endlessly between stretchers, hands glowing, faces drawn tight with exhaustion. The wounded were everywhere, groaning, bleeding, clinging to life.
And Bran was nowhere he could see.
He knew where he was, of course. The healers had taken him immediately, carried him away among hundreds of others. Unconscious. Broken. Still breathing, at least, that was what Azriel told himself, over and over, like a prayer he did not believe in.
They sat on a bench outside the healer tents, the three of them. Cassian restless, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. Rhysand unnervingly still, hands clasped, eyes dark with thought. And Azriel--silent, staring at the ground as if it might open and swallow him whole.
“He saved us,” Cassian said hoarsely, breaking the silence. “You know that, right? If he hadn’t--if he hadn’t done that- ” He cut himself off, running a hand through his hair. “Gods. That was insane. Brilliant. Completely reckless.”
Azriel swallowed.
Reckless. Yes. That was the word.
Bran had seen what none of them had. Had acted without hesitation. Had trusted that the earth and ice would fall exactly as needed--and it had. Hundreds of Spring Court soldiers buried beneath it. The camp saved.
And Bran nearly killed for it.
“He shouldn’t have had to,” Azriel said quietly.
Cassian stopped pacing, turning toward him. “None of us should have. But he did. And now he’s lying in a healer’s tent while we’re out here breathing.”
Rhysand exhaled slowly. “We can’t pretend this didn’t change things,” he said. “The camp won’t. The commanders won’t. Someone that young pulling off something like that?” He shook his head. “They’ll take notice.”
Azriel didn’t respond.
All he could see was Bran sprinting toward the ridge, jaw set, eyes burning with purpose. Could still hear the crack of ice, the roar of destruction. Could still feel the moment afterward, the split second of relief before the blast hit him.
Before Bran fell.
His hands curled into fists. He had covered him. He was supposed to protect those beside him. That was the rule. That was always the rule.
Footsteps approached.
Azriel’s head snapped up as a healer emerged from one of the larger tents. She was pale, exhaustion etched deep into her features. When she spotted them, she stopped--and bowed deeply.
“My prince,” she said, voice low. “We need to speak.”
Something in her expression made Azriel’s shadows stir uneasily.
Rhysand rose immediately. “Of course.” He glanced back at Cassian and Azriel. “I’ll be back.”
Cassian frowned. “About Bran?”
The healer didn’t answer. She simply turned and walked back toward the tent.
Rhysand followed.
Azriel stayed seated, but every instinct screamed for him to move, to follow, to do something. Instead, he sat there, helpless, listening to the sounds of the camp around him, to the groans and murmurs and crackling fires.
Waiting.
And for the first time in a very long time, Azriel realized something terrifying.
He was afraid.
Not of war.
Not of pain.
But of what he might lose--of what he already feared he cared about far more than he should.
Cassian broke the silence first. "He's going to be fine."
He dragged a hand down his face, pacing again. "He has to be."
Azriel didn't answer. His attention was splintered--half on the healer tents, half on the memory of Bran crumpling against stone. Every second stretched too long. Every sound scraped against his nerves.
Then it happened.
Both of you. Get here. Now.
Rhysand's voice slipped into Azriel's mind without warning--tight, controlled, unmistakably urgent. Azriel's head snapped up. Cassian froze mid-step.
They exchanged a single look and that was all it took.
They were on their feet immediately, striding toward the tent Rhysand had entered minutes earlier. Azriel’s heart began to pound harder with every step, dread coiling tighter around his ribs. He prepared himself for blood. For death. For the words we did everything we could.
The worst possibilities clawed at him. The tent flap was pulled aside. Inside, the air was heavy--too still.
Rhysand stood near the foot of a cot, arms crossed tightly over his chest, face pale and unreadable. A single healer remained, her expression grave. And there--lying motionless beneath thick blankets--was Bran.
Alive. Unconscious.
Azriel's breath hitched despite himself.
Cassian glanced around, confused. "Where are the others?"
Rhysand didn't answer. He only stepped aside.
The healer moved then, hands trembling just slightly as she reached for the blanket. Slowly, deliberately, she pulled it down.
Azriel's world tilted.
Bran's chest was wrapped tightly in bindings. Not bandages.
Bindings.
They were soaked through in places, darkened with blood, stretched tight enough that the shape beneath them was unmistakable. The rise of a chest that had never belonged to a male. The curve that months of illusion, posture, and discipline had hidden from them all.
From him.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Azriel couldn’t.
His thoughts scattered violently, crashing into one another--anger, disbelief, betrayal, horror, fear. His shadows recoiled, writhing, as if shocked into silence.
Female.
Bran was-
No.
She was-
Cassian’s voice broke through, sharp and incredulous. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he blurted. “You’re telling me Bran...Bran was a female this entire time?”
Azriel barely heard him.
His gaze was locked on her face, too pale, lashes dark against her skin, lips parted slightly with shallow breaths. Unconscious. Broken. Vulnerable in a way she had never allowed herself to be while awake.
She had fought beside him.
Trusted him.
Lied to him.
Anger flared--hot and vicious--followed immediately by something worse.
Fear.
She could have died. Had nearly died. Had gone into battle bound and bleeding and hidden, carrying a secret that could have gotten her killed long before today.
Azriel couldn’t breathe.
He turned sharply, stalking out of the tent before anyone could stop him. The cold air slammed into his lungs, but it didn’t help. His heart hammered violently, thoughts spiralling out of control.
Female.
All this time.
The jokes. The camaraderie. The quiet moments by the fire. The trust. The escape, she had said. Her voice echoed back to him now, twisted and raw.
He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing like a caged animal, shadows flaring erratically around him. Fury burned--but it had nowhere to land. Not on her. Not when she lay unconscious, broken because she had saved them all.
He had been fooled.
And somehow… that hurt more than the lie itself.
She woke to pain.
Not the sharp kind--but the deep aching weight that settled into her bones, made every breath feel measured and deliberate. The air smelled of herbs and smoke, of clean linen and old blood. Canvas rustled softly overhead.
A healer sat beside her cot.
Y/N froze.
Memory rushed back all at once--the ridge, the ice, the blast, Azriel’s shout. Her breath hitched sharply as awareness snapped into place, and instinct took over. She gasped and reached for the blanket, fingers trembling as she tried to pull it higher-
A gentle hand stopped her.
“There’s no need,” the healer said softly. “I already know your secret. You’re safe here.”
Y/N's chest rose and fell too fast. Slowly, she let the blanket fall back into place, exhaustion crashing into relief so heavy it almost hurt. She swallowed.
"...Did you tell them?" she asked, voice rough.
The healer hesitated--just a fraction.
"I had to," she said quietly, "he is the prince."
Of course.
Y/N closed her eyes, a long breath slipping out between her lips. So they knew. All three of them. The boys she had fought beside. Laughed with. Lied to.
Her fingers curled into the sheets. "Does anyone else know?"
Fear edged her voice now--real, unmasked.
She knew what the Illyrian camps were like. What they did to women who broke their rules. She knew she wouldn’t survive a single night if the wrong ears heard the truth.
“No,” the healer said firmly. “No one else. I swore silence, and so did the prince. You are protected.”
Y/N nodded, relief and dread tangling together.
“I’ll call the prince and his friends when you’re ready,” the healer added gently. “But first, you should know your condition. You’ve broken two ribs, suffered internal bruising, and lost a dangerous amount of blood. You’re lucky to be alive.”
Lucky.
Y/N let out a quiet, humourless breath. “How long… how long was I out?”
“Today is day three.”
She absorbed that in silence.
Then, after a moment, she said, “Okay.” Her jaw set. “I’m ready. Please tell them to come in.”
The healer studied her carefully. “Are you sure? You could rest. Take more time.”
Y/N shook her head. “No. I just want to get this over with.” Her voice dropped. “It’ll make my exile easier.”
The healer didn't argue. She only nodded and slipped out of the tent. Alone again.
Y/N stared up at the canvas ceiling, heart pounding, mind racing. She replayed every moment, every joke, every shared meal, every quiet look. She now braced herself for fury, for disgust, for disappointment.
For losing them all.
Footsteps approached and then the tent flap opened.
Rhysand first: calm, composed, eyes sharp but not unkind. Cassian beside him, expression conflicted, worry and disbelief warring across his face. And Azriel...
Azriel didn't look at her. Not once.
His jaw was tight, posture rigid, gaze fixed anywhere but on her. Shadows clung to him unnaturally still.
Y/N exhaled slowly. "...Well," she said hoarsely. "I suppose you caught me at last." A pause. "I am female."
Silence.
"Yes," Rhysand said calmly. "I know. And I have known this whole time."
All three of them froze in shock.
Cassian whipped his head toward Rhysand. "You--what?"
Even Azriel turned then, eyes flashing in disbelief.
Rhysand sighed lightly. “When you first arrived at the camp, I checked your mind. Without your permission,” he added, glancing at Y/N. “For security reasons. My father taught me to. I saw… everything. Your life. Your escape. Why you were here.”
Y/N stared at him, stunned. “Then why didn’t you tell them?” she asked quietly. “Why didn’t you turn me in?”
Rhysand met her gaze evenly. “Because I knew you would tell them yourself. Or circumstances would force the truth out.” A small, knowing smile curved his lips. “And because it was never my secret to reveal.”
Something in Y/N’s chest loosened, just a little.
Gratitude welled up, sharp and overwhelming. She nodded once, swallowing past the tightness in her throat.
The truth was out.
And nothing--nothing--would ever be the same again.
Y/N drew in a steadying breath.
"For the other two of you," she said quietly, gaze lifting to Cassian first, then--briefly--to Azriel, "who didn't know...let me explain."
Rhysand inclined his head once, giving her the space.
She stared at the tent wall as she began, as if the words were etched there already, waiting to be read.
"I was promised to a male before I ever knew what marriage truly meant," she said. "A political match. Convenient. Beneficial. And everyone told me I should be grateful."
Her fingers tightened in the blankets.
"I knew what he was," she continued. "What men like him do when no one is watching. I knew I would lose everything--my voice, my freedom, my body." A breath shuddered through her. "So, I ran."
Cassian's face softened, all humorous gone.
“I cut my hair,” she said. “Bound my chest until I could barely breathe. I stole clothes too big for me and learned how to walk, how to speak, how to exist as a male.” Her mouth curved in something bitter. “I saw the way the world opened for them. How they’re allowed to be angry. Loud. Reckless. How no one questions their presence...or their worth.”
She finally looked at them.
“I wanted that life. Not for glory. For survival.” Her voice wavered only once. “So, I became Brandon. And I never looked back.”
Silence stretched thick between them.
“I know you might feel anger,” she said softly. “Or betrayal. But you were the only real friendships I’ve ever had. The only place I felt… peace.” Her eyes burned, but she didn’t look away. “And even if it was brief--those moments meant everything to me. I will always be grateful for them.”
Cassian blinked.
Then he scoffed--not cruelly, but in disbelief--and shook his head. “Are you serious?” he said, stepping closer. “Angry? No. Shocked, yeah. But impressed?” A grin tugged at his mouth. “Absolutely.”
Y/N frowned slightly.
“You survived Illyrian camps,” Cassian went on, voice growing animated. “You fought beside us. You saved our asses more times than I can count. I’ve been yelling at commanders for years that this place needs female warriors, and they never listen.” He gestured at her like she was proof incarnate. “You just proved them all wrong--and they don’t even know it.”
A huff of laughter escaped him. “That’s- gods, that’s impressive.”
“Cool,” he added.
Azriel’s head snapped up.
“Cool,” Azriel repeated sharply. “Not cool.” His voice cut through the tent like a blade. “And certainly not something to praise.”
Cassian opened his mouth, but Azriel didn’t stop.
“You lied to us,” Azriel said, finally turning toward her fully. His eyes were dark, furious, not with hatred, but with something far more dangerous. “You built an entire false identity. You stood beside us under a name that wasn’t yours.”
Y/N lifted her chin. "I was going to be married off to a man who would've owned me," she said. "Who would've hurt me. Once I escaped, I had nowhere to go, to stay. This camp, as weird as it sounds, was the only place left."
"That doesn't change the fact that we trusted you," Azriel shot back. His voice rose--not shouting, but tight, restrained. "We shared our lives with you. Our histories. I considered you one of us."
"You still can," she said quietly. "I did this to survive."
"You don't get to decide that for us," he snapped.
Her patience finally snapped.
"No. You don't get to decide anything about this," she said, voice fierce now. "You have no idea what it means to be a female in this world. You don't get the right to speak freely. Or choose your future. Or even exist without being owned by someone else."
She held his gaze, unflinching.
"You don't get to be angry at me for doing what I had to do, because you'll never live what I have lived."
Something shifted. Just barely.
Azriel's jaw clenched. His fury faltered--not gone, but fractured. He looked away with a sharp scoff, crossing his arms.
"Whatever," he muttered.
Cassian broke the tension gently. "So," he said, softer now. "What's your real name then?"
"Y/N," she said.
The name settled into the space between them--real, vulnerable, irrevocable.
Rhysand exhaled softly, as if steadying himself.
