————> An Azriel x female reader fanfic
summary: You, the Spymaster of the Day Court, have been feeling a tug in your chest towards the North ever since the War with Hybern; are you ready to find out what is waiting for you there?
all rights of the characters and the main story belong to ACOTAR’s author SJM, only the romance story belongs to me.
There will be smut in this part.
warnings: oral (f/m), p in v, binding kink, size kink, roughness, handjob, masturbation (m).
Part 2 - The Shadowsinger
“Everything in the universe has a rhythm, everything dances.”
You absolutely hated being interrupted. Especially when you were just about to, after a long time, be with a man. With Azriel, a Shadowsinger, a Spymaster.
Of course your lovely High Lord had to have come in and ruin it.
You practically radiated your way in Helion’s study, light sparks flickering in sharp, jagged bursts of annoyance that mirrored your sour mood. The silks of your dress were still slightly mussed, and your lips were a bit more swollen than they had been twenty minutes ago, giving you a look that was less "professional spy" and more "thoroughly kissed."
And almost thoroughly fucked by the big Shadowsinger.
Helion was reclined on a golden divan, peeling a grape with the kind of leisure that only an immortal High Lord could manage. He looked up, his amber eyes bright with feigned innocence.
"Ah, my sweetheart. You’re here. Good," Helion said, popping the grape into his mouth. "I was beginning to wonder if the Shadowsinger had managed to winnow you off to a dark corner where I couldn't reach you."
You stopped in the center of the room, hands flying to your hips. "You interrupted us, Helion. For what? The border reports? The Koschei vellum? Please tell me it’s something that could potentially end the world, because if it isn't, I might actually let Azriel use his shadows to gag you next time."
Or well, that did not sound like a bad idea to try yourself when you were having sex with him.
Helion sat up, looking entirely unbothered. "Actually, I wanted to discuss something much more vital to the health of this court." He leaned forward, his expression turning conspiratorial. "So... tell me. What do you really think of him? Is the brooding Illyrian vibe just a front, or is there actually a heart of gold under all that obsidian leather?"
You stared at him. The silence in the room stretched out, punctuated only by the frantic, incredulous flickering of your light orbs. Then your High Lord unfortunately kept going.
“Is he big? Is the wingspan saying true?” At first it was funny but now Helion’s question made you actually raise your eyebrows almost up to your hairline.
Slowly, you raised a hand and pointed a shaky finger back toward the door of the dining hall. You gave him a look of such pure, "are you serious" energy that one of your sparks actually turned a dull, judgmental grey.
"Are you serious?" You asked, voice dropping to a flat, deadpan crawl. "Helion, you walked in on us. Did you not see the table? Did you not see the way I was basically devouring him? I wasn't exactly checking the stitching on his leathers for a report."
You took a step closer, jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. "I think he’s the most captivating, infuriating, and lethal male I’ve ever met. And for the record, I was about to find out if the rumors about Illyrian stamina and wingspan were true before you decided you needed to gossip like a bored courtier."
Helion laughed, a rich, booming sound that shook the solar’s golden hangings. "Oh, I saw. Believe me, the devouring was quite evident. I just wanted to hear you admit it."
But as he laughed, Helion’s sharp, ancient eyes never left yours. He wasn't just looking for sass or annoyance. He was looking for the tell-tale signs—the way your light reacted to the mention of Azriel's name, the depth of the flush on your neck, how your posture was stiff with arousal, radiating a scent of it and the specific, soul-deep frequency of your power.
He was looking for the click. He knew the bond had snapped for Azriel, and he was searching for any sign that the golden tether had finally tightened around your heart too.
"So, no complaints then?" Helion asked softly, his tone shifting from playful to something more observant. "No sense that you’re... out of your depth? Or perhaps exactly where you’re meant to be?"
You huffed, missing the weight of his question as you turned toward the window to hide your deepening blush. "I’m in exactly the depth I want to be, Helion. Which is very, very deep in his business. Hopefully will be in his bed too.”
Helion smiled to himself, leaning back. You hadn't felt the "snap" yet—or if you had, you were calling it lust. But the way your light was currently vibrating in a perfect, rhythmic harmony with the shadows lingering on your sleeve told him everything he needed to know.
"Well," Helion mused, picking up another grape. "In that case, I suggest you get back to it. The archives can wait. The Night Court’s Spymaster, however, seems like he’s on a much tighter deadline."
You didn't need to be told twice. You headed for the door, tossing a final spark of light at Helion’s head that let off a tiny, playful pop of annoyance. "If you interrupt us again, Helion, I’m telling Mor about that time you tried to enchant your own reflection."
"A low blow, dear!" Helion shouted after you, his smile widening as he watched his Lightdancer race back toward her Shadow. "A very low blow!"
It could be said you practically sprinted back to the dining hall, light sparks leaving a trail of shimmering violet exhaust in your wake. You had your rebuttal ready, hair tossed just right, and a very specific plan to finish what Helion had so rudely interrupted.
You skidded to a halt at the arched entrance, chest heaving.
The quartz table stood cold and silent in the afternoon sun. The chairs were perfectly straight, and the only sign that anything scandalous had happened was a single, stray starfruit slice and the lingering, ghostly scent of mountain air and salt.
"Are you actually serious?" You hissed to the empty room. Your light orbs turned a sharp, jagged grey that matched your irritation. "After that, he just… left?"
You paced the length of the hall, huffing, your silk gown swishing angrily. "Typical. Give an Illyrian five minutes of silence and he’ll go find a shadow to brood in. He probably winnowed back to Velaris to file a report on my 'tactical maneuvers.' Oh he was playing with me, wasn’t he? That little-“
You were halfway through a very creative curse involving Azriel’s siphons when the doors burst open again.
It wasn't the Shadowsinger. Instead, it was Osric and Theron—the two attendants from earlier—accompanied by a small troupe of male and female Day Court courtiers. They were already dressed for the evening, draped in translucent silks and shimmering body paint that caught the light like spilled diamonds.
"Lightdancer! There you are!" Osric cried, his face lit up with a scandalous grin. "We heard a rumor that the Lord of Shadows was stalking through the halls looking like he wanted to devour the sun, but the terrace is empty! Did he finally bore you to sleep?"
"He’s gone," you snapped, though your lights flickered a traitorous, embarrassed pink.
"Even better!" Theron laughed, sliding an arm around your shoulders with the easy, boundary-free affection of the Day Court. "Because tonight is the Solstice Pulse. The greatest music and light party of the century is being hosted in the Hanging Gardens. Helion has already cracked the ancient vintage, and the musicians from the Summer Court arrived an hour ago."
"I have work," you tried to lie, your gaze flickering toward the shadows in the corner of the room, hoping—praying—to see a pair of hazel eyes watching you. Nothing.
“Work can wait for the dawn,” Leisha teased, one of Helion’s courtiers, leaning in close. “You look like you need a drink, Lightdancer. Or ten. You have that ‘stiff-backed’ look the Night Court is so famous for. Come and dance it off. There will be enough wine and starlight to make you forget there’s even such a thing as a shadow.”
You looked at the empty quartz table, then at your friends. A slow, defiant smirk began to spread across your face.
If Azriel wanted to play the "mysterious, disappearing Spymaster" game, two could play at it. You knew he still had to be in the city. You knew his shadows were likely clinging to the very pillars of this room. And you knew exactly how much he had hated those golden boys touching you earlier.
"You’re right," you said, lights suddenly flaring into a brilliant, predatory gold. "I do need a drink. In fact, I plan on being so thoroughly entertained tonight that I might forget the Night Court exists entirely."
"That’s our girl!" Theron cheered.
