Hi, I'm Anna. I have been writing to some degree for as long as I can remember, but I only really started writing fanfic a few years ago, after reading ACOTAR for some reason. Before that I had always dreamed up stories about books or movies in my head, but something about ACOTAR made me want to write them down. This is the first place I have ever posted my writings to.
I tend to have multiple stories going on in my head at once, but I will only be posting one at a time, for my sanity if anything. I don't have a posting schedule – I do my best.
I am not taking requests. Maybe one day, but not today 😊
You can also find me on AO3 here!
Masterlist:
Azriel
The Pain of Falling for You; Part 2; Part 3 (angst, fluff) in progress
When an emergency causes the Inner Circle to crash into Madja's clinic, they unknowingly take over your appointment. Azriel, infatuated by your quiet beauty, wants to make it up to you.
Characters I am writing for in the background in no particular order (to be posted one day, maybe… no promises)
More Azriel, Rhysand, Eris, Kallias
I have vague ideas for more characters, but nothing concrete
I might be convinced to write for Fourth Wing too, if the inspiration hits just right.
Summary: Following the disaster that was the family dinner, you still find yourself at Valkyrie training the next morning. What could go wrong?
A/N: Okay, so, this part was supposed to be a shorter part, some fluff, the calm before the storm type thing. But then I started writing and the training scene became… well, not that. I ended up splitting what was part 3 into two parts, so now, we're up to 6 total with the epilogue. We still get some fluff, just with a bit more angst to go along with it. (This tends to be what happens when I write fluff, so I'm not sure why I am surprised). Thank you so much for all your support. I never would have guessed this fic would garner so much attention and you all mean the world to me.
You would think someone who does martial arts knows how to write a training scene, but here we are. I also made some decisions about some of Reader's favorite foods; I was hungry while writing and didn't want to change it. I will not be apologizing.
Also, something random I noticed while writing this part: the Night Court doesn't seem very… nocturnal to me. I'm sure other people have said something along these lines in the past, but it does kind of bug me that everything in the Night Court happens in the day. I noticed it when I was almost done with this part and I wasn't about to rewrite it to fix it, but… will probably try to incorporate that more in future fics set in the Night Court.
Word Count: almost exactly 9K
Warnings: Reader has chronic pain (I'm trying to keep it accurate, but just in case: any medical inaccuracies are due to the fact that Reader is fae and not human and should be attributed to the biological differences between the two species), semi-unreliable narrator, feeling insecure, not as much angst, talk of pregnancies and complications during pregnancies (see previous note about medical inaccuracies, but with more fae and magic nonsense), discussions of money using a made up monetary system (just go with it, for all our sakes), Rhysand means well, sort of
Part 2 | Part 4
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The bag felt heavy in Azriel's hand, his shadows swirling restlessly around him like they had all night. Staring at your door, he takes a deep breath, feeling like a juvenile again, working up the courage to knock on your door. He had remained outside all night, watching from the roof of the neighboring building, a spot specifically chosen so he could see through the window above your counters; he can see almost your whole apartment.
By the time he returned, you were already curled up in your bed, sobs still wracking your body, the few shadows Azriel left behind caressing your skin, trying to comfort you. He longed to go to you, to hold you in his arms and tell you it would all be okay. He wanted to be the one to comfort you, instead of his shadows, and assure you that he wasn't going anywhere. But you made your decision clear earlier, and he wasn't about to cross any of your boundaries. So, he sat and kept guard even after the lights in your apartment flickered off.
He had only left his spot when the first rays of the sun touched the horizon, sending a few more of his shadows over to you, quickly making his way to the House of the Wind. Unsurprisingly, Cassian was the only one awake; as much as he complained about sleep, he is still a soldier and the three of them spent years in Windhaven waking up before the sun, the routine a hard one to break. The general straightened, slowly looking up from the report spread out on his desk. "Az," he breathed, pushing his seat back to stand. "We are so s-"
"Y/N is coming to training this morning," Azriel interrupted, muscles taught.
Cassian stilled, studying his brother carefully. "Oh, that's–"
"Not because she wants to," Azriel continued, taking a step into the office, "but because she said she would after you pressured her. And she keeps her promises, even when she would rather do anything else."
Sucking in a breath, Cassian moved around his desk, raising his hands. "I know I messed up," he admitted, "I'm sorry, even if that wasn't my–"
"This is your second chance," Azriel growled, shadows rising around him. "You and Nesta. Don't even think about telling the others."
Azriel didn't wait for a response before making his way out of the House, brushing past a freshly awake Nesta, not acknowledging her when she calls his name.
His next stop was a local restaurant, one closer to your home, that was open for a few more hours to serve the few fae in Velaris that are up during the day. He knows your order by heart, your favorite dish, drink, and pastry. The two of you had only gone to this place twice before, with you noting it as your favorite, even if it was smaller and less fancy like places Azriel normally goes to with his family. Owned by a family who makes simple food from scratch, Azriel had come to like the place, despite his limited number of visits.
The bag is warm in his hand, the dishes carefully balanced with the drinks resting on top. The shadows curl tighter around him when he lifts his hand, the knock echoing through the small hallway.
Something tumbles on the other side of your door, a small gasp barely heard through the wood. Feet shuffle against the floor, pausing just past the door. Azriel loosens the leash on his shadows, allowing some of them to slide under the door, announcing his presence. The door unlocks a moment later, and it takes a few seconds for you to open the door as the hinges stick despite all of the lubricant Azriel's shadows had added to them the past few months.
The door only opens a crack, just enough for you to peak through. "Hi, sweetheart," he says gently, trying to smile, ignoring the thunderous beat of his heart. "Would you like some breakfast?" he asks, gesturing to the bag slightly with his head.
Even through the small crack, he can see how you keep your eyes lowered. Pursing your lips, he catches the way your nose twitches, taking in the delicious smells, and your stomach rumbles quietly in response. His shadows grumbled most of the night about how you never ate dinner, not that Az had either. His smile softens watching the flush creep up your next as you nod. It takes another minute for you to get the door all the way open so Azriel can get inside with his wings.
Azriel's breath caught when it is, finally able to fully see you. Dark bags fill the space under your red rimmed eyes. A grey shawl pulled taught around your shoulders, holes littering the fabric, over your soft green dress, the hem fraying. Hair pulled back in two braided plaits that become one swaying at your back. You are beautiful, the most beautiful fae he has ever seen.
Arms hugging yourself, you step aside, sitting on your bed just beside the door. Keeping his wings tucked in tight, Azriel ducks his head, slowly entering the small apartment. It wasn't even a proper apartment in Azriel's opinion. Just a single room with barely enough space for a bed, a chest for your belongings, the smallest table Azriel has ever seen, a small counterspace that 'counts' as a kitchen despite the barely functioning stove top and the lack of an oven and sink, and a toilet tucked in the corner. Not that the toilet works, since the building doesn't have running water; you have a jug leaning against the counter that needs to be filled at the local well a few blocks away.
Keeping his head down to not hit the ceiling, Azriel silently begins unpacking the food on the table, handing you the cup of tea.
Azriel hates this place. The building isn't far from where Nesta's old apartment once stood, but even that was infinitely better than this. He so desperately wants for you to move somewhere better, somewhere safer. With him or not, he doesn't care. He hinted at it a few times, but it wasn't long into your relationship that he noticed how insecure you were about… well, everything when it came to him. He had yet to find a good way to bring it up without you taking it the wrong way.
Carefully, Azriel hands a container with lemon rosemary chicken with roasted sweet potatoes. It wasn't a dish that Azriel typically associates with breakfast, but with the smile tugging on your lips when you take the first bite he finds he doesn't care. With no chairs in your apartment, he slowly sits down next to you on the bed, the edge of his wing brushing lightly against you. You shiver at the touch, eyes closing in a wince and you take a few breaths before opening them again. You don't pull away though, and Azriel doesn't either, even as he tenses next to you.