"We need to get you out of here, Y/N. Before anyone finds out."
The words hit her like a blade.
She swallowed hard, heart plummeting. “Yes,” she said quickly, panic threading her voice. “I know. I- I understand. I’ve committed a vile mistake, and I accept the consequences, I need to be exiled, but please...just give me one day. One day to stand on my feet again and I’ll leave. I swear I won’t cause trouble.”
Rhysand blinked.
“Exiled?” he echoed, genuinely confused. “No. You’re not being exiled.”
She froze.
“I’m getting you somewhere safe,” he continued gently. “I’ve spoken with my mother. We both agreed--you cannot stay in the camps. Not now. Not ever again.”
Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
“There is a city in the Night Court,” Rhysand went on, careful with every word. “Far safer than this place. But my father resides there, and while he is just--while he is kind--he is also bound by tradition. If he knew your story, he would feel compelled to punish you. Severely.”
Her hands trembled beneath the blankets.
“So, for now,” Rhysand said, “I’ll send you to the Court of Nightmares. My cousin, Mor, will take care of you there. You will be protected. You won’t have to hide.”
The world tilted.
“You may decide where you wish to go afterward,” he finished. “What life you wish to build. But that choice will be yours.”
Y/N stared at him, stunned.
“I- ” Her voice cracked. “I don’t… I don’t even know how to repay you.”
“You don’t,” Rhysand said simply. “You live.”
She sucked in a shaky breath. “Thank you,” she managed. “I- thank you, truly.”
“I’ll winnow her there.”
Azriel’s voice cut in quietly.
Everyone turned.
He stepped forward, extending a hand, not demanding, not rushed. An offering.
“I’ll make sure she’s settled,” he said, eyes finally lifting to meet hers. “Safely.”
Something unspoken passed between them: regret, shame, understanding. An apology without words.
She felt it.
And she took his hand.
Cassian cleared his throat, then grinned, though his eyes were warm. “Yeah,” he said. “And if anyone gives you trouble until then, I’ll break their legs. Politely.”
A breathy laugh escaped her before she could stop it.
For the first time since waking, her chest felt lighter. And for the first time since running, she wasn’t alone.
"...and that happened over four hundred years ago."
Silence.
Feyre, Elain, and Nesta stared at Y/N as if she'd just grown two heads.
Then Feyre blinked. Once. Twice. "...Whoa."
Y/N laughed, soft and bright, leaning back against the cushions of the River House sofa. “Yes,” she said. “Whoa.”
Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows, catching on the Sidra beyond. Time had moved gently here--centuries folding into peace. Elain sat cross-legged on the rug, absently twirling a curl of Nyx’s dark hair around her finger as the boy dozed against her chest.
“And you just- ” Feyre shook her head, grinning in disbelief. “You just became a soldier?”
“A very angry one,” Nesta muttered dryly.
Y/N smirked.
Elain tilted her head, eyes soft. “And… did you and Azriel reconcile fully after that?”
Before Y/N could answer, Nesta snorted. “Obviously. Otherwise why would they be mates right now?”
Y/N rolled her eyes fondly, but her smile lingered. “It didn’t happen all at once,” she said. “It was… slow. Painfully so. Trust had to be rebuilt, brick by brick. Azriel needed time. I needed patience. And somewhere between shared silences, late-night training, and him learning how to listen instead of brood...” She paused, lips curving. “...things changed.”
Nesta scoffed. “Shocking.”
Feyre laughed and then looked at Nesta. “Well,” she said lightly, “looks like your mate did end up becoming the warrior-commander he once dreamed of being.”
Y/N laughed too, but then her expression softened, something tender and sad settling in her eyes as she looked at Feyre, then at Nyx.
“I just wish you’d met Rhys’s mother,” she said quietly. “And his sister. They were the kindest, most welcoming fae I had ever known.”
A hush fell.
Feyre swallowed. “I know,” she whispered. “Rhys has told me so much about them. But I believe they’re still here--with us.”
Elain hugged Nyx a little closer, smiling gently. “You really are one of a kind, Y/N.”
“You’re right about that.”
Azriel’s voice cut through the room as he stepped inside.
Y/N barely had time to turn before strong arms wrapped around her from behind, a kiss pressed to her temple. She leaned back into him instinctively, smiling as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Cassian followed, immediately dropping onto the arm of Nesta’s chair. “Are we telling war stories again? Because if so, I demand a rewrite. I was far more impressive than she made me sound.”
“You praised yourself enough in her version,” Nesta said sweetly.
Rhysand entered last, Feyre rising to meet him as Nyx stirred, murmuring in his sleep.
Laughter filled the room--warm, easy, earned.
Y/N let it wash over her.
Once, she had been a girl running for her life. A soldier hiding behind a borrowed name. A secret wrapped in armor and fear.
Now, she was surrounded by family--chosen and found. By love that had survived lies, war, and time itself.
She caught Azriel’s hand, lacing their fingers together.
Then and now, she thought, this is what survival became. And she wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Could u write reader telling Azriel she’s pregnant 🙏🏼❤️
The Quietest Joy- Azriel x reader
Summary: A single confession changes everything Azriel thought he knew about the future. Some joys are too big for words, even for shadows.
Warnings: none
A/N: soo sorry for the late uploads my lovies, but I try my best and upload as soon as I have the moment. Hope this is to your liking <3
See masterlist
Azriel senses it before he understands it.
Not danger--his shadows would have screamed if it were that. Not fear, either. This is something else entirely, something warm and trembling that hums through the bond he doesn't even realize he's leaning on.
She's standing by the window when he enters the room, Velaris stretched out beneath the stars. Her hands are clasped together, fingers worrying at one another, shoulders squared like she's bracing for impact. The sight alone pulls him taught, instincts sharpening despite himself.
"Love," he says quietly.
She turns, and the look in her eyes stops him mid-step.
There's nervousness there, yes--but beneath it is wonder. Awe. The kind of emotion Azriel has only ever seen on battlefields after victory, or in the rare moments when hope survives against all odds.
His shadows drift toward her without permission, curling around her calves, brushing her wrists. They hum, restless and strangely gentle.
"What's wrong?" he asks, already cataloging a dozen worst-case scenarios. She exhales, a slow, steady breath, and gives a small shake of her head. "Nothing's wrong," she says. Then, softer, "I just...I didn't know how to tell you."
That tightness in his chest worsens.
Azriel moves closer, stopping only an arm's length away. "You can tell me anything," he says immediately, firmly. He means it with every scar he's earned.
Her lips tremble. She glances down, one hand drifting--not consciously--to her stomach. The movement punches the air from his lungs.
"I'm pregnant," she says.
The world doeasn't end.
Itsimply...stills.
Azriel's thoughts scatter, dissolve, leave him standing there like a fool as the words echo over and over in his head. Pregnant. With his child. His shadows freeze, suspended mid-air like they've forgotten how to move, how to exit.
He opens his mouth and nothing comes out.
For centuries, he's believed himself unworthy of soft things. Love had come as a surprise--terrifying, precious. But this? This feels like the universe making a mistake. Like something too good has been placed in his hands he doesn't trust himself to use gently enough.
She mistakes his silence instantly.
"I- I know it's sudden and we weren't planning for this," she rushes, eyes shining now. "And if you need time, I understand. I just didn't want you to hear it from anyone else. I needed you to know that I'm not asking for anything, I just- "
Azriel moves.
He fills the space between them and cups her face, careful, reverent, as though she might vanish if he presses too hard. Her words die instantly.
"Stop," he murmurs, voice rough. "Please."
She looks at him, searching, uncertain.
"You think I'd ever see this as a burden?" he asks quietly.
Emotion claws its way up to his throat--fear, awe, joy, terror, love--all tangled together until he doesn't know where one ends and the other begins. His hands shake as they slide down to her waist, then pause, hovering uncertainly.
"Can I?" he asks, nodding faintly toward her stomach.
Her answering smile breaks something open inside him. She places his hand there herself. The contact is nothing--and everything.
There's no kick, no movement yet, but Azriel swears he feels something settle into place. Like a missing piece he never knew how to name.
"I will be a father," he whispers.
His shadows surge back to life, curling around her protectively, around them, as though they've accepted this truth without question. They already know what he's still trying to believe.
Tears burn behind his eyes, humiliating and unstoppable.
"I don't know how to be this," he admits, forehead dropping to hers. "I don't know how to deserve it. But I swear to you- " His voice breaks. He swallows hard. "I will spend the rest of my life protecting you both. Every breath. Every shadow."
She presses her hand over his heart, grounding him. "I don't need perfection," she whispers. "I just need you."
Azriel laughs softly, brokenly, the sound unfamiliar even to himself.
"You have me," he says without hesitation. "You always have."
He gathers her into his arms then, wings folding instinctively around her, sheltering. For the first time in his long, bloodstained life, the future doesn't look like something he must survive.
It looks like something he gets to love.
And Azriel--shadows, scars, and all--lets himself believe that maybe...this miracle chose him on purpose.
i just finished Crafted by Flame and wanted to say thank you for sharing your work with us. God the heartache!! The drama!! It was so well written and so charming. Thank you thank you thank you
Thank you love, I’m beyond grateful for anyone who reads my work❤️
Blood and Wings- Cassian x fem!pregnant wife reader
Summary: While Cassian is gone, danger finds its way back home—leaving him racing back to what he almost lost
Warnings: violence, blood, angst, mentions of SA, maybe some typos (It's late and I'm about to go to sleep😭) happy ending
See masterlist
Cassian has been checking the buckles on his leathers for ten minutes. Which would be fine--if he hadn't already checked them twice.
He stands in the middle of the living room, wings half-furled in that restless was that always gives him away. He's dressed for Illyria--dark leathers, siphons gleaming, hair tied back--but he keeps glancing at Y/N like he's waiting for an excuse not to go.
"Cass," she says gently, one hand resting over he stomach, "you're going to miss your mission if you keep on stalling."
"I'm not stalling," he lies immediately, tugging at the same shoulder strap he's tightened three times.
Y/N raised a brow.
He sighs. "Okay maybe I'm stalling a little."
He crosses the room in those slow, heavy steps that always make the floorboards creak--the steps he takes when he's reluctant, when he's torn. His hands cradle her face before she can say another word, thumbs brushing her cheeks, gaze flicking down to her belly like he can see right through her.
"You'll call for me the second anything feels off," he murmurs. Not a questions. A plea disguised as an order. "Even the smallest thing."
"I will."
"And you'll stay inside."
"Yes, Cass."
"And keep the wards up."
"They're already up."
"And you won't- "
"Cassian." Y/N laughs before wrapping her arms around his waist before he can spiral into another list. "I'll be fine. You'll only be gone for a day. Maybe two."
His breath shakes--enough for her to feel it against her forehead as he presses his to hers.
"I hate leaving you right now," Cassian admits, voice low, rough. "Every instinct in me is screaming to stay."
"I know," she whispers, leaning into his warmth. "But Rhys made his orders clear. And I'll be right here when you get back. Besides, everyone is going to watch over me like I'm some type of a porcelain doll. I know you made sure of it."
He places a hand over hers--over the swell of their child--and closes his eyes. Something softens in him, and something tightens.
"I'll be back as soon as I can." he says, like he's promising more than safety. Promising safety. Promising return.
When he kisses her goodbye, it's slow, lingering, almost cautious--like he's memorizing the shape of her before he goes.
He pulls back just enough to look at her again. "Two days," he repeats. "Three at most."
"You'll be back before we even notice you're gone."
But the truth is--Y/N notices already, in the way the space beside her feels colder the moment he steps toward the door.
He hesitates one last time, hand braced against the frame, wings drawn tight. "I love you," he says quietly. "Both of you."
And then, with one last look--heavy, reluctant, full of that protective ache he'll never admit aloud--Cassian leaves.
Y/N watched the door close behind him, the echo of his boots fading down the hall. The room suddenly felt too large, too quiet--like the air itself was holding its breath. She placed a hand over her stomach, tracing the swell there, trying to anchor herself in the familiar warmth, in the life she carried.
The morning dragged on slower than it ever had before. Tasks that usually passed in a blur--tidying, preparing food, reading--felt heavy, their edges sharp in the silence. She noticed little things she'd never paid attention to before: the subtle creak of a floorboard, the wind brushing too harshly against a window, the way shadows pooled in corners that usually stayed bright.
A shiver ran through her, she told herself it was nothing. Cassian would have said the same if I'd fretted over every noise, she thought, trying to summon a smile. She spent the day keeping busy, her mind repeating the same thought over and over: He'll be back before I even notice he's gone.
By afternoon, the light had softened, golden and warm, filtering through the windows like it always did. Feyre and Elain had come and visited her soon after Cassian left. But now, as she sat alone once more in the sunlit room, there was a weight pressing at her chest--a tiny, almost imperceptible unease she tried to shake. She shook her head, counting the minutes until dinner, until anything that resembled normalcy returned.
Evening arrived quietly. She lit candles, their soft glow casting dancing shadows on the walls, and tried to setlle herself. She hummed a song softly, brushed her hair, and prepared for bed, telling herself the day had been ordinary, that the quiet had simply been peace.