"Wait," You added, a wicked glint in your eyes. "I need a different dress. Something that doesn't just catch the light—I want something that demands it. And I want the strongest nectar Helion has in his cellar."
You looked directly at the darkest corner of the room, voice raising just a fraction. "I feel like being a little... feral tonight."
While you were thinking Azriel had escaped the sexual confrontation and was lingering around watching you like some brooding raven, he had thrown himself into the first empty room he could find.
It had been five minutes since you disappeared to Helion’s study and he could not just stay put and wait for you to bless him with your presence.
And Azriel was an utter wreck.
His hard cock was in his hand, pants lowered in haste and only halfway down before he had grabbed his aching length.
A hiss escaped him, his hazel eyes first fluttered close before they opened as he gasped, running his thumb over the sensitive tip- the image of your hips against his filling his head. You had fit him perfectly, so ready -fuck, so perfect- to take him inside you.
And Helion had ruined it. Azriel growled quietly as he pumped his fist up and down agonizingly slow on his cock, his shadows were as restless as him. He would take his anger out on Helion some other way, later. Right now he needed to relieve himself.
He went back to hearing you groan against his lips, fingers in his hair and nails scraping his scalp- it made him shudder and bite back a groan, hips buckling in desperation.
He has been hard as a rock since the terrace where he smelled that arousal on you, your thighs had clenched together to calm down your throbbing cunt he was dying to bury himself in right now. He was mad with lust, anger and love all at once.
You were his mate, which made everything ten times worse- or better. It made him feral that every bone in his body was aching for him to claim his mate and she was unaware. You did not deserve to be pushed into the mating bond but fuck if he did not want to enjoy it thoroughly.
“Oh fuck-“ he grunted, his head falling back against the wall, his fist stroking himself faster now. His eyes closed completely, jaw clenched not to be loud. “Fuck, my little Lightdancer,”
Azriel wasn’t usually very talkative or loud when it came to his daily life, so he inevitably was a loud beast in bed. He would made sure you knew he was loving every second of fucking you, eating you or you eating him.
His hips had started to thrust forward into his hand, he was imagining your smart mouth wrapped around his cock, sucking him until you were struggling to take all of it in. A groan escaped him. He could almost feel your tongue running over his length before he choked you on it and made you shut up, oh he would be so gentle with you only to ruin you worse.
“Gods,” Azriel was breathing hard and fast, his face crunched in pleasure as he felt himself getting closer. Behind his closed eyes, the projection of you taking it like a good girl flared up. “That’s it, fuck, so fucking good for me aren’t you,”, he would grunt those praises as you were held down by his shadows and gave him your sweet cries of delight.
He fell away from the wall and stumbled to the across wall, his free hand came up to support his body as he furiously kept stroking himself, head down and hips thrusting- his orgasm hit him like lightning, his eyes stayed closed but the siphons on his leathers he had not shared lit up with the sudden surge of sensations. He came into his hand, suppressing the sounds he would definitely make if he had been fucking you and not getting himself off like a pathetic man inside a storage room.
Once he came down from the high, he cursed at himself, panting softly now. He opened his eyes and looked down at his palm, covered in his cum and huffed in irritation. If only you had been there, he would have you swallow it all.
Quickly he zipped himself up and left the small room, going to wash his hands and pretend like he had not just came to the imagination of you. He would make sure to make all of it come to life, very soon.
Meanwhile the air in your private chambers was thick with the scent of crushed petals and expensive oils. You stood before a floor-to-ceiling mirror of polished silver, your breathing still slightly uneven from the encounter on the quartz table.
"If the Shadowsinger sings," you murmured, your voice a low, dangerous velvet, "I’ll give him a dance worthy of it."
You armed yourself like a sunbeam and white scales. You summoned your attendants, who moved with practiced efficiency, sensing the sharp, jagged energy radiating from their mistress. Your light sparks were no longer soft and warm; they were zipping around the room like frantic, white-hot needles. They went around you, inspected the jewelry to test which shines brighter.
The Gown was a masterpiece of Day Court decadence. A Liquid Sun silk that appeared almost transparent in certain lights, held together by delicate gold chains that crisscrossed over your bare back and dipped dangerously low at your hips. Every time you moved, the iridescent fabric shifted from the pale cream of dawn to the deep, bruised purple and pink of dusk.
Your attendants painted your skin with gold dust that caught the light in every curve. Your hair, usually a wild mane of gold, was pinned back with diamond sunbursts, leaving your neck—where Azriel’s hand had so recently lingered—completely exposed.
You lined your eyes in kohl and gold, making your gaze look predatory. You looked less like a courtier and more like a celestial event.
"The Mother…you are a vision," one of the girls whispered, draping a translucent silk wrap around your arms that did absolutely nothing to cover you. "The Shadowsinger won't know what hit him."
You smirked at her, hands clasped in front of you to hold the silk around your back and shoulders. “I am counting on that.”
The Solstice Pulse was already in full swing when you descended the grand marble staircase. The Hanging Gardens were a marvel of architectural defiance—platforms of lush greenery and white stone suspended over the city by ancient solar magic.
The atmosphere was a sensory riot. Massive drums from the Summer Court provided a deep, thrumming bass that you felt in your marrow, overlaid with the high, frantic trills of Day Court flutes.
Thousands of your light orbs had been cast into the sky, swirling in rhythmic patterns that mimicked the heartbeat of the music. Below them, hundreds of fae in various states of undress danced, their bodies glistening with sweat and glitter, giggling and laughing.
You had used a heavy, intoxicating blend of night-blooming jasmine, roasted meats, and the sharp, fruity tang of Helion’s Star-Nectar to arm your scent; something Mor had mentioned she used frequently that had males going primal.
As you stepped onto the main dance floor, the crowd parted like a golden sea. You didn't look for Azriel. You didn't have to. You could feel the cool, heavy pressure of his gaze from somewhere in the dark canopy above. The tug you felt—the one you still insisted was just lingering lust—tightened until you could barely breathe.
"Drinks," you commanded, voice carrying over the music.
Theron appeared instantly, handing you a crystal flute filled with a liquid that glowed like molten amber. You downed half of it in one go, the nectar burning a path of liquid fire down your throat.
"Dance with me," you told Osric, grabbing the front of his silk tunic and pulling him toward the center of the pulsing crowd.
You were a Lightdancer after all, and tonight, you were going to live up to the name. You moved with a fluid, feline grace, body pressing against Osric’s as you spun to the rhythmic thrum of the drums. You made sure to throw your head back, exposing the line of your throat. You made sure your hands lingered on Osric’s bare shoulders, fingers tracing the gold paint there.
Every few minutes, you would lean in and whisper something into his ear, laughing loudly and brightly—a sound of pure, unadulterated joy that you knew would be grating against the ears of a brooding Spymaster.
"He’s watching," Osric whispered against your temple, eyes darting toward the shadows of a massive stone archway. "And well... the air over there is literally vibrating. I think his shadows are about to start a riot."
You smirked, your lights flaring a brilliant, defiant silver that cut through the garden's glow. You took another long sip of your third nectar, the world beginning to tilt in a beautiful, golden haze.
"Let them riot," you whispered back, sliding your hand down to his waist and pulling him flush against you. "I want to see him burn for it."
You spun again, your gold-flecked silks fluttering like a challenge, a radiant sunbeam dancing in a world that was suddenly, dangerously desperate for his shadow to return.
Before your entrance, Azriel had went to find you. Almost immediately after he had stroked himself to a mediocre orgasm.