The shadows spill from Az after he settles, his food, a hearty wrap of eggs, potatoes, cheese, veggies, and sausage, in his lap. You chuckle lightly as they wind their way up your body, simply lifting your arms to grant them better access. Azriel smiles, watching fondly. "Let her eat," he commands softly, but he makes no effort to actually pull them back. They slow slightly, allowing you to lower your arms, but do not part from you, not that Az blames them.
You eat in silence, Azriel watching each bite from the corner of his eye, something in him easing the more you eat. It is comfortable, something you both grew used to through the months, these moments of peaceful silence. There was still a tension in the air, it had Azriel clocking every movement, every sound, every breath, but you both settle into the familiar quiet between you.
It's not long before both of you finish food, the shadows quickly whisk away the containers before encompassing you again as you take the last sips of your tea. "Thank you," you say quietly. For a moment, Az thinks you're speaking to the shadows, until your eyes catch his.
It’s the first time this morning you let yourself look at him, truly look at him, and Azriel's face warms, a smile pulling on his lips. Slowly, he reaches a hand around to settle on your waist and gently pulls you to his side. A giggle escapes your lips, a hand reaching out to steady yourself against him, your tea disappearing into the shadows. One of Azriel's wings extends around you, the tip of his wing resting near the edge of the bed. Relief floods through Azriel when you lay your head on his chest, your body melting into his as easily as breathing, tension leaving both of you. The shadows swarm over both of you, sighing contently. "Of course," he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head, letting his lips linger there for a second.
He lets out a long, quiet breath, burying his nose in your hair, taking in your scent. The fear gripping his heart slowly melting away. You had let him in, let him feed you, let him touch you, and now you let yourself rest and mold into him like you belong there. And, by the gods, you do, if Azriel has anything to say about it. "Gods, I love you," he breathes.
You stiffen for just a moment, but he can feel it. Closing his eyes, Azriel kisses your hair again, soft but insistent, fingers tracing soft patterns on your side. You relax again just as quickly, pressing your head harder into his chest. "Please, don't leave," you breathe, so softly Azriel would not have heard it if not for his shadows, your voice thick with unshed tears.
Azriel's arm tightens around you slightly, keeping you tucked into him, a wave of dread crashing over him. After spending all night scared you would leave him… of course you would have the same fear. It was his family, his brother, that treated you so terribly. Not just his brother, but the High Lord who made such vile accusations against you. He mentally kicked himself for not realizing sooner, the words you said last night suddenly feeling like the twisting of a knife.
"Never," he assures you, pushing past the lump forming in his throat. The single word hangs heavy in the air, an oath wrapping around the two of you, engraving itself into Azriel's very soul. A promise not compelled by magic, but just as binding. "Not until you ask me to."
A sound escapes you, a half laugh, half sob, as your hand comes up, grabbing a handful of his shirt. Az is distantly aware of the wet patch on the fabric from your tears, but he doesn't care. He shushes you gently, continuing to trace soothing circles along your side. His free hand gently untangles yours from his chest, allowing your fingers to interweave. Placing a gentle kiss on the back of your hand, he lets them settle over his heart, still beating a bit too quickly in his chest.
Your tears subside, but neither of you move, content to just be in each other's arms for a little while longer. The world seems to fade away, Azriel barely aware of anything that's not the feeling of you in his arms, against his side, the sounds of your breath, or the shadows swirling around whispering of your every move.
"You don't have to come," Azriel whispers into your hair, opening his eyes, a part of himself hating to break the tender peace surrounding you, "if you don't want to."
You stiffen again, lifting your head slightly to turn to look at him. Azriel's breath hitches, your wide eyes still red and cheeks stained with tears, yet your beauty still takes his breath away. "I said I would," you say.
A small smile pulls on Azriel's lips, his heart tightening at the words, even if he knew you would say that. "I know, but no one will blame you if you change your mind, my love," he encourages gently. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to."
Your brows furrow, eyes drifting down. He can see you thinking it over and a part of him prays that you will take the out, not because he doesn't want you there, but because you would have never agreed on your own. "But I said I would," you repeat in a whisper. Your eyes drift up to his, uncertainty shining through as your hand tightens around his. "Unless… I'm no longer welcome."
Azriel's heart cracks at the waver in your voice. "Of course you are welcome," he promises, his own hand tightening for just a moment. "But you don't need to worry about them. What do you want to do?"
"I–" you start, licking your lips, eyes searching Azriel's as if they would give you the answer. Azriel forces his face to remain neutral, with just a small encouraging smile, even as every part of him wants to keep you here in his arms, away from anything that could harm you or make you vaguely uncomfortable.
Slowly, you turn your face from him, settling your cheek against the wet fabric on his chest once more. You take a slow breath and Azriel can feel the resignation overtake your body as you rest against him. "I promised."
Hot tears burn behind Azriel's eyes as they flutter shut. Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he nods despite the pit forming in his stomach. "Okay, my love," he breathes, leaning down and placing another soft kiss to your hair. "Okay."
—
Azriel has always been observant, the natural consequence of having shadows whispering in his ear for as long as he can remember, but he doesn't think he's been this aware before. Aware of everyone, every move they made, every whispered word. He tries to focus on the small group of Priestesses he is working with as they finish their stretches and begin to pair off to begin the first of the combinations they go over, aimed to help them get used to moving their bodies and maintaining balance. Still, he cannot stop himself from glancing to the side every few minutes, eyes catching on where you sit on the edge of the training ring.
You wrap the shawl around you tighter, arms hugging your middle tightly. He can almost feel it, the quick pace of your heart, the thoughts swirling through your head, the emotions roiling through you, inadequacy, shame, and a deep sorrow. Mostly, you keep your eyes down, or away from him as you watch the priestesses carefully.
A few times he caught your eyes flickering to where Cassian and Nesta stood on the other side of the courtyard. They only smiled when Azriel arrived with you in his arms, Nesta already talking intently with Gwen and Emerie. Az was thankful they didn't try to talk or come up to you. He wasn't sure if he can contain himself if this went badly too.
His shadows whisper of everything in the courtyard, every word, every breath, every movement of a leaf. An overwhelming amount of information Azriel had learned to shift through centuries ago. Even without them, he could feel the eyes of many of the priestesses as they watch him, smiling sweetly at him, sneaking sly glances when they thought he wasn't paying attention, and sharing quiet giggles. It was something that happens at each of these training sessions he helps with; some of the more bold would even try to flirt with him, not that he ever returned their advances, but he always thought it was harmless.
He curses himself for the thought now, their quiet laughter burning his ears, each of their too-kind smiles seem to dig him deeper into a hole of his own making. He knows you see it, can hear it all. Thank the Mother none of them had tried to come up to him today. Maybe the Priestesses can feel it too, the tension lining his muscles, the unnatural jerkiness to the shadows' movements, or perhaps they see how some of his shadows refuse to leave you, gently swirling up your back and playing with your hair. Or it might be the way he angles himself to keep you in his line of sight, the way his eyes constantly flicker to you.
Azriel tries to coach the Priestesses, but everything in him keeps drawing him back to you. You shift against the hard stone bench, shadows swarming to apply pressure on a particular point of your back, some even maneuvering their way beneath you, to act as a cushion. Azriel purses his lips, wishing he had thought to bring out a better place for you to sit other than the cold stone. The shadows hiss in his ear relaying your discomfort, the pit in Azriel's stomach only growing.
Several choice words come to mind for his brothers, for himself; all of this could have been avoided if he never brought you to that dinner. He had known, on some level, that it was a disaster in the making, but he had wanted so badly for all the people he loves to get along he had ignored it. He never wanted you to feel pressured into doing anything for him, and yet you had gone to the dinner, and was humiliated by his family. And now, even after that, you forced yourself to come to another thing you never would have agreed to on your own, an invitation you had denied initially, because it's what you thought his family wanted from you.