And yet, as she moved through the dim hallway toward her chamber, the feeling prickled again. Something was off--just on the edges of her perception, like a shadow that didn't belong. Her heart ticked faster for a moment, then she shook her head firmly. It's nothing. I'm imagining things. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on the warmth of the fire, the softness of her bed.
Night crept in fully, and with it came the quiet that pressed a little too close, that made every small sound seem larger. Y/N slipped beneath the covers, tugging them close, and tried to ignore the whisper of unease curling at the edges of her thoughts. She told herself to sleep. To rest. To trust in the world she knew.
But then-
A sound.
The first sound didn't seem dangerous. A faint creak somewhere downstairs. The kind the house sometimes made when the wind shifted.
Y/N shifted in bed, blinking into the dim orange glow of the dying fire. Then came a second sound. Not a creak. A thud. Heavy. Deliberate.
Her heart stuttered.
She pushed herself upright slowly, listening. the silence that followed was worse than the noise--it was too complete, too controlled, as if someone were holding their breath, waiting for movement above. That uneasy flutter from earlier slammed back full-force.
Too loud. Too heavy. That wasn't the house.
Y/N slid one leg off the bed, then the other. Her breathing shortened, her pulse quickening in her throat as she padded to the door. A faint vibration tremored through the floorboards--another thump, followed by a low scrape.
A voice--deep, rough, unfamiliar--muttered something she couldn't catch.
Her blood turned to ice. Someone is inside.
Her hand cupped her belly instinctively. She moved silently across the room toward the small dagger Cassian insisted she keep "just in case," tucked inside the bedside drawer. Her fingers trembled as they curled around the hilt.
Another voice joined the first. This one closer. "Upstairs."
Y/N's breath hitched. A chill carved its way down her spine. They were coming for her.
She backed away from the bedroom door just as footsteps started ascending the stairs--slow, heavy, confident. Not rushing. Not searching. Moving like they knew exactly where she'd be.
Wards. The wards were up. How-
A sharp crack echoed from below, as if a window frame had been forced open, splintered. She flinched at the sound. Y/N moved quickly--silently--toward the wardrobe, easing its doors open. She'd barely stepped inside when something on the stairs groaned under an enormous weight.
Her heartbeat drummed in her ears.
She pulled the doors almost closed, leaving the smallest sliver to see through. The crack between the doors framed the hallway, swallowing it in shadow.
The footsteps reached the landing.
A figure emerged. Wingless. Massive. Illyrian leathers stripped on insignia, armor darkened and roughened from misuse. A broad scar ran across his jaw.
Y/N's breath stilled entirely.
A rogue. A brute. One of them.
"I smell her," the male rasped, sniffing like a damn animal. Her stomach clenched painfully around the child she carried. Another figure joined him--slighter but no less brutal, carrying a wicked, jagged blade still crusted with something dark.
"Cassian's mate," he sneered. "Alone. Fragile. This'll break him."
Her throat tightened. Her dagger shook slightly in her hand.
The first brute bared his teeth. "General thinks he can fix Illyria. Thinks he can change us. We'll show him what happens when a bastard forgets his place."
Y/N's breath caught on a silent gasp. Her pulse roared. Her palms slicked with sweat. And still-she didn't move. Couldn't.
Every instinct screamed at her to remain small, unseen.
But then-
The floorboard just outside her hiding spot creaked. Not from her. One of the men turned sharply toward the sound.
A third intruder stepped into view, climbing the last step of the staircase. Smaller, quicker, feral-eyed.
"I checked the downstairs," he hissed. "She ran. Must've heard us."
"She wouldn't get far," the leader growled. "She's heavy with his child."
A violent heat shot through Y/N's chest. Fear, anger, instinct--everything twisted together. Her baby kicked, sharp and sudden, almost as if reacting to the stress. The sudden movement caused the wood under her foot to whine.
Three heads snapped toward the wardrobe. Silence. Total, suffocating silence.
Then...the leader smiled.
"There she is."
He strode forward. Too fast.
Y/N shoved the doors open and darted out, dagger raised--not to win, but to survive. To create space. To run.
The brute lunged. She ducked under his arm, slashing desperately--her blade scraping across his forearm, drawing blood. He roared, spinning with frightening speed for his size.
A hand snatched her hair. Another grabbed her wrist, slamming it into the wall until the dagger clattered away. Pain lanced down her arm. Her vision blurred.
"Feisty little thing," the second brute laughed. "Should've expected that. General always did like his females wild."
"Don't- " Her voice cracked, strained. "Don't touch me- "
A fist crashed into her ribs. Agony burst across her side as she choked on a cry.
One of them grabbed her by the jaw, forcing her face up to his, breath rancid with old ale. "You won't die yet," he purred. "Not until we've used you to our complete pleasure. After all, we can't let a pretty little thing such as yourself go to waste one last time. Hm?"
She clawed at him, nails scraping skin, anything--anything--to break free. He hissed and slapped her hard across the cheek. The room spun. Her ears rang. Her stomach seized painfully.
Cassian.
His name was a silent scream in her mind.
She stumbled backward as they advanced again--but before they could reach for her, a windless, unnatural silence fell over the house.
Not quiet but...stopped.
The air tightened. The candles guttered. Shadows distorted across the hall. The leader froze, eyes going wide.
"What is- "
The entire house shuddered.
A violent pulse rippled through the room--raw power, cold and unforgiving. The intruders staggered.
Y/N fell to her knees, clutching her stomach, gasping through the pain. Footsteps--slow, lethal--approached from the stairs below. A voice sliced through the quiet:
"You broke into the wrong house."
Rhysand.
And before the intrudors could run, a blast of magic threw them down the hall, bodies crashing into the far wall with bone-cracking force.
Cassian should've known something was wrong the moment he felt it.
The fear. The anger. Sharp, stabbing, impossible to ignore. It came from Y/N's side of the bond, a trembling, lashing pulse of something raw, desperate. And yet...he had ignored it.
He should've known when she didn't answer him the first time he called her name, when he reached out and felt only silence in return. And when that silence stretched on, deeper than ever before, he should've stopped to consider it.
But Y/N had these moments--these small, infuriatingly human, infuriatingly endearing moments. She would go silent sometimes because she was too immersed in finishing a new tapestry she was working on, or because she was convinced she could sneak into the kitchen to bake bread without him noticing, and answering him would ruin the perfect stealth. She would also grow stubbornly angry at him over the silliest things--like when he sneakily ate the last piece of cake she had reserved for herself--and refuse to answer, fully absorbed in her indignation.
And because this routine had happened a dozen times before, Cassian hadn’t thought much of it. Routine. Nothing more.If only he had known how wrong he was.
He was with Azriel when the message came. They’d stopped for a quick bite before meeting with Captain Kaelir to discuss the new Illyrian training units--joking, laughing, teasing each other like the old times. Cassian’s laugh had carried lightly across the table, and even Azriel’s lips had twitched in something that resembled amusement.
Then came the words.
"Y/N has been seriously attacked. She's unconscious and in the townhouse under our watch. Get your asses over here. Now."
Time stopped. The world shifted, froze and left Cassian standing there, a slice of that familiar, joking male snatched away from him and replaced with something darker. Something cold. Something sharp. Rage. Fear. Guilt. All of it rolled together into a twisting knot in his chest.
Azriel’s hand settled on his shoulder, firm, grounding, steady. “I’ve got it,” the Silent Shadow murmured, his voice low, unwavering. “We’ll get to her. I’ve got it.”
Cassian didn’t move at first, couldn’t. His entire body was vibrating with the kind of fear he had never known he carried--the fear of losing her, of walking into that house and finding the worst possible outcome waiting. He swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat wouldn’t shift.
Azriel gripped his shoulder tighter, a silent anchor against the storm raging inside him. “Cass. I’ve got it. I’ve got you. Let’s go.”
The words barely registered. They didn’t need to. Azriel’s hands on him, the calm certainty of the Shadow, were enough to pull him out of the frozen haze.
He inhaled sharply, fists clenching at his sides, wings twitching with the tension he could no longer contain. The fire that had always burned bright and reckless inside him flared. His rage for those who had dared touch her mingled with guilt for not sensing it sooner--and fear for what might have already been done.
The world blurred as Azriel winnowed them, the familiar sensation ripping through space and air, disorienting but utterly precise.
In that heartbeat of movement, Cassian’s mind raced: Her. Alive. Please be alive. Please be okay.
Azriel’s steady presence kept him tethered, even as every muscle, every nerve, every beat of his heart screamed in panic. “I’ve got you,” Azriel whispered again, just for him, the words threading through the chaos like a lifeline. “We’ll get there. I’ve got it.”
Cassian nodded once, tight, rigid, utterly consumed by the thought of Y/N. The humor, the lightness, the joking man from a mere two seconds ago was gone--replaced by something primal, something sharp, something that would not forgive anyone for what had been done.
He didn’t speak again. He didn’t need to. All he needed was to get back.
Back to her. Back to the life that had almost been shattered.
Cassian’s boots pounded the stairs, three steps at a time, wings tensing behind him with every movement. Azriel was beside him, silent as always, but the bond between them thrummed with the urgency of what had come over the bond.
When they reached the top, Cassian skidded to a stop in front of the doors, chest heaving, and froze.
Rhysand and Mor stood there, halfway in some heated argument, voices low but sharp, and both stopped immediately the moment they saw him. Azriel followed, silent and alert.
“I need to- ” Cassian started, reaching for the door.
“Listen first,” Rhysand cut him off, voice calm but firm.
“I don’t have time for this bullshit!” Cassian snapped, shoving against Rhys with one hand, the other still pressed to his stomach. His eyes were blazing, every inch of him vibrating with danger and panic.
“LISTEN FIRST!” Rhysand’s voice rose, loud enough to make the hallway echo, and before Cassian could react further, Rhys slammed a hand against the wall, pinning him there.
Cassian froze, every muscle coiled, every impulse screaming to break free.
“Mor, go inside,” Rhys said without even looking at Cassian, his tone clipped but not unkind.
Mor sighed, glancing at Cassian with a brief, almost apologetic glance, then stepped past them into the room, the door clicking shut behind her.
Cassian’s jaw tightened. Azriel’s hand rested lightly on his shoulder, grounding him, but he didn’t even notice.
“Before you lose your marbles,” Rhys said, voice sharp but measured, “she and the baby are both safe. Alive. But she’s been hit pretty badly in the ribs. Madja says she’ll need to rest in a medicated, immobilized brace for the next few days, minimal movement, and constant monitoring. The three shits are locked up and waiting for us to deal with once we make sure of Y/N’s condition.”
Azriel opened his mouth, perhaps to speak, but Rhys cut him off again, voice rising slightly, tinged with the sharp authority Cassian had always known:
“Now. Go into the room. More gentle. Not like a wild animal.”
Cassian let out a low, frustrated huff, jaw tightening, but he nodded once. His wings flexed as he stepped forward, hands clenched at his sides.
He entered the room.
The moment he did, everything else fell away.
His eyes immediately found her--Y/N--lying unconscious, pale under the soft glow of the room. Her hair spilled across the pillow, one hand still curled protectively over her stomach. The air was thick with quiet worry, the kind that made his chest tighten unbearably.
Everyone else--Feyre, Elain, Nesta, Amren, Mor, and Madja--froze the instant Cassian looked up, each holding their breath, waiting to see his reaction.
Cassian’s gaze didn’t leave her. Every second felt like an eternity. Every muscle in his body ached with fear, rage, and relief all at once.
He stepped closer, wings flexing, ready to shield her from anything, anyone, even the world itself.
Cassian didn’t remember moving. One heartbeat he was frozen in the doorway, the next he was at her bedside, knees hitting the floor so hard the impact echoed.
His trembling hand reached for hers--gently, like she was made of glass--and he sucked in a shuddering breath when he saw the bruising along her ribs, the dried blood at her temple.
His chest cracked open.
“Sweetheart…” His voice broke. He bowed his head, pressing her limp hand to his forehead. “Gods, I’m so sorry… I should’ve been here. I should’ve- ”
The words dissolved into a harsh exhale. His shoulders shook. Tears dripped onto her skin, warm against her cold fingers.
Azriel looked away to give him privacy. Nesta pressed her lips together tightly. Even Amren softened a fraction. The whole room held itself still, suspended, waiting.
Then-
A twitch. The smallest movement.
Cassian’s breath caught. His head snapped up, eyes wide, just as her fingers curled weakly around his.
“Y/N?”
Her eyelids fluttered… once, twice…
Then she blinked up at him, dazed and unfocused but alive.
“Cass…” she whispered, the syllable barely there, fragile but real.
A broken laugh burst out of him, wet and relieved. He lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing every knuckle before bringing her palm to his cheek. Tears slipped freely down his face now, but he didn’t care.
“Hi, baby,” he breathed, voice thick. “Hi… Gods, you scared the shit out of me.”
Soft sighs of relief rippled through the room, but no one spoke. No one moved. They all knew this moment wasn’t for them.