The Spymaster stepped out, his breathing finally leveled, though his skin still felt several degrees too hot. His hair was slightly disheveled, and the scent of his own frustration—and the lingering, citrus-and-cedar memory of you—still hung heavy around him. He had spent the last twenty minutes in a state of agonizing self-relief, driven to the edge by the memory of you on that quartz table, only for you to vanish into the golden halls of the Day Court.
He didn't get five steps before he saw him.
Helion was leaning against a gilded bust of some ancient solar philosopher, a goblet of dark wine in his hand and a look of pure, unadulterated mischief on his face. He hadn't moved since Azriel had winnowed away from the dining hall. He had been waiting.
"You took your time," Helion remarked, his amber eyes scanning Azriel’s dark, controlled expression. "I was beginning to think you’d winnowed back to the Night Court to take a very cold bath."
Azriel’s shadows lashed out, snapping at the air near Helion’s boots. "Where is she?"
"She’s gone to the Solstice Pulse," Helion said, his voice smooth and entirely too cheerful. He took a slow sip of his wine, watching Azriel over the rim. "And Azriel? She looked... devastating. I believe she chose her gown specifically to ensure that every male in the Hanging Gardens forgets how to breathe."
Azriel’s jaw tightened. He knew exactly what was happening. He was the finest Spymaster in the world; he could see the strings Helion was pulling, and he could feel the bait you had laid out for him. You were both playing with him—testing the limits of the Shadowsinger’s restraint.
"How devastating?" Azriel rasped, the words feeling like shards of glass in his throat.
"Let’s just say," Helion grinned, pushing off the wall, "that if I weren't her High Lord and currently occupied with my own vintage, I’d be the first one asking her for a dance. You might want to hurry. Osric and Theron were already fighting over who got to hold her drink."
With a mocking nod of his head, Helion vanished into a shimmer of gold, leaving Azriel alone in the darkening hall.
Azriel didn't go to the party instantly. Not yet.
He winnowed to the highest spire overlooking the Hanging Gardens, a place where the shadows of the eaves were thick and the music was a distant, thrumming vibration in the stone. He folded his massive, dark wings, blending perfectly into the obsidian night.
He looked down, and for a moment, the Shadowsinger forgot how to breathe for the fifth time that day.
He saw you immediately. In a sea of gold and white, you were the setting sun. You were radiant, her gown catching every spark of light in the gardens. From this height, you looked like a shifting, shimmering flame.
But then he saw the rest.
He saw Osric’s hand on the small of your back. He saw the way Theron leaned in, his lips dangerously close to your ear as you laughed over a crystal flute of amber nectar. He saw the way the gold dust on your bare skin caught the light as you threw your head back, exposing the line of your throat—the throat he had held in his palm half an hour ago.
Azriel’s siphons didn't just glow; they hissed, the blue stones pulsing with a violent, rhythmic light that matched the frantic beat of his heart.
The mating bond, already raw and screaming, turned into a physical ache—a territorial roar that demanded he drop from the sky and unmake every male who dared to breathe the same air as his mate.
He watched you slide your hand down that bastard’s waist. He watched you giggle—that bright, melodic sound that he now knew was meant for him – and give it to another.
"She’s doing this on purpose," Azriel whispered to the shadows, his voice a low, primal growl.
His shadows didn't whisper back. They swarmed around his head, their jagged edges pointing down toward the dance floor. They wanted you. They wanted to wrap around your gold-clad limbs and pull you back into the dark where you belonged.
Azriel gripped the stone railing of the spire so hard the marble began to crack. He wasn't going to intervene yet. He was a Spymaster; he was going to watch. He was going to see exactly how far you were willing to push him before he showed you what happened when a creature of the night finally stopped playing by the rules of the day.
But as Theron reached out and traced a finger along the gold chain at your hip, Azriel’s restraint snapped like a brittle twig.
“That’s enough,” he breathed.
He didn't winnow. He simply stepped off the ledge, his wings snapping open with a sound like a thunderclap, a dark, vengeful shadow descending toward the center of the light.
The air at the bar was cooler, but only because the shadows seemed to pool there, congregating around the male who had just occupied the furthest stool. Azriel didn’t winnow into the center of the dance floor. He didn't make a scene. He simply went and sat down, his wings folded with predatory precision, and signaled the trembling bartender for a glass of something dark and lethal.
He didn't look at the menu. He didn't look at the crowd. His hazel eyes were fixed entirely on you.
You felt him the moment he arrived. It wasn't just the tug in your chest; it was the way the light sparks near the bar suddenly scurried away, replaced by a heavy, velvet chill. You turned your head mid-spin, your gold-flecked silks swirling around your thighs, and saw him.
Azriel raised his glass in a slow, mocking toast. He didn't smile. He just sat there, a dark god in a garden of gilded fools, taunting you with the sheer, arrogant weight of his presence. He was telling you, without a single word, that he could wait all night.
He was a very, very patient male.
"He’s here," Osric whispered, his voice tight with a mix of excitement and genuine fear. "Darling, the Shadowsinger is—"
"I see him," you breathed, your eyes flashing with a dangerous, nectar-fueled fire. "If he wants to watch, let’s give him something worth the price of the drink."
You didn't go to him. Instead, you turned your back on the bar and pressed herself closer to Osric. The music from the Summer Court shifted, the drums becoming deeper, a primal thrum that echoed the blood-lust in your veins.
You began to dance—not the refined movements of a courtier, but something fluid, raw, and devastatingly sensual. You kept your gaze locked over Osric’s shoulder, staring directly into Azriel’s eyes. You watched him take a slow, deliberate sip of his drink, his siphons pulsing a rhythmic, angry blue.
Then, you decided to end the game.
You reached up, fingers hooking into the heavy golden chain necklace Osric wore. With a sharp, sudden tug, you pulled him down. Osric stumbled forward, and you met him halfway, almost crashing your lips against his.
The glass in Azriel’s hand didn't break, but the shadows around him did. They exploded outward in a silent, jagged wave that extinguished the floating candles nearby.
Azriel didn't walk; he glided across the floor so fast, a dark tear in the fabric of the golden party. The crowd—drunk and high on starlight—parted in a panicked rush, the music seemingly dying in his wake. By the time you were up in Osric’s face, Azriel was there.
He towered over you both, his wings casting a massive, terrifying silhouette against the garden’s glow. He didn't say a word. He didn't have to. The sheer, suffocating aura of one of the most dangerous males in Prythian was enough.
Osric straightened his back, took one look at the cold, murderous intent in Azriel’s hazel eyes and the way his shadows were already coiling around his throat like a noose, and he didn't wait for a dismissal. He backed away, hands raised in a gesture of frantic surrender, and vanished into the crowd.
You stood your ground, though your head was swimming with nectar and the overwhelming scent of him—salt, mist, and the dark promise of the night. You swayed slightly, her gown shifting to a bruised, deep violet.
"You're late, Spymaster," you giggled, the sound a bit slurred, a bit reckless.
You stepped forward, closing the final inch between them. Your hands, covered in shimmering gold dust, came up to rest on his chest, your fingers splaying over the hard, obsidian leather and the cool pulse of his siphons.
"Did you enjoy the show?" You whispered, leaning in until your breasts were pressed against his armor. You began to move against him—a slow, swaying dance that was pure, unadulterated bait. You traced the lines of his siphons, your touch lingering, teasing, as your light orbs began to scum for his shadows again, dancing in a frantic, violet heat.
"You shouldn't have done that," Azriel rasped, his hands hovering inches from your waist, trembling with the effort not to simply crush you against him.
"Done what?" You teased, tilting your head back to look at him, your eyes heavy and dark with a desire you finally stopped trying to hide. You slid one hand up to his neck, your thumb grazing the scar tissue there. "Danced with him? Or made you watch? Because from where I’m standing, you look like you’re about to go absolutely... feral."