Maybe is something you believe he wants from you. Something inside of him twists at the thought.
"Um, Azriel… sir." Azriel's gaze snaps to one of the newer priestesses, having joined the Valkyries only a few weeks ago. Juliana smiles sweetly as she approaches, her eyes raking over Azriel. He suppresses a shiver, stomach souring under her gaze. He doesn't respond, just nods, trying to make himself relax slightly, despite the shadows continuing to whisper in his ears. "Can you please help with this move? I can't seem to get it right."
Stiffly, he nods, silently ordering his shadows away, not needing any more distractions. They skitter away, almost gladly if Azriel didn't know any better, all quickly making their way to engulf you, preening at your small smile as you watch them flock to your rigid form.
Julianna's eyes flicker, following the retreating shadows, her smile dropping for a moment when she sees their destination. A snarl builds in Azriel, he has to fight to keep it contained. Instead, he clears his throat, drawing the priestess's attention back to him, lifting an eyebrow. "Go on," he says simply, forcing his tone to remain neutral. Julianna's smile returns, gesturing for him to follow her to her partner, Mica.
Azriel keeps a respectful distance, clasping his hands behind his back, wings drawn in tight, forcing his gaze to remain on their forms and not sneaking back to you. He corrects with a low voice and gentle directions. Despite what she may think, Julianna is not subtle in her attempts to get his attention, purposefully fumbling through the moves.
Carefully, Azriel side steps Julianna's attempt to fall into him, barely catching herself from crashing into the ground. Crossing his arms, Azriel takes a controlled breath. "If you are not going to take this seriously, then I suggest taking a step back and let me focus on those who are," he says, voice struggling to remain respectful.
Julianna turns to him, dusting off her clothes. "You think I'm not?"
"Yesterday, you completed the sequence perfectly fine multiple times, and now you want me to believe you cannot keep your balance?" Azriel responds, raising his eyebrows. Distantly he is aware of how still you are, watching the exchange, and can see Mica shifting uncomfortably a few feet away.
For a moment, Julianna gapes at him before straightening, flicking her braided hair over her shoulder with a scoff. "Well, if I had known weak, helpless females are what got you going, I never would have joined," Julianna retorts.
"Juli!" Mica gasps. Around them, movement stops, turning to stare at Julianna, wide eyes flickering between her, Azriel and where you sit on the sidelines, the shadows hissing loudly as they engulf you further.
"Excuse me?" Azriel growls, taking a step towards her, hands coiling at his side. Behind him, gravel crunches and Azriel has just enough awareness to recognize Cassian and Nesta's footsteps.
Julianna rolls her eyes. "Don't deny it, we all see the way you look at her," she sneers, gesturing in your direction. "You deserve so much better. The strongest warriors need an equally strong partner. I mean, just look at the High Lord and the General. Do you really think she could be that for you? She didn't even do the basic stretches."
For a moment, the training ring was silent, Julianna's words echoing off the walls, shadows seeping through the stonework, eerily still. A snarl tears from Azriel's throat, Julianna's eyes going wide as he lunges for her. Cassian's moves quickly, stepping in front of his brother, holding him back. Azriel struggles against him, pure anger and instinct begging to be free, to tear into the being who insulted you.
Cassian curses, eyes widening on the shadows slinking their way across the floor, his grip loosening just enough to let Azriel slip free. "Move!" Cassian bellows to the priestesses, who quickly run to the walls of the training ring. Nesta grips Julianna's arm, dragging her out of the ring and out of Azriel's eyeline. Wildly, Azriel's eyes search for her, but Cassian is faster, keeping himself in Azriel's vision, arms once again reaching out to his brother. "Az, you need to calm down."
Azriel just growls, charging at Cassian. It wasn't much of a fight, the two Illyrians grappling each other on the ground. The general pins Azriel to the ground quickly; despite his rage and strength Azriel isn't thinking clearly enough for a proper fight, especially when his brother is not the cause of his ire this time. "Az," Cassian tries again, teeth gritted, blood streaming from his mouth. "Y/N doesn't need this."
At the sound of your name, the world slowly began to come back into focus. His grip on Cassian's leathers loosens, his breathing ragged. Azriel growls weakly, but takes a deep breath, forcing himself to let go of Cassian, letting his head drop to the stone ground, cursing hoarsely.
A part of him can hear Nesta's yelling. "How dare you? In what world would any of that be an appropriate thing to say?"
Julianna scoffs. "I just said what we're all thinking?"
Cassian's grip tightens on Azriel, but Az doesn't move, his eyes fluttering closed. Anger still burns in his chest, quickly overcome by a flood of guilt. Eyes snapping open, Az quickly scans the edge of the training ring, heart dropping when you are nowhere to be seen. "Y/N," he rasps, hands moving to push himself up.
Brows furrowing, Cassian follows his gaze, cursing softly. Slowly, the general moves, watching Azriel carefully as he stands. Shadows tug at Azriel's wrists, guiding him through the training ring, barely aware of the eyes on him as he stumbles forward.
"We are not going to put up with this." Nesta's voice echoes around the space, everyone else quietly watching. Azriel hears the words, but they might as well be a foreign language. "You are no longer welcome."
"What?" Julianna asks with a disbelieving breath. "You can't do that."
"Yes, I can," Nesta retorts as Azriel rounds a corner, unable to hear the rest of her reply.
Azriel's mind swam, letting his body be led by his shadows, not paying attention to where they were taking him. Some part of him is aware that Cassian stops following when he leaves the training ring, he can distantly hear his brother's voice agreeing with his mate. But none of that matters, not now. Not when you disappeared.
A hand rakes over Azriel's face, hot tears burning behind his eyes. This was all his fault. First last night, and now this. Gods, how could you want to stay with him after this? He brought you into two aspects of his life and they both reject you quickly, on no uncertain terms, making their dislike of you painfully obvious.
Or worse, you might think he doesn't want you anymore. His chest aches at the thought.
He wants to kill them, Rhysand, Julianna, everyone who speaks ill of you. He doesn't care. But he needs you; needs to see you, touch you, assure himself you are okay, needs to assure you that he's not going anywhere. His heart cracks thinking back to only an hour ago, with you wrapped in his arms and wings, and you begged him not to leave. Your voice, so quiet and uncertain, echoes in his mind.
Stumbling again, he steadies himself along the stone wall, struggling to breathe. He can't lose you; the very thought threatens to rip his heart from him. He would rather kill everyone, burn the court to the ground, before he ever lets you go. And if you leave, if that's what you truly want, he will let you go, of course, but gods, he doesn't know if he will survive.
Azriel is only vaguely aware when the tunnel the shadows led him through opens up into a vast garden, one he has not visited in centuries. The shadows hiss in his ear, but he can't make out the words over the sound of his blood rushing. They lead him through a winding path surrounded by carefully maintained trees and flowers. In the center, water flows gently from a grand fountain, and you sit on the edge, hunched over, body shaking with quiet sobs. Shadows swirl restlessly around you, desperately trying to calm you, comfort you.
A quiet breath leaves Azriel, just the sight of you sets his world right again. He breathes your name and you stiffen at the sound. Slowly, he approaches, breath still uneven as he kneels before you, the shadows quick to wrap around him, nestling you both in their soft embrace, keeping the rest of the world away. Hot tears burn Azriel's cheeks, scarred hands shaking, reaching out to grab yours. When you don't pull away, Az lets out a breath that might be a sob, bringing them up to his lips, placing a long, reverent kiss on each.
"I'm sorry, my love," he breathes into your skin. You gasp, gently pulling one hand away and Azriel grasps the one remaining tighter, not enough to hurt you, never to hurt you, but to keep it in his hands, against his lips. "I am so, so sorry."