Cassian leaned forward, brushing the faintest kiss to her forehead, then another to her cheek, then he placed a trembling hand over her belly, his lips following, voice breaking:
“I love you. I love both of you. You hear me? I’m never--never--leaving your side again. Not for anything. Not for anyone. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Y/N’s smile was weak but warm, her eyes shining even through the haze of pain. Her fingers slipped into his hair as best she could, a tiny gesture, but enough to make his throat tighten all over again.
He rested his forehead against hers, breathing her in, letting the bond fill with his love and relief and devotion.
They stayed like that, wrapped in quiet, fragile peace, until Feyre finally cleared her throat gently.
“Alright, big boy,” she said softly, but with a smile, “you got your moment. Now let us give her some space.”
Cassian exhaled shakily and nodded. He pressed one last kiss to Y/N’s temple, whispering, “I’ll be right outside,” before reluctantly standing.
The females immediately moved in--Feyre checking her pulse, Elain adjusting her pillows, Nesta brushing hair from her face, Mor whispering comfort, Amren inspecting her injuries with a clinical eye while Madja resumed her work.
Cassian stepped out into the hallway with Rhys and Azriel behind him, the door closing softly.
His face changed.
Shadows hardened his expression, the softness melting away and leaving behind something ancient and deadly. His voice when he spoke was low, cold, and terrifyingly controlled.
“You two take the other two bastards,” he said, not looking at them.
His eyes glowed with pure, unfiltered rage.
“I will deal with the leader myself.”
Rhys didn’t argue.
Azriel didn’t flinch.
They just nodded.
Because there was no mercy in Cassian now. Only vengeance.
My angel, my literary icon, I'm back! I couldn't resist reaching out again after you turned my past Azriel request, "mine to hate, mine to love," into an absolute masterpiece! Honestly, I would love to see how they accept the bond and everything else. You would write an amazing "Where Are They Now?" post!
My new request is an azris (already mated) x curvy female reader… smutty angsty feral masterpiece. Our reader is a fiery sarcastic spitfire, a true force of nature who has been trapped in the Court of Nightmares for several years. She is Rhys's half-sister and possesses immense power. Her mother managed to escape the clutches of Rhys's father and fled to Autumn (where she had family) but was discovered many years later and brutally slaughtered in front of our reader's eyes by Beron. After learning of her existence, Beron struck a deal with Rhys's father, agreeing to keep her a secret in exchange for something significant.
For years, our reader has been held captive, believing that her half-brother and his family were aware of her predicament and chose to neglect her. Unknown to Rhys and his Inner Circle , they have no idea that she is his sister. She hates them all especially AZRIS (the devastatingly hot arrogant mated pair🫠😝🔥) With Eris being recently crowned high lord uncovers all his father’s debts and secrets, he discovers that locked away in the Court of Nightmares is the secret princess of the Night Court. When he and Azriel embark on a mission to rescue her, they find the missing piece to their mate bond…a third🤩. THATS RIGHT TRIAD BOND BABY WOOOOOO!!
Will Azriel and Eris be able to break down her walls and teach her how to love after a life filled with pain and peril, or will she push them away?. NOPE…She eventually accepts the bond and HOT HOT HOT THREESOME SMUT occurs and they WORSHIP HER LIKE THE GODDESS SHE IS🥵🥵🥰😝 but ya know some angst gotta occur before the smutty delicusness! It’d be so cute at the end after the smut for some sibling bonding between Rhys and our reader, being loved on by her mates and accepted by a new family….she deserves all the love and family she never really had😭🫶🏻 I think you’d absolutely turn this into a KILLER SERIES! or oneshot honestly ill take whatever crumbs you give me cause im that FERAL FOR YOUR MASTERPIECES🤪❤️ if you hate it you can scrap it but I know you'd make THIS GOLDEN whatever you decide🤩🤩!
A Heart Unchained- Azris x fem!reader (1/3)
Summary: A forgotten Night Court Heir is rescued by Azriel and Eris--only to discover she's the missing third to their mating bond.
Warnings: angst, violence, trauma, hurt.
A/N: thank you pookie for this wonderful recommendation! I loved planning it out and now putting it out one by one!! keep them recs coming <33
See masterlist
Darkness had weight.
It pressed. It smothered. It became a second skin when worn long enough.
Y/N had learned that in the court of Nightmares.
Down here, time didn't pass. It rotted. It curled in the corners with the dust and old blood, whispering that no one was coming. No one cared. No one even remembered she existed.
Rhysand certainly didn't.
Her dear half-brother--beloved High Lord of the Night Court--had never once come looking. Never once wondered why his father suddenly stopped mentioning the bastard he created. Never once sensed her magic crackling through the cracks of this place like lightning begging to break free.
And the others? The Inner Circle he loved so much? His mate?
Shadowsinger. General. High Lady. His Second in Command. His cousin. Archeron sisters.
A perfect little family. Conveniently missing the girl rotting in the basement.
Y/N wasn't sure when hate became easier to hold than hope. Probably the day Beron murdered her mother in front of her. Probably the moment his guards chained her beneath this court and called it a "mercy."
She had survived anyway. Starved, beaten, caged--but not broken.
And today...the shadows felt different. They twitched against the walls like animals scenting blood. The air was wrong. Anticipating.
Someone was coming.
Not the guards. Not Beron's lackeys.
Someone powerful enough to shake the wards. Someone whose magic scraped against hers like flint striking steel. Two someones.
How was she feeling this? How did this feeling suddenly consume her?
One was fire. Controlled, arrogant, smug even from a distance. The other...shadows. Cold. Endless.
If Rhysand had finally remembered he had a sister, he was too late. She would not be saved. She would burn her way out. Even if she had to kill them first.
Eris leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming against the edge of his desk, the flicker of candlelight dancing across the scattered papers. He let out a long, slow breath, glancing at Azriel, who stood silently in the corner, shadows clinging to him like a second skin.
Rhysand's voice cut through the quiet, sharp and incredulous. "That's impossible. I am the High Lord. There isn't any place in the Court of Nightmares that I am not familiar with."
Eris huffed a short, dry, sound, and let his gaze wander between the two males. Azriel's expression was unreadable, lost in thought as always, but he could see the tension coiling in the shadows around him.
Earlier that day had been a storm of discovery. Beron's ledgers, ancient contracts, and the dust-choked files of the Court of Nightmares had revealed it all. A reference buried deep in a contract: Night Court Princess. Hidden Ward-protected. Powerful. His first instinct had been disbelief, followed almost immediately by fury--and a plan.
Azriel had been the first he'd called. "Inform Rhys. Tell him to winnow here. Now."
And now, here they were. Rhysand, the great High Lord himself, and Azriel, the master of Shadows, both staring at him like he'd just announced the sky was falling.
"Do you two not realize the great sensitivity of the issue?" Eris asked, disbelief threading his tone. The small chuckle that followed was almost decisive. "You're staring at me like I've grown a second head."
Rhysand's eyes narrowed, but he didn't answer. Azriel's shadows twitched, restless.
Eris slammed a finger on the words written clearly on the parchment before him: Night Court Princess.
"This," he said slowly, deliberately, letting the weight of the words hang in the air, "means that you, dear Rhysand, have a half sister."
Rhysand blinked. Twice. His jaw clenched.
"Because if the two of you were from the same mother," Eris continued, his voice sharp as a knife, "I doubt your father would've had her locked somewhere warded and hidden. And you know as well as I do, your dearest papa wasn't the benevolent god everyone thinks he was. You haven't felt her...because that was how it was meant to be. She's quite literally somewhere no one knows within your court. Hidden. Heavily guarded."
Azriel's voice broke the silence, soft, almost a whisper. "Strong powers."
Eris' eyes met his mate's, and he repeated the words, deliberate and measured. "Strong powers. So strong she needs to be completely erased from existence."
The room was silent, heavy. Rhysand's lips parted, then pressed into a thin line. Shock, disbelief, and guilt rippled through him.
"She's...my blood?" Rhysand's voice was low, tight with a mixture of fury and disbelief. Azriel stepped closer, voice firm but calm. "We will find her, Rhys. We will."
Eris leaned back again, expression hard. "I take this mission upon myself. I will go in first. I will locate her, assess the threat."
Azriel's eyes snapped to him, sharp, fierce.
"No. I won't allow you to do this alone, Eris."
Rhysand's gaze flicked between them, his mind racing, high lord instincts snapping back into place. He inhaled slowly, the fire of determination creeping back into his chest. "Then we do this together. I will not leave her. She is my sister. She is my blood. And no one--no one--keeps her from me again."
The tension in the room shifted slightly, softened by a quiet moment. Azriel's hand brushed against Eris' as he moved closer to the desk, a subtle, intimate reassurance. Eris' shoulders loosened fractionally, the tension between them unspoken but understood.
Then Azriel's shadows shimmered along the floor, ready. Rhysand squared his shoulders, letting the cold, calculating High Lord return. "Let's go, Az. But we do this the right way. Call Cassian and Mor, I will need their help. We can't let anyone else know about this or else we risk my sister's life even more. Eris, I will be expecting you to gather more information from all of this by tomorrow. We will be heading to the Court of Nightmares in two days."
And with that, both males vanished from Eris' view. Leaving him to glance around his office, the weight of what lay ahead finally settling in.
The mission had begun.
The dungeon long ago stopped feeling like a place, it was a condition.
A living, breathing thing that gnawed at her sanity one slow, patient bite at a time. The stone was always cold, the air always damp, the silence always pressing--as if the darkness itself were waiting for her to finally give in.
Y/N lay curled on her side, knees tucked to her chest, the thin shift she wore clinging to skin mapped with faded scars. Scars that told stories she no longer bothered to remember. Stories she survived out of spite, not hope.
Hope had been the first thing to die.
She could still recall the moment it snapped--cleanly, brutally--like bone under pressure.
It wasn't the first beating. It wasn't the chains. It was her mother.
Her mother's blood.
Her mother's last breath, spent whispering her name. Her mother's fingers trembling against her cheek before going still.
She had screamed then--a raw, desperate sound she didn't recognize. But when the cell door slammed shut on her first night in the darkness...she stopped screaming.
Days became weeks. Weeks became months. Months bled into years. She lost track somewhere between the tenth and the hundredth time she tried to count.
She learned to mark time by other things: the rhythm of dripping water, the scrape of a guard's boot passing by, the faint hum of wards vibrating against her skin like a cage made of magic instead of iron.
And throughout all of it, she never once felt a tug in her chest. A thread. A bond. Maybe her so called father would take mercy upon her. Maybe her half-brother would come find her. But...that was just bullshit and Y/N understood that after her fifth year.
Blood never called to blood. She was well and truly forgotten.
Her breathing hitched when she thought that--forgotten--because there was a time, long ago, that she would have cried at the idea.
Now?
She only felt numb.
Her magic simmered somewhere deep inside her, coiled and forced to stay there. Y/N didn't know how or when they did it but she just couldn't use her powers. She remembers the first time she tried to attack the guards with her mind and froze in shock when absolutely nothing happened.
They took that from her too.
It pressed at her ribs when she was angry, hummed beneath her skin when she dreamed. But the wards made sure it never rose. Never broke free.
Some days she wondered what it would feel like if she stopped resisting, let the power turn inward, burn her out from the inside.
A clean ending.
Quieter than this slow decay.
She didn't think that was tragic anymore--just...logical.
Y/N shifted, wincing as dried blood cracked along her knuckles. She had smashed her fist into the wall last night. She couldn't remember why. Anger had become a habit. Something to prove that she was still alive.
Her gaze drifted to the ceiling--a slab of stone far above her reach. She used to imagine stars beyond it. A sky. Fresh air. Open space.
Now she only saw weight.
The crushing reminder that she was buried.
Her voice, when she finally spoke for no one but the walls to hear, sounded like someone else's.
"...How much longer?" she whispered.
The darkness, as always, answered with absolute silence.
Y/N closed her eyes.
And somewhere deep inside her chest, something flickered--not hope, not fear, but the faintest tremor of change.
A warning. A promise.
Something was shifting. Not outside. Within her.
The kind of shift that happened when magic tested its cage one last time.
The kind that made the wards hum a little sharper. The kind that meant the girl in the dungeon wasn't as dead inside as everyone hoped.
Not yet.
"...I've traced every known passage beneath the Hewn City."
Azriel's voice cut through the room, low and steady, even as a restless chill crawled beneath his skin. Shadows curled along the floor around his boots, agitated.
The entire Inner Circle was gathered in the River House: Rhys at the head, Feyre beside him, Cassian lounging with forced ease, Nesta razor-straight, Amren perched like a predator, Mor leaning forward, and Eris standing against the far wall--hands clasped behind his back, expression carved from amber.
Azriel continued.
"I've cross-referenced old war maps, compared power signatures across every restricted section of the court of Nightmares, and gathered all intelligence from spies stationed there over the last decade."
Cassian nodded. "So nothing slips in or out without us knowing. It has always been like this. I don't understand how this situation can even happen...We always knew of everything that happened within our borders."
Az shook his head. "At least...that's what we think we know."