Azriel’s shadows didn't just wrap around you then; they claimed you, pulling your gold-clad body flush against his leathers as he looked down at you with a hunger that made the sun feel cold.
"You have no idea," he whispered. His hands rested on your hips possessively, his breathing uneven as he pulled you to do a little spin with him. You giggled, thinking it was a cute gesture before he turned your around and pressing your back against his chest.
“Ah!” You could not stop the sound that left your lips, his hands were on your hips again and pressed his crotch against your ass. With a satisfied hum, you moved your head to rest back on his chest, your hips moving in small circles to rub against him.
“Az,” you breathed as his hands wrapped around your abdomen to keep you pressed against him, his lips brushing against your bare neck. His cock responded to your breathy voice, throbbing in his pants. He ground against your soft ass to make you feel him, eating up the whimper you let out again.
“Hello sweet girl,” he rasped against your ear, his teeth gently biting down your earlobe and sucked once, his right hand caressed your stomach sensually; you felt like you could not breathe.
You could barely register how big he was through a bulge, but his confidence told you what you needed to know. When his teeth grazed your jaw and your back arched, he let out a deep chuckle.
“Dance for me, little Lightdancer,” he whispered, smirking as he settled his hands on your waist and kissed your neck again, slowly this time. You closed your eyes and bit your lip to focus, the nectar was causing your head to swim sweetly.
Your hands came up, looped back around his head and you pushed your ass back against his hardness, her back arched beautifully to create room for yourself and then swayed. You barely heard him growl, one had letting go while the other stayed on your right hip as you danced against him.
The air around you was no longer just charged; it was suffocating. Azriel’s shadows had formed a solid wall of midnight, cutting off the rest of the party until the thrumming drums of the Summer Court felt like a distant, fading heartbeat.
"We’re leaving," Azriel rasped, his other hand sliding from your waist to grip your arm with a firm, inescapable pressure. "Now. Back to the palace. To my room."
You let out a sharp, indignant huff, your head lolling back as you looked at him through heavy, nectar-shushed eyelids. Your light sparks were flickering in a chaotic, stubborn rhythm. "The palace is too far," you complained, your voice a sultry, defiant whine. You pointed a gold-dusted finger toward the shadowed corridor leading to the public washrooms. "There’s a room right there. I’ve waited five hundred years for a male to look at me like that, and I’m not walking a mile for a bed when there’s a perfectly good floor right behind that door."
Azriel’s jaw set so hard a muscle jumped in his cheek. He stepped into your space, his massive wings shielding you from the flickering lanterns of the garden.
"You think you want a bathroom, but you don't," he growled, his voice dropping into a register that made your toes curl in the sand. "I am not some palace fling, Lightdancer. I am not another golden boy you can use to pass a humid night."
He leaned down, his hazel eyes burning with a terrifying, ancient heat. "I am not taking my mate for the first time in a filthy, public bathroom. You deserve better than stone floors and the scent of spilled wine."
You blinked, the word mate hitting you through the golden haze of the drink, though you were too far gone to fully grasp the weight of the golden thread tightening between them. "Velaris is better," you mumbled, reaching for the laces of his leathers. "Take me there."
"In time," Azriel promised, his hand catching yours and pinning it to his chest, gentle love and desire swimming in his eyes. "But tonight, we are in your court. I want to respect your home, and I want you under the light of your own stars. I want your light as bright and pure as possible, baby, just so I can be the one to finally ruin it."
Before you could process the dark promise in his words or offer another sassy retort, Azriel moved with the sudden, jarring speed of a predator. In one fluid motion, he ducked, caught you around the thighs, and hoisted you over his shoulder like a prize of war.
"Hey!" You shrieked, your gold-flecked silks fluttering as you dangled upside down against his back. "Put me down! You brooding, over-possessive... unhand me!"
You began to kick, your heels drumming against his obsidian-armored chest in a classic display of drunken brat-energy. "I said the bathroom, Shadowsinger! Right now! I’m the Spymaster of Day, I outrank you in this—"
The sound of his palm connecting with your silk-clad backside echoed through the private pocket of shadow he’d created. You let out a shocked, strangled squeak, your body going momentarily rigid.
"Quiet, brat," Azriel commanded, his voice vibrating through your entire frame. He began to walk, his stride long and purposeful as he headed toward the palace spires. "You can have the bathroom next time, I give you my word I will fuck you senseless there at least once. Tonight, you’re getting exactly what you’ve been begging for all night—and I’m going to make sure you’re conscious enough to remember every second of it."
You went limp against his shoulder, your lights turning a deep, defeated lavender. "Fine," you muttered into the small of his back, though your hands instinctively found the curve of his glutes to hold on, smirking in delight as you felt the muscle of it. "But you’re carrying me the whole way."
"Count on it," he muttered, his shadows purring as he stepped into the cool, dark silence of the palace halls.
The transition from the cool palace hallways to the heavy silence of Azriel’s quarters was like stepping into a different dimension. The moment he set you down on the edge of the sprawling, silk-draped bed, the nectar-fueled haze that had been clouding your mind vanished.
It wasn't the sudden lack of movement that did it; it was him.
The sheer, overwhelming pressure of Azriel’s presence—the scent of rain and cold stone, the rhythmic pulse of his cobalt siphons, and the way his shadows were now a thick, suffocating wall around the bed—acted like a bucket of ice water to your senses.
You looked up, your eyes wide and crystal clear. And then, it happened.
That strange, persistent tug you had felt in your chest for months didn't just tighten; it snapped. A golden, unbreakable thread arched from your heart and anchored itself deep into the scarred, beautiful soul of the male standing before you. The world went silent for a heartbeat.
The realization hit you with the force of a physical blow. The reason he’d been avoiding you, the reason his shadows scummed for your light, the reason he had looked at you in the garden with such murderous, territorial hunger—it all registered. Every puzzle piece of the last few months clicked into place with a definitive, soul-shaking resonance.
Azriel was breathing hard, his hazel eyes fixed on you face with a terrifying intensity. But as he looked at you—sobered, vulnerable, and clearly processing the bond—his expression softened for a fleeting second. He reached out, his scarred hand hovering near your cheek, his touch uncharacteristically hesitant, as if he were waiting for you to reject the claim.
"Sweet girl," he whispered, his voice thick with an unexpected tenderness. "I didn't want you to find out like this. In the middle of a—"
"Don't," you interrupted, voice a low, ragged friction.
You saw the "attentive" male trying to surface—the one who wanted to talk, to apologize, to offer you romantic platitudes about destiny. You didn't want him right now. You wanted the male who had just carried you across the palace like a conquest. You wanted the Shadowsinger who had pinned you to the table and told you he wanted to ruin your light.
The romantic weight of the bond was there, pulsing in your blood, but it didn't spark a need for poetry. It sparked a primal, desperate yearning for the weight of him.
"I don't want to talk, Azriel," you said, your lights flaring a deep, hungry violet that surged toward his shadows. You stood up, closing the small gap between them until your chest was brushing his leathers. You reached up, not gently, and grabbed the front of his tunic, pulling him down. "I don't need a speech about fate. I need you to stop being careful with me."
Azriel’s breath hitched, his shadows coiling tightly around your wrists as if sensing your demand.
"You're sober now," he warned, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous register you had been chasing all night. "If I start this... if I stop holding back... there is no polite way this ends."
"Good," you breathed, your eyes locking onto his with a defiant, bratty fire that made his siphons hiss. You slid your hands down to his belt, your golden ringed fingers working the buckles with a frantic, unpolished energy. "Because I didn't spend all night making you jealous just to have you treat me like a piece of glass. Show me if the biggest wingspan of the Inner Circle can live up to the expectations. Handle me like you mean it."