Your body shakes, free hand sweeping through his hair. "Y- you're bleeding," you whisper through your tears. "Oh- oh, gods, you're hurt, you're–"
"I'm fine," he cuts you off softly, looking up, forcing himself to take a deep breath at the sight of your tears. He places another tender kiss to your hand, watching your eyes remain on the cut, your thumb gently rubbing his temple. "I'm fine, beloved. I promise."
You shake your head, hand dropping, your body shakes even more. He inches forwards, causing your knees to part to make room. His eyes close, content to be surrounded by you, leaning his head slightly into your hand still held by his cheek.
Azriel's brows furrow, something cold and wet pressing gently to his temple. Reluctantly, he opens his eyes, breath hitching. You hold your shawl, wetted by the fountain to his forehead, gently cleaning away the blood. "Oh, sweetheart," he whispers, one hand moving to gently hold your wrist, but he doesn't stop you. "You don't have to do that."
Your breathing stutters, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. "You're hurt because of me," you breathe, a sob almost cutting you off. "Because I am- I'm not–"
"No, please," he begs, carefully moving your hand away from his temple, his own tears returning. "Please, don't finish that sentence. Whatever you are going to say, it's not true," he insists, placing a soft, adamant kiss to the wet shawl still clutched in your hand. "You are everything, Y/N. Completely and utterly perfect. Don't believe a word they say."
Your face contorts with another sob, head shaking again. "No, no I'm not. I- I–"
Azriel surges forward, unable to hear you utter another self-deprecating thought. His lips slot between yours, soft and gentle despite his speed, one hand resting on the back of your head to keep you steady, but you can easily pull away if you want. You gasp, body stilling before a whimper escapes you, your lips slowly moving with his. He slows too, matching your pace, pouring all of his reverence and adoration into the kiss, his both hands slowly moving to cup your jaw.
He moans at the feel of your lips against his, at the taste of your tears, but beneath it something so distinctly you it makes his knees weak. You sob into the kiss and Azriel starts to pull away, but your hands grip his leathers, keeping him close, and shifting closer to him. He obliges, letting you direct him, until he's sitting on the ground, back up against the wall of the fountain, and you're straddling him, his wings wrapping lazily around you. The shadows encircle the two of you until there is nothing else, even the sounds of the fountain are muted, a few directing one of hands to rest on a specific point on your back.
It wasn't exactly what Azriel had in mind for your first kiss, having kept himself relegated to your hands and forehead before now. But it is perfect, to be completely surrounded by you, the feel of your body, your taste, your scent.
Panting, you pull back, sucking in lungfuls of air. Azriel doesn't stop, cannot stop, now that he has got a taste of you. His lips gently trail to your jaw down to the curve of your neck. You moan softly, something in Azriel warms at the sound, a smile pulling on his lips as he continues. Slowly, your body melts into him, head tilting ever so slightly to the side, resting in the hand still resting along the opposite side of your jaw.
"Oh, gods, Y/N," he moans between kisses, finding a spot on the juncture of your neck that has you gasping. "Love you so much," he breathes.
"Azriel," you whisper, burying a hand in his hair, leaning to rest your cheek against his ear as he continues to lap at your skin. "I- oh, I love you, Az."
He groans into your skin, slowly moving back up your neck, kissing the underside of your jaw. "Perfect," he mumbles, nipping gently causing your hand to tighten in his hair. "So perfect, my beloved. Never leaving you. I'm yours, always," he promises, lips slotting back between yours, your head still tipped, nearly laying on his shoulder.
"Mine," you murmur against his lips and his smiles into the kiss, his hand pressing firmer into your back. "My m–" You gasp, cutting yourself off, but it sounds different, lower than your previous ones had been. Azriel feels your face scrunch as your body stiffens against him.
Stop! The shadows scream in his ear.
Immediately, Azriel pulls back, brows furrowing. Your head drops, resting your forehead against his shoulder, taking long, slow, measured breaths.
"Y/N?" Azriel asks, panic rising in his chest. The shadows swarm closer, moving Azriel's hand from your back to your waist, and the other from your cheek to the back of your head. They cluster around you, softly massaging along your spine and neck. "Sweetheart, what's wrong? Did I hurt you?"
You don't respond slowly relaxing back into his arms, letting out a soft whimper. "I'm sorry," you breathe softly.
"Sh, sh," he hushes, gently pressing a kiss on your head. "You have nothing to be sorry about," he assures you softly. "Are you hurt? Do we need to get Madja?"
Taking a deep breath, you shake your head, just barely but enough. He nods, laying his cheek on your head. "What do you need, my love?"
Your breath stutters, arms slowly encircling his neck. "Just you," you admit quietly.
Warmth floods through Azriel's chest, the hand on your waist tightens gently. "I'm not going anywhere."
The shadows continue to gently swirl across your body. They force Azriel to let go for a moment, and Az has half a mind to growl at his own shadows. Cautiously, they move your legs, until you are sitting sideways across Azriel's lap, your head resting against his shoulder. You whimper again as they move you, Azriel's heart twists, brows furrowing in confusion. You said you aren't hurt, but it sounds like you are in pain. Still, he only whispers quiet assurances in your hair as the shadows settle you back into his lap.
The shadows move his hands again, one resting on your hip, the other wrapping around your middle. Gently, they hiss. Azriel glances at them, frowning. One of your hands rest on Azriel's chest, above his heart, flexing against his leathers as you melt back into him, the pained look on your face softening.
Azriel doesn't know how long the two of you sit there, the shadows constantly hover over you. He continues to whisper gently into your hair, even after your breathing has evened out, exhaustion over taking you.
Reluctantly, the shadows disperse after you fall asleep, slowly returning to hide in the plants. Azriel keeps his wings gently wrapped around you, a soft warmth radiating from the membrane. He tries interrogating his shadows, to learn more about what happened, why you suddenly tensed and looked like you were in pain, but they remain quiet, whispering of other, inconsequential things instead.
Quiet voices float on the wind and Azriel tenses, even if the House of the Wind is one of the safest places in Velaris, it was the very people who have access who hurt you.
"–know this place existed," Nesta's voice drifts in, awe filling her voice. Azriel relaxes slightly, even as his wings wrap tighter around the two of them.
Cassian chuckles lightly, but tension lingers in his tone. "We haven't come back here in a long time. It was Rhys's mother's private garden. There must be some sort of magic taking care of it."
It is only a moment later when the two of them come into view, Nesta's arms wrap around herself, eyes drifting across the trees and plants, Cassian walks in step with her, a gentle hand resting in the small of her back. Cassian sees Azriel first, shoulders relaxing slightly, his face softening. "There you are," he sighs, relief clear in his voice.
Nesta's gaze snaps to Azriel, letting out a quiet breath. "Is Y/N okay?" she asks, softly.
Azriel scans the two of them, and the surrounding gardens, some part of him waiting for a threat to emerge. After a brief moment, Azriel unfurls one of his wings, letting them see your sleeping form, his other wing acting as a blanket. "Don't wake her," he demands quietly. "She didn't sleep well last night."
They both nod, Nesta leaning into Cassian a bit more. "Understandable," she says, glancing up at her mate. "We were hoping to apologize, for… well, for everything. And maybe speak with her a bit more."
"I don't think that's a good idea," Azriel says, fighting to keep the growl out of his voice. "Not today, at least."
"Of course," Cassian responds quickly, a small smile pulling on his lips. "We don't want to pressure her."
They stand in awkward silence for a bit, Azriel's gaze returning to you, your brows furrowing slightly, your body shaking with a deep shuddering breath. Azriel kisses your forehead, barely a brush, and your features smooth again.
"We are sorry," Nesta whispers, watching Azriel, but his eyes never leave you. "For last night, for… for Juliana. I never thought one of the priestesses would say something so cruel."
Azriel doesn't answer, jaw clenching, one hand gently rubbing your arm. His eyes drift up, watching the shadows of the leaves blowing in the wind, loosening his arms when you shift slightly.