A ripple moved through the room--confusion, curiosity. Rhys' violet eyes sharpened. Mor straightened. Azriel drew in a breath and began:
"There's a blind spot. A small one. About the size of a single chamber. Wards so old they don't match any high lord's signature. They're scavenged--layered, altered, buried beneath spells meant to erase their presence entirely."
Feyre frowned. "Erase? As in--hide something?"
Azriel nodded once. "Or someone."
A heavy silence fell.
Eris didn't move, but Azriel felt his mate's attention like a hand on his spine.
Rhys leaned forward slowly. "Explain."
Azriel forced his voice to stay calm. "Earlier, when Eris showed the inscribed document from Beron's vault--mentioning a 'Night Court princess' with unassessed power levels. The dates do not match any known lineage. The wards I found date back roughly the same number of years."
Nesta inhaled sharply. "So the hidden chamber...could be- "
"A cell," Mor finished quietly.
Azriel kept going. "Someone with significant raw power. Someone warded so thoroughly we would never sense her presence. Not even you, Rhys."
Rhysand's jaw locked. A muscle twitched beneath his eye. Az took out the old sheet of parchment Eris had delivered hours ago. "These symbols--Beron kept them hidden. He didn't want to risk someone tracing their meaning."
Rhys' gaze dropped to the page. And then his pupils blew wide.
Azriel felt the moment everything snapped together in Rhysand's mind--like the explosion of a star collapsing inward.
"My father," Rhys said softly. "He tampered with bloodlines. If we shared the same mother, she would've been raised beside me. So she didn't."
His head lifted, and fury--cold, ancient, lethal--filled his eyes.
"She's his bastard. Beron found out. He would've seen her as a threat. A political weapon. So he locked her away before her power matured. And because we carry the same blood, our courts both had reason to hide her."
Feyre whispered, "Mother above..."
Cassian swore. Mor's hand flew to her chest. Nesta's eyes flared with something like horror. Azriel swallowed.
Because the truth had a taste. It tasted like inevitability. Like destiny tightening around him like a fist.
Rhys stood abruptly. "I don't care about the protocols. We find her. We go in, we break every ward, we level the fucking mountain if we have to." His dropped to a razor whisper. "No more hidden anything or anyone in my court."
Voices erupted--plans, questions, strategies.
Azriel didn't speak. Couldn't.
Because while they debated, while Cassian suggested scouting some of Helion's peregrines and Feyre offered winnowing in and out quickly as a solution and Amren muttered about ancient ward-break methods...
Azriel felt something wrong inside his chest. A pull. A need.
A fierce, inexplicable urgency that had nothing to do with duty. He tried to smother it--but shadows surged up his throat like smoke.
She's part of us, he told himself. She's Rhysand's sister. That's why.
But the excuse rang hollow. It felt like more. More than family. More than obligation. More than anything he had words for.
A soft brush touched his mind. Eris.
Az didn't flinch, didn't turn. Didn't give a single sign they were speaking mind-to-mind in a room full of observant predators. Also, it was the fact that Rhys would be pissed as hell to know that he taught Eris how to speak mentally.
You felt it too, Eris murmured through the bond.
A statement, not a question.
Azriel swallowed. I don't know what I feel.
Eris' mental laugh was quiet, strained. Liar.
Az's jaw tightened.
We need caution, Eris continued, tone sharpening. Whatever this is--whatever she is--we approach carefully. We cannot compromise ourselves or her safety.
"I know," Azriel murmured aloud, disguised as a comment to Nesta's suggestion.
Across the room, Eris' amber eyes flicked to him--warm, just for a heartbeat.
I love you, Azriel, Eris whispered.
The words tightened Az's chest painfully. He sent them back before he could stop himself. I love you.
A tiny smile ghosted Eris' lips. Gone an instant later as Rhys' voice snapped the room back into focus. "We leave in one day. Enough time to gather intel, prepare, break every barrier between her and freedom."
Azriel nodded stiffly, shadows curling around him like a vow. He didn't know why this mattered so much. But he knew one thing: He would find her. Or he would burn the mountain trying.
Night pressed heavily against the windows of the guest suite, thick and violet-soft, the hum of the Sidra barely audible. Velaris slept.
Eris did not.
He sat on the edge of the bed-bare torso bowed forward, elbows braced on his knees--staring at nothing. His thoughts kept looping, weaving, tightening.
The mission is set.
Rhysand had made the plan painfully clear: He and Feyre would enter the Court of Nightmares at dawn, flanked by Cassian, Nesta, and Mor--nothing unusual, nothing suspicious. A High Lord visiting his sub court was common enough that even the warded fools of the Hewn City wouldn't question it.
Meanwhile, Eris and Azriel would slip in unseen, moving through tunnels and shadow-paths Azriel had never explained in detail. Eris had long stopped trying to understand how the Shadowsinger knew half the things he knew.
Their task: Find the hidden warded chamber. Break into it using the decoding Amren had provided. Extract the girl.
Rhysand's half-sister.
The lost Night Court princess.
Eris exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair.
Hours ago--when Rhys had first read the document, fury shaking every breath--Eris had felt it. The High Lord's devastation. His disbelief. His guilt. A silent storm that filled the entire war room.
I am the High Lord, Rhys had said. There isn't a place in the Court of Nightmares and Dreams I don't know. How could this be under my nose?
Eris' own heart had tinged at the rawness in his voice. Because Eris understood. He understood the betrayal of discovering that the evil you thought you knew was so much worse. That the cruelty of a father could run deeper than you had ever imagined.
He remembered standing in his father's sealed vault after his passing (or murder), the parchment trembling in his hands.
He had known Beron was a monster. He had not known he was this kind.
Why would Beron agree to this? Why help another high lord hide a bastard child--only to imprison her himself? What did he gain? What was exchanged between those two?
The questions had gnawed at Eris all day.
He stared down at his hands when a soft shift beside him pulled him from the spiral.
"Eris?"
Azriel's voice. Low. Rough with sleep, warm with something gentler.
Eris turned.
Azriel lay half-propped on one elbow, shadows drifting lazily around him like they hadn't been hissing at him all day. His hair was mussed, bare chest rising and falling slowly beneath the thin sheet.
He was beautiful. And concerned.
Eris forced a breath. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."
"You didn't," Az murmured, studying him with that piercing depth only he possessed. "You're thinking too loudly."
Eris huffed a humorless laugh and looked away. "Hard not to."
Azriel shifted closer, sheet slipping down his torso. "Talk to me."
Eris swallowed. "My father," he said quietly. "I knew he was cruel. But this..." His jaw tightened. "Why involve himself in a plot this sick? Why hide a faeling that wasn't even his?"
Azriel didn't answer immediately.
He sat up fully, reaching out. His hand brushed Eris' thigh--not in any sexual way, just grounding warmth.
"We may never know what Beron gained from this," Az said gently. "But we know what she lost."
The words sank deep.
Eris nodded once. "And yet...why now? Why are we only feeling this...pull now? She's been locked away for years."
Azriel's throat bobbed. "I don't know."
But his shadows shivered--like they disagreed. Eris watched him carefully. "Az."
Azriel met his gaze, eyes dark and troubled. "It feels wrong," he admitted softly. "This urgency. This...need to get to her." His brows furrowed. "She's Rhys' sister--that should be enough. Especially after the fact that he had already lost one sister. The mere knowledge that another sister of his is alive and suffering is eating him alive. But it isn't. It isn't enough for me, Eris."
Eris' breath caught. Yes. Yes, he felt it too. Like a thread pulled tight inside him, humming with something ancient and insistent. "I don't understand it," Azriel whispered. "But it's there."
Eris lifted a hand, cupping Azriel's jaw. "We'll figure it out. After we get her out."
Azriel closed his eyes for a heartbeat, leaning into the touch like a male starved. Then his mind brushed Eris', warm and familiar. We need to be careful tomorrow.
I know, Eris responded silently.
Az's eyes opened--soft, vulnerable. Something unspoken moved between them. A small, fleeting smile tugged at Eris' lips before fading, replaced by the grim resolve they both shared.
Tomorrow, they would enter the darkness. Tomorrow, they would find the lost sister.
Azriel leaned his forehead to Eris', voice barely a whisper. "Get some sleep, Eris. We go at dawn."
Eris nodded but he didn't move away. Neither did Azriel. Because both of them felt it-
Somewhere deep beneath Hewn City...the girl was waiting. And something inside them was already reaching back.
The obsidian pillars of the Court of Nightmares rose like teeth, catching the torchlight in jagged, cruel gleams. Azriel stood in the far shadows of the throne room's entrance as Rhys, Feyre, Cassian, Nesta and Mor strode inward--an illusion of calm domination masking the violence coiled beneath their skin.
Eris lingered at Azriel's side, a half-step behind, his posture deceptively relaxed, hidden in his shadows. Only Azriel noticed the tension in his hands. Only Azriel heard the sharp double-beat of his heart.
The distraction had begun.
Rhys's voice echoed through the chamber, smooth and cold, commanding attention. The crowd parted for him like a shoreline bowing to the tide.
Azriel exhaled once. The promise Rhys had extracted from him pressed like a brand on his spine. "Don't fail me. Don't fail her."
Rhys rarely asked. He never begged. Azriel had no intention of returning empty-handed.
Eris unrolled the tightly folded map Amren had given them--layered with wards, tunnels, pressure points beneath the mountain. It was old. Incomplete. And Amren's parting words were hardly reassuring: "You'll have to rely on your instincts. And...on him."
Azriel tried not to let his jaw tighten.
Shadows fluttered all around him now, whispering routes, warning of heat signatures beneath stone. The underground maze sprawled into dozens of paths. Too many dead ends. Too many traps.
Too much time wasted...if they chose wrong. But he wouldn't leave without her. Even if it meant tearing the mountain down with his bare hands. He turned to Eris. "Ready?"
Eris's smirk was quick, sharp, masking the storm Azriel could sense beneath. "Let's just hope luck is on our side today."
Azriel's siphons flared once, shadows gathering at his feet like an eager tide. "Luck," he murmured, "has nothing to do with it."
He gripped Eris's arm, shadows swallowing them both whole--dragging them down into the cold, narrow dark.
The descent felt endless.
Azriel's shadows moved like smoke over his skin, brushing against Eris's magic with cool, inquisitive touches. He pretended it didn't unsettle him. He'd seen many horrors back in his court, survived worse than most ever would. But this--this--felt different.
Because she was down there. Because she had been down there for Cauldron knows how long.
And because Eris still remembered the moment he read the rest of the document in his father's handwriting: "The girl is contained. Do not speak of her."
He'd felt sick. Frozen. And now, walking in suffocating tunnels carved of black stone with only his fire and Azriel's siphons casting light, he felt that sickness again. A pulse of magic throbbed underfoot. Azriel stiffened beside him. "That ward's fresh," the shadowsinger muttered. "She's close."
She.
The stranger none of them had met. The one who felt inexplicably tied to the world twisting around them. He swallowed hard.
Hours ago, lying in his and Azriel's bed at the House of Wind, he hadn't been able to sleep. His thoughts had circled her--her unknown face, the cruelty she must've endured. Now, as the tunnel split into three yawning paths, Azriel halted.
Shadows swirled violently around his boots, tugging at him, frantic.
"Left," he whispered.
Eris nodded, fire licking at his fingertips as he prepared for whatever awaited them. "Then go," he said. "Before Rhys's distraction becomes a war."
Azriel shot forward, silent and lethal.
Eris followed. Both of them running toward the same goal. Both refusing--adamantly refusing--to fail.
The torches outside her cells cracked low, barely cutting through the stale, metallic air. Y/N sat with her back against the cold wall, knees tucked up, staring at nothing. Staring at everything.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor--slow, bored, familiar.
The guards. Their voices drifted towards her cells' bars, smug and unhurried.
"Did you hear?" one snorted. "The almighty high lord decided to grace us peasants with his presence today."
"Surprise visit," another replied, filled with mocking awe. "Probably wants to remind everyone how powerful he is." A laugh. "Or maybe he's checking on his precious pets upstairs."
Her jaw clenched. Rhysand.
Of course he would be here. The perfect high lord with his perfect façade. Her fingers curled against stone.
She'd convinced herself long ago that she wasn't worth saving. That he already knew she was down here. That he allowed it.
And yet-
When the guards kept talking, something ugly and hot twisted in her chest. "High Lord of the Night Court," the first guard sneered. "More like High Lord of Cowards. Dragging his little family around like ornaments."
"His mate, his cousin, all of them," another scoffed. "Parading around like they're better than the rest of us- "
"Shut up," Y/N muttered under her breath before she could stop herself, irritation flaring sharp and sudden. She wasn't even sure why it bothered her. Why the insult tugged at something deep, something buried.
She didn't owe Rhysand anything. She hated him. She hated all of them.
But hearing these pieces of shit mock him--mock the others--felt wrong. Like stones scraping against bone.
She turned her face away, exhaling shakily. The guards kept bickering, unaware or uncaring of her darkening expression. But then-
A distant boom reverberated through the stone. Soft. Faint.
The torches flickered. Silence swallowed the corridor for a heartbeat.
"What was that?" one guard muttered. Another scoffed but his voice trembled. "Probably the tunnels shifting. Happens all the- "
A second crack vibrated through the floor.