The last shred of Azriel’s legendary restraint snapped.
He didn't say another word. He growled, a low, animalistic sound of pure surrender to the bond, and grabbed your waist. Your hands wrapped around his neck as your lips crashed against his in a passionate kiss, you gasped at the feeling of it after realizing the bond, your head spinning as his tongue brushed against your lips and parted them.
Your tongue met his, caressing each other while Azriel slid his hands down and grabbed your ass through the dress that drove him crazy the whole day. You bit his lip in response and he chuckled as if it amused him, his hand giving your ass a smack that had you leaning more towards him with a groan.
You felt his teeth, he missed your lips a few times with the desire clouding his mind, kissing your jaw and cheek. You tilted your head to guide him, his hand slid into the slit of your dress, running it up and down your toned thigh, sending a shiver that went straight to your core.
“Azriel,” you whined, he was busy kissing and biting hickeys onto your neck, the hand on your thigh running down and back to caress your bare ass, your nipples hardened painfully against his leathers. You could feel him smirk at your plead, but he did not stop his fleeting kisses, going down to your collarbone and sucking a red bruise on the bone there.
“Yes baby?” His voice was low, it made your hands tremble against his shoulders as he slowly sank down, lips grazing your cleavage and making your breath hitch. He paused and looked up to see your face flushed and looking at him with the desire that matched his own.
Azriel came back up, his hands coming up to cup your breasts through the dress. You closed your eyes as you felt how good you fit in his palms, he seemed to be thinking the same thing as he let out a shaky breath and reached back, undoing the golden chains on your back.
The dress fell quickly, pooling around your feet and Azriel just took his time to look at you. His hazel eyes were shining with hunger, his knuckles brushed against your nipple and you twitched, hand coming up to grab his arm as a reflex. You felt overstimulated, his scent was filling your senses and he was a lot. A lot.
“Let me,” he said quietly and ran his thumb over your hardened peak, relishing in the hitch of your breath. His eyes darkened, thumb trailing down to caress the underside of your breast. A shiver ran through you and Azriel smiled, pushing you back to sit on the bed by the hip.
He unshed his leathers without breaking eye contact, you too never left your eyes off him. You leaned back until your back hit the headboard, watching as the Spymaster stood half naked. He was a sculpture, looking like he was forged by the favorite gods, his shoulders were broad, his biceps -gods, his biceps- were so firm that you would love to be choked to death by them.
Azriel impatiently got rid of his belt and pants, now also naked and the sight of his cock, bare, hard and precum leaking from the tip made you lose your voice, your mouth dry. You let out a shaky breath and leaned forward, Azriel climbed the bed to sit up in front of you, you bent down, head lifting to look at him in the eye as you stuck your tongue out to lick the cum from the tip. You expected the Spymaster to shudder and maybe groan but instead he grinned, it was a sexy smile, promising so much more to come.
His hand slid around your neck, thumb beneath your chin to lift it up as he gently moved his hips forward, his tip breaching your lips. You let out a surprised groan as he slides into your mouth, hissing at the feeling of your tongue finally against his cock.
“Yeah, fuck- that’s it sweet girl.” He slid his fingers into your hair and gave you an encouraging caress, you shivered and mumbled against his length, sucking him off eagerly. His hips thrusted forward again, a deep groan escaping him as he almost completely fully slid into your throat.
You got comfortable on the bed and pressed a hand on his thigh to brace yourself; pulling your head back, you ran your tongue all over his thick cock, his hand tightened in your hair, breathy moans leaving his mouth. You felt yourself get unbelievably wetter, the sounds he made turned you on so much it was painful, playing with him all day and now giving him head was a drug you could be addicted to.
He was looking down at you, his eyes were narrowed with desire to make you feel good and make you suffer at the same time. You sucked on his tip, hand coming up to stroke the base of his cock. Azriel could watch you take him every day, your lips were wrapped around his length, struggling but loving it anyway.
Once his hips started to thrust by themselves, you let him take control, fucking into your mouth fast enough not to make you uncomfortable, his head wanted to fall back but he could not take his eyes off of you.
“Oh the Cauldron,” he grunted, holding your head still, he was close and looked right into your eyes. “Swallow it. Can you do that for me, baby?”
You whimpered around him and he got his answer, smirking devastatingly as he thrusted a few more times and held there, his cum hit the back of your throat and you swallowed like his good girl. Azriel was moaning above you, gently rocking his hips back and forth to come down from the high.
When he pulled out, you licked your lips, panting and too aroused to be left to tend for yourself. Luckily your Shadowsinger was an Illyrian and his stamina was enough for you to thoroughly be satisfied.
“Az,” you watched him as he confidently cracked the stiff muscles on his shoulders, rolling his head before he grabbed your thighs and squeezed as if he was not sure this was real, pulling you to lay down.
“You were so good for me.” He praised, spreading your legs to expose your wetness to him. His eyes narrowed again, swallowing hard- you could tell he was holding himself back from just sinking into you.
“Hurry up.” Your breathless command made him look up from your glistening cunt to your face, his lips curling into a small smile. It was not gentle, it was a challenge.
“Mhm, can’t wait for me love?” He leaned down and kisses your knee, hands caressing your inner thighs up and down once before spreading you wider. His warm breath hit your clit and you shuddered, twitching and trying to push yourself up to his face and being impatient himself, Azriel let you and buried his face down with a hungry groan.
His hands wrapped around your thighs to keep you still, his tongue ran over your folds, licking and tasting. Your right hand ran into his hair and the other grabbed up into the sheet in pleasure, your back already arched as his tongue plunged into your entrance, causing your toes to curl.
He ate you out so perfectly you could not form a single sentence, Azriel sucked your clit knowing you were far too gone and so he did more. Your hips buckled against his face, loud moans filling his room in your court while his mouth was busy licking you clean.
“Azriel!” Hearing you cry out his name, Az grunted and leaned back, spitting on your cunt and sliding a finger inside, his thumb rubbing your clit as he finger fucked you.
“There we go,” he muttered, sliding another finger to rub deep inside you, your legs shaking as you came closer to your orgasm. “A little bit more, good girl, move those hips against my fingers.”
You were dancing in the bed, against his fingers, and Azriel pressed his free hand on your stomach to keep you from shaking as you came around his fingers, moaning, eyes rolled back, his fingers still moving inside you until you were a trembling mess.
“That’s my girl.” You sighed, your breathing coming together. Looking up at him, you felt a sense of deep belonging and the very intimate need to have him deep inside you. Azriel seemed to be thinking of the same thing, since he shifted and placed himself between your legs- his cock was hard again, you bit your lip at again how big he was.
“Will you sing for me, Shadowsinger?” When your question reached him, he gave you a look and chuckled, his hands found your hips and lifted them up to align himself with your entrance. He leaned down and whispered against your lips.
“I have been singing for you from the start.” You captured his lips into a kiss, hands wrapping around his neck. Your eyes closed, you could feel his tip rubbing against your wetness and it led you to let out an excited gasp against his mouth. He was smiling as he kissed you again when he slid inside you slowly.
Your nails dug into his shoulders but you didn’t break the kiss, Azriel gently and slowly worked his way inside you. Reluctantly he let go of your lips to look at where you were connected, a growl of a mate rose from his chest at the sight of your cunt wrapping around him, clenching and trying to stretch around him.
“You are fucking gorgeous.” He hissed and gave your outer thigh a slap before he pushed your legs up and started moving. “So damn tight.”
He knew you would bring up the mating bond, because it was roaring since the moment he slid inside you. His hands rested on the back of your knees to keep you spread, moving himself to thrust properly. Once he made sure you were comfortable, he bottomed out.