"Well, she's still in the library, not much we can do about that," Nesta clarifies with a nod, "but she's no longer welcome with the Valkyries or at training. And Gwen made sure Clotho was informed of what happened."
"W-what?" your voice is hoarse, head lifting slightly, eyes still dazed from sleep.
Azriel shifts, hands rubbing circles on your arm and hip. "Hey," he murmurs, leaning in to press a soft kiss on your hair. "We didn't mean to wake you." Some of the shadows curl around you, weaving in your hair and between your fingers, before moving to swirl along your back and your neck.
Shakily, you push yourself off of Azriel, just enough for you to move and sit next to him, his wing reluctantly getting out of your way. Azriel misses your warmth and the weight of you against him the moment you leave, he gently entwines one of your hands with his, the need to touch you still humming beneath his skin. "You- you didn't have to do that," you say, pulling your knees up to your chest. "Not for me. I- if she wanted to- to train, you don't need to…" your voice trails off.
Nesta takes a careful step forward, away from Cassian. "If anything, we did it for her safety," she admits with a soft chuckle, glancing over to Azriel. Your gaze flickers to him for a moment, eyes wide. "Besides, like Cassian tried to say last night—"she shoots her mate a playful glare"—being Valkyrie is about helping each other to become stronger, in whatever way most suites them, whether that's training to be a warrior or… well, anything else. If she cannot respect that, then she has no place there. Simple as that."
Your brows furrow. "But–"
"It's the consequence of her actions and her words," Cassian tries gently, "not yours."
Azriel watches you intently as your gaze darts between Cassian and Nesta, your lips pursed, before you nod. Not because you agree with them, Az knows, but because you know they will not change their minds.
Nesta smiles gently, glancing back at Cassian for a moment. "We, um. We actually wanted to ask you a question, if that's okay."
Azriel can feel you stiffen, your hand tightening around his. Even now, with you sitting next to him, he can feel the exhaustion pulling on your mind, and the fear running down your spine at that simple request. "You don't have to answer," Cassian explains, stepping up to his mate, hand returning to her back. "We're just curious, that's all."
Your eyes flicker between them, brows furrowing. Azriel brings your entwined hand up to his lips, kissing the back of your hand softly. "You can say no," he offers gently, casting a glare towards his friends, who just nod in response.
Still, your gaze rakes over them slowly, noting Nesta's arms around her front and Cassian's gentle hand on her back, the shifting of both their feet. "Oh," you breathe, sitting up a bit straighter. Azriel's gaze returns to you, your body relaxing slightly as you smile. "Okay, what's the question?"
"How-" Nesta starts, chuckling nervously, "How do you know so much about Illyrian pregnancies?"
A growl rumbles in Azriel's throat, but you laugh softly, nodding. The sound stops him short, head turning towards you, brows narrowing. "Oh, that," you say, letting your legs stretch out slightly in front of you. "Um, so… when the previous High Lord met his mate, he immediately hired a midwife from Velaris to care for her during her future pregnancies."
Cassian eyes widen. "Priya," he says quickly. You nod slowly, smiling softly. "I remember her, she was around for Selene's birth."
Az nods too, licking his lips. "Yes. Rhys tried to contact her when they first learned of Feyre's pregnancy, but he couldn’t find her."
"She died," you say simply, voice lowering slightly. "During the attor attack." Cassian hums thoughtfully. "But when she was first hired by the former High Lord, he sent her to live in one of the Illyrian camps for almost a year to learn from the midwives there," you explain softly. "And when she was done, he had her spend a few months in each court, I think a little longer in Dawn, to learn from midwives who work with different types of magic. He even sent her to travel the continent for almost a year to learn some techniques that aren't known to Prythian. It was about five years in total, I think. According to Pryia, the High Lord didn't even think about having an heir until she had returned, ensuring that his mate would have the best care possible for her pregnancies."
You pause for a moment, swallowing thickly. "She was bound by a pretty strict bargain to never discuss details of the former Lady of Night's pregnancies, but she was able to teach her students everything she learned in her travels. I studied under her for almost four decades and since the High Lord… um, that is Lord Rhysand, is half-Illyrian, she made sure that her students were aware of the anatomy of Illyrian births. Especially after the complications of the former Lady of Night's pregnancies."
Cassian's brows furrow again, matching Azriel's. "I don't remember Nyssa having any complications during her pregnancy with Selene," Cass mutters.
You shrug. "That's all I know. The bargain Priya was bound with… it remained intact after the Lord Laris' death according to her. That was all she was able to tell anyone."
You blink a few times, leaning into Azriel's shoulder slightly, eyes drooping. "I have her journals though. She left them with me before her death. She made it sound like they have all the information about the Lady Nyssa's pregnancies."
Azriel frowns, studying you carefully. "She wasn't able to tell anyone because of the bargain, but she left you her journals?" he asks gently.
Your eyes widen slightly, color draining from your face, eyes flickering between Azriel, Cassian, and Nesta. "Yes, um… she- she knew that I- that if she left the journals with me, they would never be read. Not- not by me at least. Since you are Nyssa's family, or… um, family adjacent, I don’t see why you can't have them."
Nesta nods eagerly. "If you don't mind, I would love to read them. I can give them back once I'm done."
You smile softly. "No need. Priya taught me all the practical lessons that could possibly be in there. I don't need to know the personal details." Azriel smiles fondly at you, squeezing your hand slightly in his.
Cassian and Nesta share a glance, the shadows whispering of the nervousness flowing through them, as if Azriel couldn't see their shifting hands and the uptick in their breathing. "We have one more question to ask of you," Cassian begins slowly. Azriel stiffens, gaze hardening as he turns to them. "And, of course, you can refuse," he prefaces.
"You see," Nesta begins, eyes shifting to her mate. "Well, we… I mean, the reason we are asking… uh–"
You smile softly as Nesta stammers, inclining your head slightly. "Congratulations," you say quietly. Azriel's eyes narrow at you, before rounding to Nesta and Cassian again, eyes widening in understanding.
Nesta gapes at you for a moment, Cassian staring wide eyed before laughing lightly. Nesta chuckles breathily. "Is it that obvious?"
Slowly, you shake your head. "Only to someone who does this for a living," you admit softly.
Azriel smiles widely, watching his brother and friend carefully. "You will be amazing parents," he says gently.
Nesta leans more fully into Cassian, both of them smiling widely. "Thank you," she breathes out, nodding to Azriel. "Both of you. But the reason we're asking is, um…"
"We want to hire you," Cassian finishes for his mate.
Azriel brows furrow slightly, but his smile widens, glancing over to you. Your smile faulters slightly, mouth opening as you sit up straight again but, for a moment no sound comes out. "You- really?" you breathe.
Nesta nods. "Of course," she insists. "How much do you normally charge?"
"Oh, um…" your gaze flickers to Azriel. "Well, I- it's, um, about 5 copper marks per appointment."
Azriel's smile fades, head tilting slightly. In the corner of his eye, he can see Cassian and Nesta exchange a look, brows furrowed. "What?" he asks.
Azriel hears your heartbeat pick up, blood draining from your face. "If-if that's too much, I am always willing to negotiate," you respond quickly, voice wavering.
"No, love. That's not what I meant," he starts, wetting his lips.
"We just," Nesta cuts in, forcing a smile on her face, "thought it would be more. That seems much too low for you to make a living."
Heat rushes to your cheeks, head ducking slightly. "It's what I've always charged," you explain softly. "I never want someone to be without care because they couldn't afford it."
Azriel smiles sadly, letting go of your hand, to wrap around your shoulders. Drawing you into him, he places a long reverent kiss on your head. His chest stirs, with love and adoration for your caring and selflessness, but something twists right next to it, thinking of your apartment, of your threadbare clothes, of the times you eat far too quickly.
"Okay," Nesta says softly, eyes locked on her mate before turning back to you. "Well, we would love to hire you. Only if you are willing."