Then a scream. Then two more.
Heavy boots thundered through the hallway as newer guards sprinted in, faces pale, eyes wild.
"BREAKTHROUGH!" one shouted. "Someone's in the lower tunnels--wards are failing!"
Her pulse slammed against her ribs.
Another guard stumbled into view, panting. "They're moving fast--shadows--fire--someone's down there- "
Y/N pushed up onto her feet, heart racing so violently it hurt. Shadows and Fire. Breaking wards. Now is her chance.
She could already feel her restrained power slowly begin simmering to the top as more wards got broken.
Please...please...
The corridor trembled again, dust shaking loose from the ceiling. Her hands pressed flat against the iron door, breath ragged.
"This is it," she whispered. "This is my chance. Please--just break the door. Break the gods damned door- "
And the sounds kept getting closer. Louder. Hungrier. Her heart was pounding so hard it rattled her bones. Break the door. Please, just break the door so I can escape.
Darkness pulsed in the hallway. and something--someone--was coming.
Another ward snapped.
Not quietly--not subtly--but like a bone cracking inside the mountain.
Y/N gasped as something hot and familiar rippled under her skin. Magic.
Her magic.
Weak and fractured… but waking.
She staggered back from the bars, clutching the wall as a second wave hit her bloodstream, burning through the numbness that had been her whole existence.
Outside, chaos broke loose.
“GET THE BITCH AND RUN!” a guard shouted, voice cracking with terror.
Her heart lurched.
Now. Now.
This was her only chance.
The nearest guard fumbled for the keys, hands shaking so badly the iron clinked against the lock. He didn’t even realize--none of them did--that the final ward had just fallen.
The moment the door swung open--
Y/N unleashed everything she had left.
Power--raw, wild, starving--burst from her palms.
It slammed into the guard’s chest with a violent crack, launching him backward so hard he crashed into the opposite wall. Stone shattered. The ceiling groaned. Half the damn corridor collapsed onto him.
The entire cell block shook as her magic tore free, ripping the old rusted bars apart like they were paper.
She didn’t wait.
She ran.
Her legs trembled violently beneath her, unused to actual movement, but adrenaline shoved her forward. Her lungs burned, her bare feet stung on cold stone, but she kept going--she had to.
Shouts echoed behind her.
More guards up ahead.
“No--no no no-” she choked out, trying to summon another blast, but her power fizzled, unstable, still fractured.
Two guards lunged.
She dodged one--barely--kicked another, but she was too weak. Too drained. Too slow.
A rough hand grabbed her arm.
Another grabbed her hair.
A third pinned her against the wall.
She thrashed, desperate, terrified-
but she couldn’t overpower all of them.
Not like this.
Not after years locked away.
“Hold her- ”
“She’s awake--how?”
“Just knock her- ”
Then one guard went still.
His eyes rolled back.
His mouth opened.
And shadows--thick, cold, endless shadows--poured into it.
Not just his mouth.
His nose.
His ears.
He collapsed instantly.
Dead.
Another guard screamed--too late--before shadows slipped under his skin, suffocating him from the inside. Y/N froze.
She hit the floor hard, scrambling back, hands shaking violently.
No, no, please-
Not magic like that, not something she couldn’t see or stop-
She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the same darkness to crawl into her.
Instead-
A voice, rough and breathless, said:
“Hey--hey, we’ve got you. You’re safe.”
Her eyes snapped open.
Two males stood over her, panting, covered in dirt and blood and sweat.
One with ember-red hair, golden-brown eyes burning with worry, his armor cracked and smoking.
And beside him--a male carved from night.
Dark hair, shadows curling around him like living smoke, face smeared with blood, chest heaving. Beautiful. Terrifying.
The second male crouched and extended a hand toward her.
“Come on,” he said, voice urgent but surprisingly gentle. “We don’t have much time--we need to get out- ”
She stared at his hand.
At the shadows.
At his eyes.
And something inside her snapped. Her palm cracked across his face before she even realized she was moving.
Both males froze.
The ember-haired one blinked, stunned. The shadowed one slowly straightened, shock flickering across his features.
Y/N pushed past them, stumbling, running blindly-
But she felt them coming after her. Heard their footsteps. Panic flared so violently her magic surged again, wild and instinctive.
“NO!” she screamed--raw, terrified. “NO--STAY AWAY!”
Power exploded out of her like a tidal wave. The blast slammed into them both, hurling them backward. The shadows vanished. Flames sputtered. Stone cracked.
She sagged to her knees, vision trembling. That was all she had for now. The world blurred.
And the last thing she saw before darkness swallowed her-
were their faces again, hovering above her.
Two males she didn’t know.
Two males who shouldn’t have been able to find her.
Two males looking at her as if they’d been searching for her their whole lives.
Summary: One overheard sentence. One High Lord pushed too far. One mistake that nearly breaks their bond.
Warnings: angst, emotional hurt/comfort, misunderstanding, implied cheating (doesn't actually happen), Amren becoming a peacemaker (shocking), fluff towards the end
See masterlist
She didn't mean to overhear.
Truly, she hadn't. She'd only gone upstairs to find Rhys--she had felt the tug in their bond, the faint ache at the back of her ribs that always meant he was struggling more than he let on. She wanted to check on him. Maybe even convince him to sleep for more than two hours for once.
But when Y/N reached the hallway outside his study, she froze.
Voices. Cassian's. Azriel's. Low, serious.
And Rhys's--quiet, tired in a way that made her chest squeeze. She should have walked away.
She didn't.
"Rhys...you should tell her," Cass was saying.
"What's the point?" Rhys' voice came, rough. "She'll find out eventually."
Y/N's stomach hollowed. Find out...what?
Azriel's voice followed, soft but cutting. "It already looks bad. If she hears it the wrong way- "
"I know how it looks," Rhys snapped. Not angry, just frustrated. Defeated. "Cauldron, Az, I know."
Then Cassian, with a sigh:
"You've spent more time with her this week than with Y/N--your mate, may I add--anyone would get suspicious."
Y/N's heart stopped cold.
Her.
With her.
Who is this...her?
She stepped back without meaning to, the floorboards groaning softly under her heel-
And she panicked. She turned and slipped down the hallway before any of them could sense her, before Rhys could feel the spike of hurt through the bond. She buried it down, smothered it under a tight layer of control until she felt sick.
By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, her breathing was all wrong. Her mind was already devouring her alive.
Rhys had been pulling away for weeks. She tried to brush it off as stress, exhaustion, the endless demands placed on him--but gods, she felt him drifting like a tide she couldn't pull back. Late nights. Closed doors. That fading warmth in the bond that she tried so hard not to read into.
Three nights in a row. All with vague excuses: "meetings," "unexpected issues," "I'm sorry, love--another time."
And she believed him. She always believed him.
A soft, sweet scent she didn't recognise lingering on his clothes days ago. She'd asked, testing, light-hearted. Rhys had brushed it off with a too-casual, "Probably from someone I walked past."
But now...now that excuse burned like a lie.
It was a lie.
Her palms were cold. Her throat tight.
Rhys wouldn't cheat. He wouldn't.
But the words she heard, the tone he used, the exhaustion, the distance-
It all twisted together until she couldn't breathe.
Maybe this was why he'd been so withdrawn. Maybe she'd done something wrong. Maybe...maybe he no longer loves her.
And the cruelest past?
The bond between them was quiet. Muted. Like he'd thrown up walls to keep her from feeling too much. From finding out. Her steps faltered as her vision blurred for a heartbeat.
The Mother above, what if he really didn't want her anymore?
Y/N woke up alone.
Again.
Rhys's side of the bed was cold, the sheets barely rumpled--as if he hadn't even tried to sleep beside her. The bond between them throbbed faintly, a dull, weary ache that told her he was still awake, still working, still somewhere she wasn't invited.
She stared at the empty pillow for a long moment, something tightening painfully beneath her ribs. Yesterday's overheard words replayed like a curse. It looped. And looped. And looped.
By midday, she wasn't angry. Not yet. She was...hollow.
She went about her day in a daze--smiling at conversations she couldn't remember, her thoughts always snapping back to the same poisonous possibilities.
Every time the door opened, she looked up.
Every time footsteps sounded down the hall, her heart leapt.
She kept expecting Rhys to appear--tired, apologetic, reaching for her.
He didn't.
He didn't even send a mental touch through the bond. Not one flicker of reassurance. Not one warm pulse to say I'm thinking of you.
It was silence.
And silence--she learned--was the sharpest blade of all.
By nighttime, the hollowness had clarified into something colder. Harder. Her chest felt tight and metallic, her breathing shallow as she sat curled on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket that did nothing to warm her.
When the clock reached past midnight, she finally heard his footsteps.
Late...again.
The door opened softly, cautiously, as if he already knew he'd failed her without knowing why.
Rhys stepped inside.
He looked...wrecked. Shoulders tense, hair mussed from running his hands through it, eyes shadowed with exhaustion so deep she could barely read the violet beneath.
But he smiled when he saw her.
A small, soft smile that once would have melted her whole world. Now, it made her stomach twist.
"Hello, darling," he said quietly. His voice was frayed, but gentle. He crossed the room slowly, like approaching a wounded animal. "I didn't want to wake you."
"I wasn't asleep," she replied flatly. The smile slipped the tiniest bit--but he kept coming. He leaned down, reaching to press a kiss to her temple.
She turned her head away. His lips met air and he froze.
A beat of silence filled the space between them--heavy, startling.
"...Y/N?" His voice was careful now. That High Lord calm he used when he sensed something dangerous. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she said, her tone ice-smooth. "Long day."
He crouched in front of her, searching her face with those keen, perceptive eyes--the ones she used to adore. The ones she now resented for not seeing the obvious.
"You've been quiet since yesterday," he said softly. "Talk to me."
She let out a sharp, humourless huff of laughter.
"Oh, talk to you?" Her voice was sweet, poisoned by honey.
"Why? So you can tell me more lies? Or should I just go ask Cassian and Azriel what else you've been keeping from me?"
Rhys blinked. Confusion flickered. Concern deepened. "What?" he whispered.
She smiled. A cold, wicked little curl of her lips--because the pain had finally curdled into something sharp enough to wield.
"You heard me," she said, each word clipped, dark. "Or should I ask her directly?"
His brows knit, breath catching. "Ask--who?"
And that was it. Her composure, her restraint, her silence--shattering cleanly down the middle.
She stood so suddenly he rocked back on his heels, and when she spoke, her voice was no longer cold.
It was ice cracking.
"You really want to know?" she seethed, eyes blazing.
She took one step toward him-
And delivered her first devastating blow:
"Fine. Let's start with who the hell you've been spending all your time with instead of me."
For a heartbeat, Rhys didn't move. Her accusation hung in the air like smoke, thick and choking.
He stared at her, stunned--because it was so absurd, so impossible, that for the first time in days, something flickered in him that wasn't exhaustion.
Now it was his turn to let out a low, humorless laugh.
"There is no such thi- "
But her face--gods, the way she flinched at that laugh--it punched straight through his chest.
Before he could soften his voice, before he could step closer-
She exploded.
"Oh, don't you dare lie to me now!" Y/N shouted, voice cracking under fury. "Don't you DARE stand there and lie to me like I'm some clueless idiot!"
"Y/N- "
"I overheard you!" she screamed over him, not giving him a single breath to speak. "Last night--outside your office--Cass and Az were practically spelling it out for you!"
Rhys's blood ran cold.
"You what- ?"
"You spent more time with her this week than with me," she spat, venom and heartbreak woven together. "It looks BAD Rhys--that's what Azriel said. Bad."
The floor felt like it tilted under him.
"Wait. Wait. Just--let me explain- "
"Oh, NOW you want to explain?" she barked a laugh, sharp and pained and cruel. so different from his beloved Y/N. "Now that I already know? Now that it all makes sense?"
Rhys closed his eyes for one second--one--trying to breathe, to center himself, to keep control.
She was his wife. His mate. His High Lady. He did NOT yell at her. Ever.
"Y/N," he tried again, "You're not hearing- "
"Oh I'm hearing perfectly," she hissed. "I understand EVERYTHING now. The late nights. The scent on your clothes. The constant excuses. The distance. The way you barely look at me anymore- "
"That's not- "
"Save it!" she cut him off, stepping closer, eyes blazing. "Save your little High Lord excuses, Rhysand. I am DONE being made a fool."
His jaw clenched. His pulse pounded.
He felt it--that dangerous line inside him, the one he guarded with iron control--begin to tremble. She didn't let him speak. She didn't let him breathe.
And Cauldron, he was trying. He was trying so hard not to break but she just kept going.
"Y/N, just STOP for one- "
"You don't touch me, you don't talk to me, and now I KNOW WHY!" she screamed, her voice raw. "I cannot believe I trusted you. I cannot believe-"
Something inside him snapped.
The weeks of sleepless nights, the threats against Velaris, the political sabotage, the collapsing treaty, every burden he'd carried alone so she wouldn't have to-
It all collided with her words and detonated.
"SHUT. UP."
His roar shook the air. She froze.