You sobbed in pleasure, feeling full as he filled you up with his cock completely. He was- fuck- he was so big and perfect, you fit him like a glove and he was about to lose his mind at the feeling of your spasming cunt around him.
“Fuck, feel so fucking good around me baby,” Azriel stayed inside you for a few minutes, enjoying how you fit against him before he started moving. He could not keep slow, his hands pushed your legs forward more as he pounded into you because he could see from your face you were loving it.
“Fuck-“ you gasped, nails digging into his arms. His thrusts jerked your body every time and Azriel groaned as you actually drew blood.
“Easy sweet girl,” he huffed out a chuckle, his shadows lashed out for the first time and took your wrists, moving them above your head and pinned them down. You whined for a moment before he gave a particularly hard thrust and got your attention back to his cock and how good it was dragging along your insides.
You wanted to touch him but there was something so good about being helpless and in his mercy as he absolutely ruined you, he was fucking you hard and fast, his own groans mixing with your moans every time he hit that special spot inside you.
“Azriel, fuck, please- I’m going to,” you were sobbing at this point, lost in the feeling of him. Your light orbs were nowhere to be seen but you could feel their pleasure as well, probably intertwined with Azriel’s shadows beneath the bed.
“Go ahead baby, come for me.” His guiding voice had you arching off the bed, hands held down by his shadows. You felt your orgasm coming, and with a scream of pleasure came around him.
Azriel was no better, he grunted as you came, his hips buckled in surprise at you clenching tightly around him. It felt so good, so good that Azriel came right after pulling out, his cum falling onto your stomach.
The room was bathed in the bruised, quiet purple of the fading twilight. Outside, the golden bustle of the Day Court was settling into a rare, hushed stillness, but inside the suite, the air was heavy with the scent of salt, mountain mist, and the lingering smell of sex.
Azriel fell to your side, breathless, immediately pulling you close. You were a wreckage of limbs and silk. Azriel’s massive wings were draped over the edge of the bed like heavy velvet curtains, and his shadows—usually so sharp and guarded—were tangled inextricably around your legs and waist, pulsing with a slow, contented rhythm. Your lights finally showed up, dormant, your energy spent, leaving your skin glowing with nothing but the natural radiance of a woman thoroughly, ruthlessly claimed.
You lay tucked against his side, your head coming to rest on the hard plane of his chest. You were more than sober now—vividly, sharply aware of every ache in your muscles and the steady, thrumming beat of the golden thread that now sat firmly in the center of your soul.
You shifted, your gold-dusted fingers tracing the edge of a scar on his forearm. "You’re a terrible liar, you know," you whispered, your voice still a low, honeyed rasp from minutes of use.
Azriel stirred, his hand sliding up your spine to rest at the nape of your neck. His fingers were calloused, but his touch was impossibly light. "Am I?"
You tilted your head back, looking at him through the gloom. The Spymaster in you was back, curious and relentless, even if the rest of you were floating in a haze of satisfaction. "You let me dance with those golden boys. You let me drink that nectar and make a scene at the party. You even let me call you a lurking soldier back in Velaris."
You paused, your eyes narrowing slightly as the bond hummed between them. "The moment we touched in the library, the world changed. I felt it, even if I didn't have a name for it then. But you... you knew exactly what it was. Why didn’t you tell me we were mates, Azriel? Why wait until I was halfway to being a brat at a party to finally say it?"
Azriel was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the ceiling where his shadows were slowly swirling in the dark. He didn't pull away; if anything, the shadows around your ankles tightened their grip.
"Look at where we are," he said, his voice a low, rough vibration that you felt in your marrow. "You are the Lightdancer of the Day Court. You belong in the sun, surrounded by beauty and gold. I am a male who has spent five centuries in the pockets of the world where light goes to die."
He turned his head, his hazel eyes dark and searching. "I’ve seen what happens when the Night Court tries to claim things that belong to the Day. I didn't want to be the one to pull you into the dark. I wanted you to have the choice—to see me, to know me, before the bond made the decision for you."
You let out a soft, huffed laugh, reaching up to tug playfully on a lock of his dark hair. "You think I’m that fragile? That a little bit of shadow was going to scare off someone who spends her days staring at the sun?"
You leaned up, pressing a lingering, soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I’m a Spymaster just like you, Azriel. I deal in truths. And the truth is, I’ve been looking for this specific kind of dark my entire life."
Azriel’s smirk returned then, a small, genuine thing that made his siphons pulse a warm, steady blue. "I gathered that. Especially when you started kicking me on the way here."
"I was making a point," you whispered, sliding your hand down his broad chest. "And I believe you made yours quite clearly. But for the record... don't ever keep a secret like that from me again. I might have to find a new way to punish you."
"I look forward to the surveillance," he murmured, pulling you back down into the hollow of his shoulder as the first stars of the Night Court began to peek through the Day Court sky.
The golden heat of the Day Court had finally mellowed into a cool, silver-blue peace. Beside him, you had finally succumbed to exhaustion, your breathing shifting into the slow, rhythmic cadence of deep sleep.
Azriel didn't close his eyes. He couldn't.
He remained propped up on one elbow, his massive wings tucked close to his back to avoid waking you. His shadows, usually his silent sentinels of war, were behaving like lovestruck children; they were draped over your gold-flecked shoulders, tucking themselves into the curls of your hair, and vibrating with a soft, purring hum that he felt in his very bones.
For five hundred years, Azriel had been a creature defined by what he lacked. He had been the "Third Brother," the silent shadow in the corner of every room, the male who stood in the cold while Rhysand and Cassian found their suns.
He thought back to the centuries spent pining for Mor. It had been a different kind of ache—a quiet, freezing yearning for a light he could never truly touch, a love that felt like trying to warm his hands over a painting of a fire. He had fought that feeling, suppressed it, and eventually accepted it as his lot in life: to be the guardian of others' happiness while his own heart remained a hollow, scarred pit.
But as he looked down at you, the memory of that old longing felt like a ghost story from a life he no longer lived.
You weren’t just a partner; you were the physical manifestation of a truth he had never dared to believe in.
If his life had been a pit of absolute darkness—a place of stone, silence, and the scent of damp earth—then you were the sun that had suddenly, violently crashed through the ceiling. You were sassy, bratty, and brilliant. You didn't look at his scarred hands with pity; you looked at them as tools for your own pleasure. You didn't fear his shadows; you invited them to sing and dance.
He reached out, his finger barely grazing a stray lock of your golden hair. In the dim light, you looked like a fallen star.
This is it, his shadows whispered into his mind. The end of the long night.
He admired the slope of your nose, the slight swell of your lips from his kisses, and the way your light—even dampened by sleep—seemed to seep through your skin in a soft, ethereal glow. He had spent his life uncovering the darkest secrets of the world, but the greatest mystery he had ever solved was how a male like him had ended up with a mate like you.
For the first time in five centuries, the restless, jagged edge of his soul felt smooth. The click of the mating bond was no longer a shock; it was a foundation. It was the knowledge that no matter how many wars they fought or how many monsters like Koschei they faced, he would never have to return to the silence of his own head.
He leaned down, his lips ghosting over your forehead in a touch so light you didn't even stir.
"Sleep, Lightdancer," he whispered to the empty, quiet room.
He didn't need the stars of the Night Court to guide him home anymore. He had found his home right here, in the golden, breathing heart of the Day. As the first hint of dawn began to touch the horizon of the Day Court, the Spymaster of Night finally let out a long, contented breath and settled into the shadows, watching over his sun until the world woke up.