You lean into Azriel's warmth, offering them a tight, controlled smile. "Of course. It would be an honor." The line seems a bit too rehearsed for Azriel, but he doesn't argue.
Nesta lets out a sigh, smiling brightly. "Thank you!" she says, pulling away from Cassian. "Do you mind if we step away for a bit. I have a few questions not for…" she pauses, gaze flickering to Cassian and Azriel, "wondering ears," she settles on.
Chuckling breathily, you nod, the shadows and Azriel helping you to stand. Nesta quickly links her arm in yours leading you deeper into the garden, despite neither of you knowing where you are going.
Cassian comes up to Azriel, gently putting a hand on his shoulder as they watch the two females walk off. "Thank you," Azriel says softly, "for doing this for her."
Cassian's hand tightens on Azriel's shoulder, turning to look at him with furrowed brows. "We're not doing this for Y/N," he says simply. "Nes and I talked about it last night. She showed more knowledge of Illyrian reproduction off the top of her head than Madja had after months of researching for Feyre," he explains. "Nes has an Illyrian womb, so we need someone who knows exactly what that means and how that would affect the pregnancy."
Cassian pauses, turning to his brother, face hard as stone. "We asked her because we think it's what's best for Nesta and the baby. Who she is to you played no part in that decision."
Azriel studies Cassian for a long moment, his wings twitching against his back. Before he can think, Azriel reaches out, pulling Cassian into a tight embrace. Cass stills for a moment, before his arms encircle Azriel just as tightly. "Thank you," Azriel says again, "for everything."
"Always," Cassian responds, pulling back with a smile. "And we are going to be paying her more than 5 coppers an appointment. You don't even need to ask." A knot in Azriel's chest loosens.
———
"Do you mind if we sit?" you ask Nesta quietly, as you pass by a bench. The two of you have been walking through the gardens for about a half hour. The eldest Archeron had explained her true bargain with the Cauldron during the young princeling's birth, which resulted in a change to her reproductive system, before asking the myriad of questions every first-time mother asks. Your back aches, knees beginning to wobble beneath you; after your hard day yesterday, lack of sleep, and the amount of crying over the past day or so, your body was ready to collapse.
"Oh, sure," Nesta agrees readily, gently steering you to the bench.
You smile softly, eyes roaming over the various flowers before you, many of which you never would have thought could grow happily side-by-side. "You know, you don't need to ask me all of your questions today. We can set up a proper appointment where I will have my supplies. That will probably help ease your mind a lot."
Nesta offers you a tired smile, nodding. "I know," she sighs. "It's just… after Feyre's pregnancy. I think we are all going to be on edge."
"That is completely normal," you assure her. "Obviously, I cannot speak to human standards. But let me assure you, complications like the one your sister had are extremely rare for fae. Complications, in general, are rare, and, more often than not, both mother and child make a full recovery given enough time." Nesta purse her lips, but nods.
You turn towards her slightly. "My turn to ask a question. Have you already been looked over by a healer?"
"Yes, by Madja. About a week ago," she answers. You nod, biting the inside of your lip gently. Madja will not be pleased that the Lady of Death will be going to someone else for her pregnancy, but you'll cross that bridge later. "She didn't see anything to be concerned about, according to her. But she said it is still too early to see if there are wings."
Again, you nod, pursing your lips. "Well, that's good to hear," you say with a smile. "But for my peace of mind, would you be okay if I did a check during that appointment?"
"Yes, please," Nesta says, nodding eagerly. "I would have asked you if you hadn't offered."
Chuckling lightly, you reach out, grasping Nesta's hands. "It's okay to be nervous. All mothers are, no matter if it's their first pregnancy or their tenth. Even more so in your case, after the High Lady's. But, for now, enjoy it. Let me worry about those things, and you focus on these moments with your mate. Because in a few short months, everything is going to change. Even if it's for the better, it has been known to knock the wind out of people."
Laughing softly, Nesta nods, a hand moving to rest over her stomach. She looks over at you, smiling softly. "I see why Azriel loves you," she says simply. Your smile faulters, brows furrowing. "You're kind and caring to a fault, just like him," she explains gently. "You offer a peace the rest of us could never hope to bring him."
A lump forms in your throat, eyes darting to the path in front of you as you pull your hands back. "I- I don't know about that."
Nesta hums, leaning back on the bench, eyes closing as the mid-day sun warms her skin. "But Azriel does," she insists gently. "He was about ready to burn Rhys alive last night."
Eyes widening, your gaze snaps to hers. "What?"
She nods, smiling despite herself. "After you both left, he came back and tore Rhys a new one. I don't think Azriel has ever pushed back against him before, not like that at least. Rhys didn't know what to do with himself after Azriel left again." She chuckles lightly.
Your mouth opens, eyes blinking rapidly. "I- I didn't ask him to do that."
"You didn't have to," Nesta says head turning to look at you. "That male will burn the world down to keep you warm if you ask."
The bond pulls in your chest, rough and jagged, begging to be acknowledged. Your eyes close, taking a deep breath, coaxing the festering bond back into dormancy. The bond had soared in you earlier, when Azriel kissed you. It was the first time the bond didn't radiate any pain, even if your muscles had raged against you during the kiss. It tore through you now, crying out to be known.
"Why me?" you ask, barely a breath.
Nesta's brows furrow, leaning forwards, this time taking your hand in hers. "Because it's you," she answers, certainty ringing through her words. "And that is enough."
You shake your head softly, vaguely aware of the shadows emerging from the plants around you. Their presence has become so normal the past few months, twining around your limbs and fingers, playing with your hair, you barely notice them at first. Gently, they whisper against your skin, as if trying to convince you of Nesta's words. But it doesn't make sense, not truly. You have never been enough before, not to your parents, or friends, or other romantic partners. Especially not after they found out. How could you be enough now?
"Come on," Nesta urges, gently pulling you off the bench, leading you back the way you came. "We should find our way back to the males before they send a search party after us."
————
Thank you so much for reading!
Super quick little outline for the next few parts if you're curious: Part 4 will be a more private conversation with Az and Rhys wanting to talk more with Reader; Part 5 is the reveals (very chaotic, very fun😉); Part 6 is (supposed to be) a fluffy epilogue. About half of part 4 is written already, and was supposed to be in part three, but it got to be too long and I didn't want to keep you guys waiting for too much longer. No promises on when it will come out though, but hopefully it won't be as long as it has been
Taglist: (It's a bit longer now, so if any don't work, please let me know)
Summary: You and Azriel have been seeing each other for a few months now and it's time to introduce you to his family, which doesn't exactly go… well.
A/N: Oh, wow! Hello again, everyone! I don't know what I was expecting when I posted part 1, but 500 likes in 3 days was not it, and only continuing to grow. And over 130 followers! Thank you all so much. You have been amazing. I tried to get this out as soon as I could, but I don't write fast and the dinner scene was fighting me on this one. I'm not entirely happy with how it turned out, but I'm tired of wrestling with it and I love the ending so... here you go! There will definitely be at least 4 parts (maybe a part 5, or at least an epilogue, we'll see).
This is my first time using links, so if they don't work, please let me know. Also, I'm trying out the taglist thing, so, we'll see how that goes.
Word Count: a little less than 9K
Warnings: Reader has chronic pain (I'm trying to keep it accurate, but just in case: any medical inaccuracies are due to the fact that Reader is fae and not human and should be attributed to the biological differences between the two species), semi-unreliable narrator, feeling insecure, more angst (my fav!), talk of pregnancies and complications during pregnancies (see previous note about medical inaccuracies, but with more fae and magic nonsense 😊), Rhysand means well, sort of, but… well, you'll see 😉
Part 1 | Part 3
————
Azriel stares at the empty hearth in the main sitting room at the River House, seemingly unaware of his knee bouncing. Shadows swirl around him restlessly, his thoughts drifting back to you, as they often had these past eight months. The time flew by, feeling like only yesterday he had first met you in the waiting room of Madja's clinic, yet, at the same time, he felt like he has known you his entire life.