Silence suffocated the room as her eyes widened--not in anger now, but in shock. Wounded shock.
"I have been having the WORST weeks of my life," he snarled, voice frayed with restraint he was no longer managing. "Trying to keep this court safe, trying to stop an impending, possible war, trying to do EVERYTHING--and instead of asking me what's wrong, you accuse me of cheating on you?"
Her throat bobbed. But she said nothing.
"So forgive me," Rhys spat, "if I don't have the patience tonight for your assumptions."
He saw the hurt bloom across her face--saw it, recognized it--and still the words kept coming.
He couldn't stop himself.
"You think I'm distant?" he demanded. "You think I'm choosing someone over you? Maybe if you acted like a proper High Lady you'd understand what I've been dealing with instead of throwing tantrums- "
Her lips parted in disbelief. Horror.
But he wasn't finished. It spilled out of him--ugly, raw, unfiltered.
"Maybe it was a mistake," he said, cold and furious, "to think you were ready for any of this."
She flinched. A full-body flinch.
Rhys felt it like a blade twisting in his gut. And gods help him--he still didn't take it back.
They stared at each other, breathing hard, the air electric and broken. Then she blinked--slow, shaky--fighting tears with every ounce of strength she had left.
She stepped around him without a word.
"Y/N- " Rhys said, reaching out.
She pulled away from his voice like it burned.
"I'll send someone for my things," she said flatly, not looking at him. "Don't come after me. Don't speak to me. Don't even THINK about me."
His heart stuttered. "Y/N- "
"We're done," she whispered, pulling on her coat with trembling hands. "And we will be discussing how to sever the bond--since I'm such a terrible mate and High Lady."
She walked to the door, opened it and didn't look back.
The slam of the door echoed through the halls long after she disappeared. Rhys stood alone in the silence.
He didn't chase her. Couldn't.
All he felt was a crushing storm of anger. Shame. Exhaustion.
And the gaping hole in the bond where her presence had just vanished.
"Say that part again, girl. Because I must've misheard you the first six times."
Amren's voice cut through the room like a blade dipped in frost.
Y/N sat curled on the edge of the guest bed, eyes red, cheeks wet, hands shaking so badly she had to grip the blanket just to stay upright.
"He...he said..." Y/N choked, voice breaking all over again. "He said I wasn't acting like a proper High Lady. That making me one was a mistake. He- " Her breath hitched sharply. "He said- well, implied that it would've been better if he didn't have me as a mate."
Amren blinked once. Slowly.
As if the words themselves insulted her ancient existence. "Rhysand actually said that to you? Out loud? With his mouth?"
Y/N nodded, another sob ripping free as if the confirmation stabbed deeper. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, he did."
Amren's expression didn't soften--but something inside her eyes shifted. A dark, simmering storm of fury that promised bloodshed if she chose it.
"That idiot." Her voice was quiet, lethal. "That absolute, insufferable, self-sacrificing idiot."
Y/N let out a broken sound that might've been a laugh, might've been another sob. Amren sat beside her--not touching, but close enough that Y/N felt anchored by the sheer solidity of her presence.
"Well?" Amren said. "Keep going. Empty it out."
So she did.
She told her everything--raw and unfiltered. Every accusation she had thrown, every word Rhys had snapped at her, how this whole thing even started and...the final moment--the bond she'd felt splinter under his voice. How she'd walked out while he just stood there, silent and furious.
By the time Y/N finished, she was shaking so violently that she had to press both palms against her knees just to steady herself.
"And- and the way he looked at me," Y/N whispered, chest heaving, "I don't even know if he still loves me. I don't- I can't- "
Her voice caught, broke, collapsed. Amren finally placed a hand on her back.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't soft. It wasn't motherly.
It was Amren. Grounding. Precise. Certain.
"He loves you, you fool."
Y/N sobbed harder. After a long moment, voice trembling, she whispered:
"...Do you know who she is?"
Amren frowned. "Who?"
"Who Rhysand has been cheating on me with," Y/N said desperately, wiping her cheeks with trembling fingers. "Cassian and Azriel clearly know. They didn't tell me. They didn't tell ME. So if YOU know--if you've heard ANYTHING--please, just tell me. Please."
Amren stared at her for a full three seconds. Then:
"Girl."
It wasn't an endearment. It was disbelief.
"If Rhysand were actually sticking his dick somewhere it didn't belong, I would've told you before he finished buckling his pants. I fear no male, and certainly not that brooding bat."
Y/N blinked at her through tears. Amren continued, curt and blunt as always: “But I've heard nothing. Seen nothing. And believe me--if something was happening behind your back, I would smell it before anyone else."
Y/N's face crumpled.
"So...you don't know?"
"No," Amren confirmed. "Because there is no one."
"But Cass- Az- "
"They know something," Amren cut in sharply. "But it isn't what you think."
Y/N swallowed, shaking her head. "No. You're wrong. I heard it all properly clear. Why are they hiding something?"
Amren looked away, jaw tight.
"Because they are hiding something. And I'm gonna get to the bottom of this."
That didn't soothe Y/N. Not even close.
Her breaths grew shallow. Erratic. Her lip trembled as if the weight of everything finally became too much.
"Amren," she whispered, voice tiny, broken. "Why would he say all those things to me? Why would he--why would he hurt me like that?"
Amren closed her eyes.
"Because he is tired," she said quietly. "And stupid. And reckless with the things he holds dear when he is drowning."
Y/N let out a soft, strangled cry. "I don't want to lose him but if what I heard is true, I do need to break our bond."
Amren's voice gentled by a fraction. "Then don't make any decisions tonight."
Y/N nodded faintly. And then her body gave out.
She slumped sideways, exhaustion finally dragging her under. Her breaths evened. Her fingers loosened their death grip on the blanket.
Amren watched her sleep.
For a long, silent minute, she simply stood there--arms crossed, ancient mind calculating, fury simmering with every inch of her.
Then she sighed.
"I suppose I'll have to deal with the three batshits myself."
She pulled the blanket higher on Y/N, tucking her in with surprisingly careful hands.
"Unbelievable," she muttered. "You would think the High Lord of the Night Court knew how to use his words."
She stepped away, her eyes flashing silver.
Then: "Time to drag Cassian and Azriel into this mess--before those idiots let the whole mating bond go to hell."
With that, she put on her boots and closed the door.
Oh how Cassian had missed his bed. After three whole weeks away in the Illyrian camps, it felt amazing to be back at home, in his beloved bed. And now, he was in a beautiful, peaceful dream--one where he was shirtless (obviously), admired (as he deserved), and for some reason, winning a wrestling match against a very smug-looking Rhysand--when a voice like a razor dragged across stone slashed into the dream.
"Wake up, you overgrown, winged buffoon."
Cassian jerked so hard he nearly rolled off the bed. His eyes flew open to-
"Amren," he croaked, blinking at the petite creature standing on his mattress like some vengeful housecat. "Are you--are you standing on me?"
"Unfortunately," she said, stepping over his leg with a look of disgust. "Get up."
Cassian pushed himself onto his elbows. "It's- " he squinted toward the window "-The middle of the Cauldron-damned night. Why are you here? Did you run out of victims?"
Before Amren could reply, a groan came from near the door. Azriel came in slowly, shadows sluggish and sleepy around him, hair a disaster.
"What's happening?" Az rasped, rubbing a hand over his face.
Amren didn't even look at him as she pointed toward the door. "Both of you. Out. Now. And put on pants, Cassian. No one wants to see all...that"--she gestured vaguely at his bare torso--"at this hour."
Cassian sputtered. "Everyone wants to see this. This is public art."
Azriel yawned so wide his eyes watered. "Just...do what she says," he muttered.
Cassian stared at him, betrayed. "You're siding with her?"
Az just shrugged in that exhausted, "I've already accepted my fate," way and trudged toward the door.
Cassian scrambled for his pants, hopped into them halfway successfully, and followed.
When he stepped into the living room, Amren was perched on an armchair like some ancient gargoyle preparing to deliver judgment. Azriel leaned against the table, arms crossed, shadows awake now and twitching with mild concern.
Cassian dropped onto the couch, rubbing his eyes. "Okay." He pointed at Amren. "Start talking. Did Rhys blow up something? Are we being invaded? Because if I got out of bed for anything less than an apocalypse, I swear- "
Amren exhaled slowly, heavily--which immediately shut him up.
"This," she said, "is worse."
Azriel's posture sharpened.
Cassian sat up straighter. "What's worse than the apocalypse?"
Amren fixed them both with a deadly look.
"I'm about to tell you. And you both better answer all of my questions."
Amren had explained everything. Every shouted word, every accusation, every razor-edged insult Rhysand had spit in a moment of idiocy. By the time she finished, Cassian's jaw was on the floor and Azriel looked like someone had knocked all the air from his lungs.
Cassian was the first to speak. "So...why did they even fight?"
Azriel dragged a hand down his face, shadows coiling with agitation. "I knew this would happen," he muttered, voice low. "I knew this was going to blow up like this."
Amren snorted. "Oh, that isn't even the worst part."
Both males stiffened.
"The worst part," she continued, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from her sleeve, "is that they- or more like Y/N, is going to break the bond."
Cassian's wings flared. "What?"
Azriel's head snapped up. "Break the- Amren, no. Rhysand would never do that. He loves Y/N down to the marrow of his bones. He would never- "
"Don't be an idiot," Amren cut in sharply. "He did. Or at least, he said enough to make her believe it. And she's at my house right now, sleeping after sobbing into one of my pillows because she is convinced that her mate regrets her existence."
Cassian's voice cracked. "What did he say?"
"Oh, something about her being an incompetent High Lady and their mating being a cursed mistake," Amren said with a dismissive flick. "You know. Very romantic."
Both males stared at her as if struck.
Azriel whispered, horrified, "Rhysand wouldn't- "
"He did." Amren snapped. "Now stop saying what he wouldn't do. He already did it."
Cassian pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay--okay, but--how did it even start? You told us everything that happened during the fight. But what started all this? How did it begin?"
Amren slowly lifted an eyebrow. A dangerous eyebrow.
"Oh? You don't know?"
Cassian blinked. "No?"
Azriel turned to him sharply. "Cassian- " he shot him a look--a stop talking look-- shadows twitching nervously.
Amren jabbed a finger toward Azriel. "No. Don't do that. Don't you dare. Both of you started this mess to begin with."
Cassian threw up his hands. "How the hell did we start a fight between Rhys and his mate?"
Amren's smile was razor-thin. "What have you been keeping secret for Rhysand?"
The room went dangerously quiet.
Amren continued, voice silken and lethal: "Y/N overheard your little conversation with him. The one where you told Rhys how he's been spending more time with her than with his mate. Y/N heard it all--every word you two geniuses whispered behind her back."
Azriel went still as stone.
Amren leaned back. "She told me everything. The mysterious female scent on his clothes. The late nights. The excuses. The distance. And then--your conversation confirming it all. She thinks he's cheating. And she's not just hurt by Rhysand." Her eyes flashed. "She's hurt by you two keeping whatever this secret female situation is hidden from her.”
Cassian swallowed. Hard.
Amren crossed her legs. "Now," Her voice dropped to a deadly whisper. "Spill it."
"No," Cassian and Azriel said at the exact same time.
Amren's eyebrow climbed so high it nearly left her forehead.
The two males exchanged a look of pure panic.
Azriel clenched his throat, shadows curling tight. "We...can't. But tell Y/N that it's not what she thinks it is. What she heard- " He shook his head. "It wasn't that."
Cassian bobbed his head vigorously. "Yeah, yeah, not like that at all. And Rhys would never cheat. He knows damn well that if he ever did, we'd be the ones he'd have to face first."
"And we'd skin him," Azriel muttered.
Amren's voice was frost. "Then why the fuck aren't you saying anything? Spill. It."
Cassian immediately descended into garbled nonsense. "Amren, look, we really can't, we made Rhys a promise--like a blood-oath-but-without-the-blood-kind of thing--and we can't break it and- "
Azriel cut him off sharply. "We simply can't. But it's not what she thinks. None of this is."
Amren rose from her chair in one slow, lethal movement. She planted her hands on her hips, staring at the two of them like they were particularly disappointing children.
"Who is this female?" she demanded. "Why is she so damn important that you're shielding her from your High Lady?"
Cassian choked. "It's not like that! It's not- it's not even someone in that way- "
"We gave Rhys a promise," Azriel said, voice flat with finality. "And we cannot break it. Under any circumstances."
Then he turned and glared at Cassian.
"I told him this would happen. I told him that if Y/N heard about this from anyone except him, she would interpret it the wrong way. And look at that--she did. But does anyone in this Court ever listen to me?" His wings flared. "No. And yet I am always right."
Cassian threw up his hands. "Oh, come on--Az don't start with that- "
"Don't start?" Shadows crackled around him. "I said this would happen. I explained it in detail. And what did he do- "
"Oh, please," Cassian groaned. "Like you didn't help keep the secret- "
Amren snapped. "ENOUGH."
Silence slammed into the room.
She looked up at the ceiling as if praying for patience from a god who had long abandoned her. Then she exhaled, sharp and deliberate.