You were the first to wake, the familiar heat of the morning pulling you from the deep, dreamless sleep of the satisfied. For a moment, you didn't move, savoring the weight of the massive, dark wing draped over you like a heavy velvet blanket.
You shifted onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow to look at the male beside you.
It was a stark, beautiful contrast. At night, Azriel was a creature of sharp edges and terrifying power, his shadows dancing with your sparks in the dark. But here, in the uncompromising clarity of a Day Court morning, he looked... human.
His midnight hair was a chaotic mess against the white silk pillows. His face, usually a mask of stoic discipline, was softened by sleep, the lines of tension around his eyes smoothed away. You traced the line of his jaw with your eyes, then the thick, corded muscles of his neck and the vast, scarred expanse of his chest. He was a masterpiece of shadow and stone, and in the morning light, he looked like a dark god who had finally found a place to rest.
You didn't know how long you spent just looking, your own light humming a soft, contented melody beneath your skin.
Azriel let out a low, vibrating hum—a sound that started deep in his chest and made the bed beneath you tremble. His eyelashes fluttered, and then his hazel eyes opened, bleary and heavy with a sleepiness you had never seen on him.
He didn't startle. He didn't reach for a blade. He simply focused on you, his gaze wandering over your face with a slow, dazed adoration.
"You're staring," he rasped, his voice sounding like gravel and silk.
"I’m admiring," you corrected with a sleepy grin, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "You look remarkably peaceful for a male who supposedly thrives in the gloom. Although... you look like you haven't slept a wink."
Azriel let out a huff of a laugh, his eyes closing again for a brief second as he leaned into your touch. "I didn't."
Your hand paused. "At all? Azriel, we were... busy, but I’ve been out for hours."
"I couldn't," he admitted, his voice a low, honest confession. He opened his eyes, the hazel depths warm and clear. "I spent the night watching you. I’ve spent five centuries alone. I wasn't about to waste the first night I had you by closing my eyes."
He sat up slightly, the movement causing his wing to slide down your back. As the sunlight hit your skin, Azriel’s gaze darkened, his focus shifting from your eyes to the rest of you.
He reached out, his scarred fingers trembling slightly as he traced the marks he had left behind. There were deep red handprints on the curve of your hips and the tops of your thighs where he had held you down—marks of his strength, of the rough handling you had begged for. There were dark, blossoming hickeys along the elegant line of your throat and the bone of your collarbone, standing out in sharp, beautiful relief against your golden skin.
He checked you carefully, his brow furrowing in a moment of lingering concern, but there was no purple, no swelling—not a single bruise. He had been feral, yes, but he was a Shadowsinger; he knew exactly how much pressure it took to mark you without hurting you.
"I marked you well," he murmured, his thumb grazing a particularly dark spot near your collarbone.
You looked down at yourself, a slow, triumphant smirk spreading across your lips. "I think the term is 'thoroughly claimed,' Spymaster."
"It's not just the marks," Azriel whispered, leaning in until his nose was brushed against the crook of your neck. He took a deep, shaky breath, his shadows purring against your skin.
He didn't need to brand you with ink or jewelry. As he inhaled, he realized you didn't smell like jasmine or the sun anymore. You smelled like him. Salt air, mountain mist, and the cold, crisp scent of the Night Court’s highest peaks had been worked into your very pores.
"You smell of me," he said, the possessive thrum in his voice making your lights flicker a happy, vibrant violet. "Every inch of you."
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling the sleepy, devoted Shadowsinger back down onto the pillows. "Then I suppose there's no point in me getting up yet," you whispered against his lips. "If I'm already wearing your colors, I might as well stay right here."
Azriel didn't argue. He just pulled you closer, the light of the Day Court finally meeting the shadows of the Night in a perfect, quiet harmony.
For a while, the world outside the door didn't exist. There were no Spymasters, no ancient sorcerers, and no political tensions—only the soft friction of skin against skin and the quiet, rhythmic humming of the mating bond.
"You’re surprisingly warm for someone who carries the winter solstice in his pockets," you whispered, your voice a lazy, satisfied purr.
Azriel let out a low, rumbling hum that you felt deep in your marrow. He was propped up against the headboard now, his massive dark wings forming a protective cocoon around you both. "I think your light is just stubborn," he murmured, his eyes heavy with a rare, relaxed affection. "It’s been trying to melt me since the moment we met."
You giggled, a bright, silver sound. You looked down at the handprints on your hips—the faint, red reminders of how he had held you the night before. "You certainly did a lot more than melt me, Shadowsinger. I think you might have actually ruined me for any other male in Prythian."
Azriel’s smirk was slow and devastating. He leaned down, his nose brushing against your temple. "That was the plan."
You were suspended in that perfect, fragile bubble of new love—a start to a story you both wanted to savor behind closed doors. But in the Day Court, "privacy" was a foreign concept, especially when a certain High Lord was involved.
The heavy oak door rattled under a series of rhythmic, annoying knocks.
"Sparkie? My dearest Lightdancer?" Helion’s voice boomed through the wood, sounding entirely too energetic for the hour. "I’ve checked the libraries, the training pits, and even the wine cellar. You’ve vanished! I’m beginning to think the Night Court has kidnapped my best spy right from under my nose!"
You froze. Your eyes went wide, and your light sparks immediately turned a panicked, frantic violet, scurrying beneath the blankets to hide.
"Don't," you hissed, your voice a frantic whisper as you clutched Azriel’s arm. "Be quiet. Maybe if we don't move, he’ll think the room is empty and go bother a statue."
Azriel didn't move to hide. In fact, he looked incredibly, dangerously smug. His shadows weren't retreating; they were expanding, stretching across the floor and climbing the walls, practically vibrating with a territorial pride.
"Azriel, I’m serious!" You whispered, your face heating up as you realized you were covered in his marks and smelling entirely of his salt-and-mist scent and Helion was right outside the door. "If he sees me like this, I’ll never hear the end of it. He’ll gossip for a century!"
"Azriel!" Helion called again, his voice closer now, as if he were leaning his ear against the door. "Are you in there? I haven't seen a single shadow all morning. It’s suspiciously bright in the hallway. If you’ve seen my Spymaster, do be a dear and tell her the border reports are—"
You pressed your hand over Azriel’s mouth, eyes pleading. Please, you mouthed. Just let him leave.
Azriel gently, firmly, pulled your hand away. He didn't look like the stoic spy anymore; he looked like a male who had finally found the sun and had no intention of keeping it a secret. He had spent five hundred years being the one in the shadows. Today, he was going to be the one who stood in the center of the light.
"She's here, Helion," Azriel called out, his voice a deep, resonant rumble that carried through the door with effortless authority.
You let out a shocked, strangled groan, burying your face in the pillows. "I hate you. I actually hate you."
"And she’s going to be late for those reports," Azriel continued, his eyes locked on your flushed, beautiful face. He leaned in, his lips ghosting over your ear, his voice dropping into a register that was meant only for you. "Because my mate is currently very busy."
The silence from the other side of the door lasted for exactly three seconds. Even he seemed shocked for a moment. Then, a sharp, triumphant laugh erupted from Helion.
"Finally!" Helion shouted, his voice muffled by the wood but vibrating with glee. "I owe Morrigan fifty gold marks! Carry on, then! I’ll tell the border scouts that the Lightdancer is... occupied with Night Court business! What was it you said? Indefinitely!"
As Helion’s cheerful footsteps retreated down the hall, you finally peeked out from the pillows, your lights turning a deep, embarrassed red. "You just had to do it, didn't you? You just had to tell him."