He spent every available moment with you, taking you out to dinner or coffee if your schedules allowed, but mostly just… being with you, whether in his apartment or yours, it didn't matter. Just being around you lifted something inside him, eased an ache he never knew existed before, and he couldn't get enough. Your quiet presence is a balm he didn't know he needed, your voice a melody he longed to hear.
Still, it wasn't always blissful; your silence often speaking more than your words ever could. The shock on your face when he would arrive at your place with dinner, at the small gestures that came second nature to him, spelled out a rocky romantic history, with those who, Az had concluded, did not treat you like you deserve. The subtle shifts of your body, a flash of… something across your face as you moved, told him you were uncomfortable most of the time. Why, you had yet to tell him, but Azriel wasn't going to push, as much as he longed to. Your trepidations about this relationship was clear with each shift of your eyes to him for approval and your hesitance over simple decisions. He was taking this at your pace, determining that you would tell him when you were ready.
Azriel smiles faintly at the hearth; he was happy, happier than he's been in his long life, and in love. He knew from the moment he laid eyes on you that there was something different. He knew when you first walked into his apartment that you would have him wrapped around your finger in no time, even if that wasn't your intention. It wasn't until three months after you met, he realized he loves you. But it is different from the love he felt for Mor or Elain; it grows somewhere deep within him, fast and unyielding until it consumed him whole. It took root with a fierceness that could never be destroyed, not fully, even if he didn't fully understand.
His family noticed, of course they did, how smiles grace his face easier, how much looser he carried himself, how he sneaks away early to head into the city. They made comments of the female that had stollen the stoic Shadowsinger's heart, joking about it often the past few months, but they let it be, knowing Azriel would bring the mysterious female around when they were ready.
But, that didn't stop Rhys from extending an invitation to bring you to family dinner, and he did a double take when Az said he would ask. Azriel was just as surprised the night before when you had agreed, quietly, hesitantly, but seemed to gain some confidence when you reaffirmed. You had an appointment with a patient that afternoon, the same couple you had interviewed with the day you met Azriel for a drink, now in the final few weeks of getting ready to greet their babe, so you agreed to meet him at the River House.
Dinner is still a few hours away, but the excitement in the house is palpable ever since Az announced that you are coming. Azriel's heart beat erratically in his chest, one leg still bouncing, staring intensely at the masonry around the unlit fireplace. Feyre sat across from Az, with sixteen month Nyx sitting on her lap, staring intently at his mother's necklace, chain now dangling from his palm.
"I don't think I've ever seen you like this," Feyre comments, amusement filling her voice.
It takes a conscious effort for Azriel to still his leg, turning to look at his High Lady, at his friend. Sighing, Az leans back in the armchair slightly. "Don't tell Rhys," he mumbles dryly, "or Cass."
"I'm pretty sure they already know," Feyre says, shifting Nyx on her legs. "You don't need to be nervous, Az. She's important to you, so she's important to us."
Az nods, he knows that, he really does, but it doesn't stop his heart thundering, or the pins prickling beneath his skin. There are just so many things that could go wrong, and he wants so desperately for his family to like you and for you to like them. You who are so much like him, preferring the quiet, the shadows, to blend in with the background, and his family who are loud and boisterous and will certainly make you the center of their attention. He's not sure how the two will mix.
"I know," Az says instead of voicing his concerns, looking back at the hearth.
Feyre sighs, recognizing she's not going to get much more from the Spymaster. Az watches her stand out of the corner of his eye, gently pulling the necklace from Nyx's grasp as she walks over to him. "Here," she says, plopping Nyx in Azriel's lap before he starts whining about losing the necklace. The shadows instantly surround Nyx, his little eyes widening, watching them swirl up his arms. "Play with your nephew, you need the distraction," the High Lady orders leaving the room.
The hours pass only slightly faster with Nyx scrambling after the shadows, his laughter filling the sitting room.
—
The knock is gentle, barely heard outside of the empty foyer, but the shadows hear and Azriel is at the door a few seconds later. The tension in his shoulders melts slightly when the door opens revealing you shifting on your feet in a simple blue dress, your work bag clutched tightly in your hands. "You made it," Azriel breathes, stepping aside to let you in.
Your eyes flicker around the entry way, a hesitant smile gracing your lips. "You sound surprised," you remark softly, slowly handing over your bag when Az offers.
A light chuckle escapes him, placing your bag on a nearby hook. "Just glad you're here," he admits, resting a hand on the small of your back, drawing your attention to him. You flush lightly as he leans down, placing a faint kiss on the top of your head, his smile growing at the sight. "Everything go okay?"
"Um… yeah," you answer, absentmindedly picking at one of your fingernails as you look around again. "As well as can be expected." You pull away from him slightly, the blush still gracing your neck and cheeks. A small flash of hurt washes over Azriel, his brows furrowing for a moment before he wipes it away. Even now, without his family present, your discomfort is evident, and the last thing he wants is to make it worse.
"That doesn't sound very promising," he comments, shifting subtly drawing your eyes back to him.
Your tight smile falters for a second, eyes catching his. "You- you know that's all I can tell you," you remind him quietly. He nods, having figured out early on you take your patients privacy very seriously.
"I know, love," he assures gently, a small sigh of relief escaping you at that. "It just doesn't sound like a good thing, when you say it like that," he explains.
Tilting your head slightly, your brows furrow. "Well, I-"
"Azriel!" Cassian's voice echoes down the hall cutting you off. Az forces himself to take a slow breath, watching your eyes widen like you were caught doing something wrong. "I swear, if you snuck off again…" his voice trails off once he rounds the corner, his eyes wide and locked on you.
You take a step closer to Azriel, one hand reaching for his, your body stiffening. A part of Az is ecstatic that he is the one you go to for comfort, for safety, while the other part of him desperately wants to throttle his brother. "Cassian," he says, throwing the general a glare, "this is Y/N." His voice softens when he says your name and Cassian's eyes darts between the two of you.
Cassian breaks out into a grin. "So you are real," he says, walking towards you. Azriel can hear your heart thundering in your chest and you struggling to keep your breaths even. He extends a wing behind you, barely unfurling it, just enough to provide another form of comfort, enough for Cassian to catch. He stops in his tracks, his smile never faltering even as his eyes widen slightly. "We were starting to think he made you up," he quips.
"Hello," you say quietly. Azriel squeezes your hand, adding just enough pressure to ground you, to remind you he is there. Your breathing begins to even out slowly as you continue to shift on your feet.
"Cassian, you better not be terrorizing the poor girl already. We want to make a good impression," Nesta snips, pushing past her mate with ease. "Feel free to ignore him."
"This is Nesta," Azriel introduces quietly. You nod slowly, eyes tracking the eldest Archeron who seems to not notice the exaggerated offended look Cassian gives her.
Taking a deep breath, you force a small smile toward the Lady of Death. "Nice to meet you," you say, removing your hand from Azriel's to offer to Nesta.
The grin that spreads across Nesta's face is just shy of predatory. She loops an arm around yours rather than shaking your hand. "It is so nice that Azriel is finally comfortable enough to bring you around," she starts, leading you to the dining room.
You quickly glance over your shoulder, wide eyes catching with Azriel. He sends you a reassuring smile, following a few paces behind while Nesta continues to talk, Cassian coming up to him. "You really love her."
It wasn't a question, even with Cassian's brows furrowing. "Yes," Azriel answers anyway.
Nodding, Cass looks back in the direction his mate disappeared. "You deserve a little peace, Az. Cauldron knows you don't get enough of that around here." Looking over at his brother, Azriel just nods.
The two males approach the entrance of the dining room, where you and Nesta stand facing each other. Nesta's brows furrow while your eyes are fixed to a point on the floor, face flushed as you once again pick at your nails. "Hmm," Nesta hums, eyes flickering to Azriel. "Well, we would love to see you there one of these days."