"Well," she muttered. "I suppose we're going to have to do this the hard way."
And with that, she swept past them, heading for the door.
Cassian and Azriel exchanged one more helpless look before scrambling after her--both still in their pyjamas, hair mussed, wings ruffled, dignity entirely forgotten.
"Amren?" Cassian called, half-panicked as they followed her out.
"Where are we going?" Azriel demanded.
Amren didn't slow. "Fixing this mess," she said. "Before the two of you make it worse."
The townhouse door creaked open beneath her hand. Silence greeted them--thick, heavy, wrong.
Cassian and Azriel stepped in behind her, wings folding as their eyes adjusted to the dim interior.
Then Cassian let out a low, horrified whistle. The place was wrecked. Chairs overturned. A table split clean in half. Books scattered in a glittering pool on the floor. The living room looked like a brute had torn through it, except this brute was the High Lord himself.
Azriel's shadows recoiled from the debris, twitching nervously. "He lost control."
Cassian nudged a broken picture frame with his boot. "This is bad. Really bad."
Amren didn't even glance at the destruction. "Search the lower rooms," she ordered, already heading for the stairs. "I'll take upstairs."
She didn't need to explain who they were looking for. Rhysand might as well have been bleeding on the floor for how god-awful everything felt.
Amren ascended the staircase slowly, letting the charged air guide her scent trail. At the top, she turned left toward the bedroom. The door was half-open. She pushed it with a fingertip. And...there he was.
Rhysand lay on Y/N's side of the bed. Fully clothed. Flat on his back. His eyes were open but unfocused, staring through the balcony doors into the night sky like he expected answers to fall out of it.
Amren approached the bed, walked around it, and snapped her fingers in front of of his face. "Hey."
Nothing.
She leaned down until her eyes were level with his. "Hey."
Rhysand's gaze slid toward her, dull and empty. Then back to the balcony.
"She's going to break the bond," he whispered. "I didn't mean any of it. I swear."
Amren rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. "Don't get all sappy on me. I hate it when you people do feelings."
When he didn't move, she grabbed his arm with both hands and hauled him upright--because if she waited for him to stand on his own, they'd be here until the end of days.
Rhys swayed, staring straight through her.
"Leave me alone, Amren," he murmured. "I've made the greatest mistake of my life tonight. I don't think I'll recover from it."
"Yeah, you did." Amren said tartly. "And then you also didn't follow after her or give her any explanation without insulting her. Who the hell calls their wife, their mate, an incompetent High Lady or a cursed existence."
He flinched. "So she told you."
"She's staying with me, you dipshit," Amren snapped. "Of course she told me."
Rhys's jaw clenched. "She said she'll send someone to gather her things. She...she really wants this to be over."
For the first time, something flickered in his eyes. Something close to terror.
Before Amren could respond, footsteps thundered up the stairs.
Cassian burst into the room first, looking like he expected Rhysand to be half-dead. "We're in deep shit right now," he groaned. "Rhys, this isn't the time to wallow. Go and get your woman back."
Azriel followed silently, wings tucked tight. He didn't hesitate--he walked right up and crouched in front of Rhys, glaring at him like a judge sentencing a criminal.
"This is all your fault," Azriel said, voice low and lethal. "You made us keep that secret. Now all three of us look like traitors to Y/N."
Rhys stared blankly at him. "This is what you're worried about? Your precious reputation?"
Azriel's shadows flared. "No. I'm worried about Y/N. I'm worried about the fact that you didn't explain the situation to her. I'm worried because I told you--multiple times--that this would happen. That she needed to hear it from you. That she would misunderstand everything if she found out some other way."
He jabbed a finger toward the ruined room. "And look. Look at your house. It's falling apart because you didn't fucking listen."
Cassian gave Rhysand a pitying look. "He's not wrong, brother- "
Amren grabbed Azriel by the back of his shirt and yanked him upright with one hand. "Enough."
Both males shut up instantly.
She crouched down slightly, leveling her gaze at Rhysand. "Are you sorry?"
Rhys blinked. "What?"
"Are you sorry for what you did?" she repeated, much slower.
He swallowed. "Amren..."
"Answer."
Rhysand closed his eyes. When he spoke, his voice cracked. "Yes. YES. I am so fucking sorry you have no idea. I love her more than anything or anyone in my entire existence. And I hurt her. I hurt the only person I never wanted to see cry. And I'd give up my throne, my crown--my wings, my power--if it meant taking back the words I said."
Amren hummed thoughtfully. "Good."
"Good?" Cassian echoed.
She stood. "If you're that sorry, Rhysand..." A slow, wicked smile curved her lips. "...then I think you should make it up to her."
Rhys's eyes snapped to hers, panic flaring. "How? She doesn't want to see me. She won't even look at me."
Amren's smirk widened into something downright devious. "Oh, don't worry," she purred. "I have an idea."
Y/N woke with a headache carved right between her eyebrows, the kind that came from crying until her ribs ached.
For a moment she didn’t remember where she was.
The sheets smelled like metal and jasmine.
Not Rhysand.
Not home.
Amren.
Right.
She pushed up on her elbows, swallowing hard. Light filtered in through the curtains--late morning, or maybe early afternoon. Time had blurred into something useless.
Her throat felt raw. Her chest felt hollow.
She’d cried herself into exhaustion.
Amren’s guest room was tidy, cold, and painfully quiet. Her dress from last night--torn in one seam, wrinkled from her shaking hands--was folded neatly over a chair. Amren had put a cup of steaming tea on the nightstand.
A note sat beside it, written in Amren’s sharp, elegant handwriting:
“Drink this. And then go breathe in the garden before your mind eats you alive.”
Y/N’s lips trembled. Gods, even Amren was worried.
She forced herself to stand. Everything inside her felt strange--brittle, almost. As if she’d stepped wrong and cracked the bones of her own heart.
She drank the tea slowly, letting the warmth fight the cold coiled in her stomach.
But her thoughts… they wouldn’t quiet.
Last night replayed itself again and again:
Rhysand’s distant voice.
His cold eyes.
The way he’d looked at her like she was a burden.
The way he’d told her she was incompetent, not ready, a mistake-
And gods, the scent...the female’s scent that clung to his clothes.
Her chest tightened so sharply she had to press a hand to it.
She inhaled once. Twice.
It didn’t help.
Neither did the fact that Cassian and Azriel had known. Known something. Kept it from her.
Let her walk around clueless while whatever this… female situation was unfolded behind her back.
A humorless laugh slipped out of her.
Mor had once joked that the Illyrians would rather fight the King of Hybern naked than break a promise.
Apparently that applied even when the promise harmed her. A knock came on the door.
Short. Sharp.
“Get up,” Amren’s voice drawled. “You look like a corpse and smell worse. The garden’s the only thing that’ll keep your mind from imploding for the next five minutes.”
Y/N exhaled shakily. “Thank you,” she whispered, though she didn’t know if Amren heard.
She pulled on a soft sweater Amren had left out and stepped into the hallway. The house was quiet--unnervingly so--and Amren was nowhere to be seen. Probably giving her space.
Or lurking nearby in case Y/N tried to run away again.
Y/N padded barefoot down the stairs, then toward the back door.
The handle was cool under her palm.
For a moment she just… hesitated.
She didn’t know why.
Something in her chest fluttered--warning or instinct, she couldn’t tell.
She stepped outside.
The garden was bright with midday sun, warm despite the tightness in her chest. Silver leaves rustled in a lazy breeze. A few purple blossoms were open, dotting the path.
Y/N inhaled shakily and stepped forward.
And froze.
Someone was standing in the center of the garden.
Tall. Broad-shouldered.
Wings tucked tight, as if he feared they might tremble.
Black hair, messy like he hadn’t slept--or had ripped his hands through it too many times.
His back was to her.
But she knew that stance.
That silhouette.
That presence that always filled a room like a tide.
Rhysand.
Her heart slammed painfully against her ribs, once, twice. He turned.
And when his eyes met hers--violet, rimmed with exhaustion, lined with regret--her breath disappeared entirely.
Y/N’s hand hovered over the door handle, fingers trembling, heart still hammering in her chest. Her chest ached from anger, from frustration, from the raw betrayal she thought she’d felt. She just wanted to walk away, leave it all behind.
“Y/N, please.”
The voice cracked through the air, desperate and ragged. Her hand froze. She turned slightly, eyebrows furrowed, unsure why she even listened. “Please, let’s just talk. Let me explain myself to you, just once,” he added, each word weighted with raw urgency. “Whatever decision you make after that, I’ll respect it. I’ll move out of your way. But please… just listen to me. Just once.”
She exhaled slowly, almost against her will. Something inside her softened, if only a little. With a reluctant sigh, she turned to face him fully, arms crossed over her chest, not moving closer but not leaving either. That small gesture, that quiet hesitance, was enough.
Rhysand stepped forward slightly, careful to keep the distance that wouldn’t scare her, and exhaled with the kind of quiet tension that made her stomach twist. “I… didn’t explain myself properly last night,” he said, his voice low. “I was just… exhausted.”
“Don’t give me that same bullshit,” Y/N cut him off sharply. “We’re all exhausted. I am, or--no, I was--the High Lady. I know what it’s like to carry weight on my shoulders. And I never once took my anger out on you. I never did that to you, Rhysand.”
He sighed, long and heavy, the sound echoing around them. “I know. I know I fucked up. I meant none of it. Please.”
She didn’t move. She just let him go on.
“I… consulted a curse-breaker,” he began, voice careful, eyes never leaving hers. “I was worried about you, about your bond. I didn’t want you to feel… forced, overwhelmed, or unsafe. I made Cassian and Azriel promise not to tell you anything until I could explain it properly, because I wanted to understand it myself before alarming you. The curse-breaker was helping me gauge your connection, how the bond was responding… everything, from start to finish. That’s why I was coming home late. That’s why I seemed distant. And I know I have no excuse for the times I locked you out, or for the way I’ve been… distant. But none of it was ever meant to hurt you. I swear, Y/N, none of it.”
Her arms slowly unfolded, the tension in her shoulders easing imperceptibly. He took a cautious step closer. “I would die for you, Y/N. I would kill everyone in this world to make sure you are safe. Everything I’ve done… it’s only ever been for you. And that night… what I said… I was angry, exhausted, frustrated. I was trying to hurt back because I felt hurt myself. But none of it was true. None of it. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. I wouldn’t--couldn’t--want another mate. I wouldn’t do this with anyone else.”
Y/N’s eyes shimmered, a mix of shock and relief, and she whispered, almost disbelievingly, “You spoke with the curse-breaker because you were worried about me… and you didn’t want me to feel forced into this bond… or overwhelmed.”
“Yes,” he breathed. “Exactly. I wanted you to make your own choices, in your own time. I didn’t want to corner you. I wanted you to feel safe and… loved. On your terms.”
Her gaze softened, and she shook her head slightly. “But you could’ve told me. We could’ve talked together. Hiding things from me… it only makes me misunderstand you. We talk. That’s what mates do. We share our burdens. I am your partner, Rhysand. For life.”
“I know,” he said, his voice low and earnest, almost reverent. “I know. I swear to you, that’s what I’ll always do. No hiding, no lashing out, no locking you away when I’m stressed. I promise.”
Y/N nodded slowly, the tight knot in her chest loosening further. “I wasn’t even going to break the bond,” she admitted quietly.
A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Good. Then maybe I’ll just have to prove myself harder until you fully trust me again.”
She allowed herself a tiny, weary smile in return.
He took another small step, until they were mere inches apart, foreheads gently touching. “By the way,” he said with a soft smirk, “that female I was meeting? Very old. Very wrinkly.”
Y/N blinked. “What?”
He grinned. “Grandmother-level old.”
“Rhysand!” she laughed, hitting his chest lightly, but she leaned into him anyway, wrapping her arms around his waist.
He hugged her back firmly, just once. “I know this isn’t fully resolved,” he murmured into her hair.
“No,” she said, pulling back slightly, but still holding him. “Next time… you tell me immediately.”
“I promise,” he said, voice steady, “never hiding anything from you again. Never lashing out. Never locking you out when I’m stressed.”
Just then, from behind the open garden door, Cassian and Azriel emerged with Amren in tow.
Cassian’s voice called out, teasing: “So… are we also forgiven now, or are we on permanent probation?”
Y/N turned, smirk tugging at her lips, “Depends on whether you two can behave like responsible adults for five minutes straight.”
Cassian shrugged dramatically, hands up. “Hey, I consider standing still for ten seconds straight a win. That’s about as adult as I get.”
Azriel rolled his eyes, muttering, “Focus, Cassian. It’s not about you this time.”
Y/N let out a soft laugh, and Rhysand tightened his hold on her, letting the moment of relief wash over them both.
The tension hadn’t vanished completely, but for the first time since last night, they could breathe.
Guyss I’m ALIVE no worries lol!! I have already written and prepared multiple of the requests but I just need the time to recheck and finalize my drafts, but it’s been a hectic month already with everything starting again so I promise once I have found the time to properly finish my work, they will be out one by one!
Thank you for the love and support, always❤️
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