Azriel pulled you back against his chest, his shadows purring as they wrapped around your waist in a final, definitive claim. "I told you," he whispered, his smirk turning into a genuine, adoring smile. "I’m done watching from the shadows. I want everyone to know exactly whose light this is."
You huffed, but as you felt the golden thread of the bond hum with his pride, you couldn't stay mad. You leaned in, nipping at his jaw. "Fine. But if he sends a commemorative tapestry of us to the Night Court, you’re the one who has to explain it to Rhysand."
"A fair trade," Azriel murmured, smiling.
The world outside—the politics, the spies, and the looming threat of the deathless sorcerer—had been reduced to the four walls of a room that smelled of mountain mist and jasmine.
You didn't leave the bed for hours. When hunger finally became a physical demand, Azriel had signaled a servant through the door without ever letting go of your waist. A tray of honeyed bread, chilled figs, and sharp cheese was left in the hallway, which Azriel retrieved with a quick, silent winnow that barely disturbed the air.
They spent the afternoon in a state of soft, domestic wreckage:
Azriel, usually a male of few words, found himself talking—really talking—about the flight of the Illyrians, the way the wind felt over the Sidra, and the centuries he’d spent feeling like a guest in his own life.
You, high on the resonance of the mating bond, spent your time weaving light sparks into the seams of his shadows, watching the obsidian smoke glow with a soft, internal fire.
Every touch was a discovery. The way his wings flared when you laughed, or the way your light pulsed a steady, adoring violet whenever he kissed the sensitive skin behind your ear.
It was the kind of peace neither of you had ever known, a deliberate pause in a life of war.
Eventually, the shadows in the room grew long and the cooling air reminded them that the world still turned. You finally sat up, smoothing your tangled golden hair and reaching for a fresh silk robe.
"I have to go," you murmured, though you leaned back into Azriel’s chest as he wrapped his arms around you. "I have things to do, Azriel. I’ve missed an entire day of reports. Helion is probably convinced I’ve been kidnapped or, worse, that I’ve retired."
Azriel hummed against your shoulder, his siphons glowing a soft, contented blue. "Helion knows exactly where you are. But I suppose we should at least show our faces before he sends a search party with a brass band."
They found Helion in the Thousand Libraries, draped over a mahogany desk with a map of the continent spread before him. He looked up as they entered, his amber eyes immediately cataloging the way they stood—shoulders brushing, shadows and light still inextricably tangled.
"Oh, look," Helion remarked, his voice dripping with mock-surprise. "The missing Spymasters have returned. I was just about to declare a court holiday in honor of the... negotiations currently taking place."
You flushed, lights flickering a defiant pink. "Helion, I’m sorry. The reports—the border scouts—I’ll get to them immediately. I just need to—"
"Swat that thought away," Helion interrupted, waving a hand lazily. "I’ve handled your duties. The border is quiet, the scouts are fed, and the gossip in the city has reached a fever pitch that I find personally delightful. I don't need you for the mundane today."
He stood, his expression shifting into something more serious, his gaze flicking between the Lightdancer and the Shadowsinger. "I need you to focus on the only thing that matters. Koschei. We know he’s stirring. We know the black-stone ritual is progressing. Use your gifts. Use both of your gifts."
Your straightened, your professional mask sliding back into place, though your hand remained tucked firmly in Azriel’s. "Then I have a proposal. If we’re to truly understand the void he’s creating, I need to see the Night Court’s archives on the Prison. I need to cross-reference my solar cycles with the dark-frequency records in Velaris."
You looked at Helion, your chin tilted up. "I want to leave for the Night Court tonight. For... research.”
Helion let out a short snort, his eyes dancing with amusement. He looked at Azriel, who was trying (and failing) to look like he wasn't incredibly pleased with this turn of events.
"Research," Helion repeated, savoring the word. "Of course. Intensive, hands-on, overnight research in the City of Starlight. It’s a heavy burden, but I suppose you’re the only one for the job."
He winked, his tone turning warm. "Go. Take as long as the 'investigation' requires. Just try to bring her back in one piece, Azriel. I suspect the Night Court is about to become much brighter."
You didn't wait for him to change his mind. You squeezed Azriel’s hand, a wicked, brilliant smile breaking across your face. "Let's go. We have a lot of... data to collect."
"Whatever the Lady commands," Azriel whispered, his wings snapping open with a sound of pure triumph as he prepared to winnow his mate home.
The transition from the golden, shimmering heat of the Day Court to the cool, mist-kissed air of Velaris was like a deep, cleansing breath. You materialized in the foyer of the townhouse, the scent of the Sidra and mountain jasmine immediately wrapping around you again after months.
You stepped out of Azriel's hold, your gown looking slightly out of place in the elegant, understated shadows of the Night Court. You smoothed your hair, your eyes already darting toward the hallway that led to the lower levels.
"I’ve been a terrible Spymaster for the last twenty-four hours," you announced, your voice regaining that professional, "duty-first" edge, though your cheeks were still flushed. "I’ve spent far too much time slacking, and Koschei isn't going to wait for me to finish being... occupied. I’m going to the library. Right now. I have six months of dark-frequency charts to cross-reference."
You turned back to Azriel, a wicked, lingering spark of mischief dancing in your eyes. You stepped into his space one last time, your gold-dusted fingers trailing down the front of his leathers.
"Go report to your High Lord, Shadowsinger," you whispered, leaning in until your breath hitched against his ear. "And when you’re done being a dutiful soldier... find me. I’ve heard the archives in this house have very sturdy, very private shelves. I’d hate for them to go to waste."
Azriel’s siphons didn't just glow; they flared a deep, hungry cobalt. A slow, predatory smirk curved his lips—the look of a male who was already calculating the shortest route from the dining room to the archives. "I’ll be thorough in my report," he rasped. "And even more thorough when I find you."
You let out a soft, triumphant giggle and spun away, your silks fluttering like a banner as you headed toward the dining room where the rest of the Inner Circle was gathered.
The dining room was a cacophony of clinking silverware and the rich scent of coffee and bacon. Rhysand, Feyre, Cassian, Mor, and Amren were all present, the atmosphere light and domestic until the doors opened.
You breezed in, a literal ray of sunshine in the heart of the Night.
"Good morning!" You called out, not stopping, your pace brisk and determined. "Rhys, Feyre—lovely to see you. Mor, Helion says he owes you fifty marks. Cassian, try not to eat everything on the table. I’ll be in the library if anyone needs me for something that isn't gossip. Coffee later. Kiss Nyx for me.”
You were gone before anyone could even offer a greeting, the scent of salt air and mountain mist—Azriel’s scent—trailing behind you like a signature.
The room went dead silent.
Five pairs of ancient, powerful eyes turned as one to the doorway. Azriel walked in a few seconds later. He looked... different. The lethal, cold stillness was still there, but the hollow, weary edge to his shadows was gone. He looked settled. He looked like a male who had finally stopped fighting the wind and started riding it.
He walked to the table, pulled out a chair, and calmly sat down. He didn't reach for the coffee. He didn't look at the map Rhysand had been studying. He simply leaned back, his wings folding with a slow, contented rustle.
Cassian was the first to break, his fork suspended halfway to his mouth. "Az?"
Mor was leaning forward, her eyes wide, a grin already tugging at her lips. "Azriel. Did she..."
Rhysand just watched his brother, a knowing, quiet pride shining in his violet eyes. He didn't need to ask. He could feel the shift in the air, the way the mating bond was now a thrumming, resonant chord between the two spymasters.
Azriel looked around the table, his expression calm, his gaze steady. He didn't offer a dramatic speech. He didn't need to. He simply inclined his head, his voice a low, definitive rumble that filled the silence of the room.
Would love to hear your thoughts! Sorry this took me so long 😭
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