"See her where?" Cassian asks, moving to stand beside his mate. You jump slightly at the sound of his voice, eyes snapping up to Cass.
Azriel's eyes furrows, stepping up to your side, gently resting his hand in the small of your back once more. He feels the tension in your muscles loosen the smallest amount as you lean back into his hand. His shadows swirl around your feet, dancing up your legs and torso to play in your hair. They congregate at specific points along your legs and spine, subtle enough that no one other than Azriel notices, he's not even sure if you notice, and it almost looks like they are supporting your weight. They had started doing it on the third time the two of you met, and when he asked why they do that the shadows just replied: Beloved likes it. It helps her. Although Azriel has the suspicion they know as little has he does as to how it helps.
Nesta angles her body to Cass, but keeps her eyes on you. "I invited her to Valkyrie training," Nesta says simply. Your shoulders creep up a bit, eyes refocusing on a spot on the floor. "She says that it's not for her," she continues, shrugging.
Cassian eyes widen, looking over you again. "Oh, you should definitely come. We always welcome those who want to better themselves and become stronger."
Azriel glares at Cassian, your body tensing beneath his hand, his shadows redoubling their efforts around your body. Even Nesta turns her steely gaze on her mate, eyes narrow. Slowly, Azriel leans down, whispering in her ear. "Ignore him, love. You do not need to join." You shift, just enough to look over at him. He can almost feel your embarrassment and shame over his brother's words, tears beginning to line your eyes. "Or, you can come and just watch. See what the fuss is about," he offers instead, giving you a small, reassuring smile, "but you don't have to."
"Just watch?" you repeat, the question barely a breath.
Slowly, Azriel nods, forcing his face to remain neutral. A small knot begins to form in his stomach at the look of dread and guilt shining behind your eyes. "Only if you want to," he stresses softly, only vaguely aware of Cassian flinching at something Nesta says.
Taking a shaky breath, your gaze drops to somewhere along his chest, blinking rapidly, nodding slightly. "Okay," you agree, resignation filling your tone, "but just to watch."
"If you're sure," Azriel reiterates, letting out a long breath, the knot in his stomach quickly souring to disappointment. Not disappointment towards you, of course; it had been obvious from the start that your previous relationships had not been the most healthy ones. The need for his approval was painfully obvious at times, so he is not surprised that you agreed to come, he already knew you would agree after Cassian made his comment. But still, a part of him hoped you would say no when you clearly were uncomfortable with the prospect. You were already stepping out of your comfort zone to come to this dinner, it wasn't fair for any of them to pressure you to do anything else.
Still, you nod slowly, refusing to look up at him. Cassian clears his throat weakly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it… like that," he says sheepishly. You nod again, remaining still, while Azriel's gaze snaps to Cassian, glaring at him.
"And this is why you can ignore him," Nesta mutters, walking into the dining room, dragging Cassian behind her.
Neither you nor Azriel move for a long moment, his eyes scanning your body like checking for wounds. Eventually, he lifts one hand to rest on your cheek, gently guiding you to look at him, your head leans into him on instinct and you blink back something that Azriel can't quite catch. "We can leave," he whispers, "whenever you want. Just say the word."
"Wouldn't that be rude?" you ask, eyes widening.
Azriel shrugs, running his thumb across your cheek. "I don't care about that," he admits, taking a half step closer. "If you want to leave, we leave."
Your brows furrow, lips pursing, but you nod. "O-okay."
Slowly, he leans forward, placing a soft kiss on your forehead, lingering for a bit longer than necessary. "I love you," he breaths against your skin.
Your face flushes, a small gasp escaping you at those words. They were still new; while Az knew he loved you only a few months in it has still taken him some time to actually say it, only starting a few weeks ago and only in soft, quiet moments of them alone. He knows you don't believe them yet, not fully, but he is determined to remind you.
"I-I love you," you whisper back, the words more shaky, trailing off at the end. Azriel smiles against your heated skin, the words sending a rush through his body, and he places another kiss to your temple.
———
The High Lord's table is covered with meats, salads, fruits, and dishes you don't know how to describe. You're not sure you have ever seen so much food in one place, except maybe at the markets. Around you, Azriel's family talks amongst themselves, piling their plates high from the assortment, while you sit quietly, back straight, a small polite smile gracing your lips. They had all paused when you walked in, Azriel gracefully guiding you to a seat, effortlessly introducing you to his family.
Once they joined you at the table, they easily slipped into their normal casual conversations, giving you a moment to acclimate, not paying you any mind yet. Still, you could feel their eyes flicker to you every so often, curiosity lingering in the air.
Pursing your lips, you lift a hand to fill your plate, a sharp twinge in your back protesting the movement, your hand shaking slightly. Azriel gently reaches, bringing you hand back down with a smile beginning to fill your plate for you.
You haven't told him of your condition. You are sure he already suspects something, with his sharp eyes and his shadows constantly observing and swirling around you, but you haven't brought yourself to tell him. Each time you consider it, fear grips your heart, memories of past relationships, some romantic others not, flood your mind. People don't tend to stick around long after finding out.
You haven't burdened him with the knowledge of the mating bond either, not willing to trap him in a relationship he would not want. He claims to loves you, and a part of you believes he means it, but you had heard those words before from people who left. And there is a part of you that thinks you could not live with his rejection, especially not after having him these past months. So, you don't tell him, letting the bond fester angerly in your chest, begging to make itself known
After a moment, Azriel angles the plate towards you slightly. "Anything else you want?" he asks softly, unheard by the rest of the table. The plate is filled with your favorite dishes, a small flush creeping up your neck at the thought of him making sure they would be served for you.
Slowly, you shake your head, offering a small smile, careful not to further aggravate your already flaring muscles along your spine. Today had been hard; the patient you were seeing had developed a heart condition during her pregnancy and required more frequent check-ins with both you and a healer. It was a rare condition, but not unheard of. One that the healer you are working with from the Dawn Court, Sira, had delt with a few times and believed the mother would make a full recovery in the years following the birth. But, it meant you were running around more than normal on the days of your check-ins to escort the healer through the city, and your body was rebelling against you as a result.
Azriel puts the plate back in front of you before filling his own and pouring a glass of water for each of you. "No wine tonight, Az?" Morrigan teases, taking a sip of hers. Your flush grows, eyes dropping to your plate. Whether it's because he wants to keep his wits about him or because he doesn't want you to feel alone not drinking, he wasn't drinking wine, or any alcohol, because of you. You never asked him to, and you would be fine if he does, but the guilt over his decision worms its way inside your heart anyway.
The male in question doesn't dignify the ask with a response, just raises his eyebrows and taking a pointed drink of his water. Nesta scoffs across the table, taking a drink of her own glass, while the High Lady chuckles lightly, placing a torn up piece of bread in front of the princeling.
"So," Amren speaks up, swirling the red liquid in her glass, her silver eyes locked on you and you fought to withhold a shiver, "how did you two meet?"
The discussions around the table tapper off as everyone turns to watch you and Azriel. Looking to the male out of the corner of your eye, you gently place the still clean silverware back in their places, hands clasping together in your lap. Azriel glances your way, a gently smile pulling on his lips and one of his hands reaches out to grab yours. "We took over her appointment in Madja's clinic," he explains simply, gesturing vaguely towards the High Lord and the General, but his eyes remain on you. "I offered to buy her a drink to make up for it." His voice softens as a small smile pulls at your lips, your eyes dropping to your untouched plate.
A hum echoes through the room, the High Lord's head tilting slightly. "How long have you lived in Velaris?"
You swallow thickly, trying to keep your heart steady and your focus on Azriel's thumb moving absentmindedly against the back of your hand. "Sin- since I was a child, High Lord," you answer softly.
"Oh, you can call him Rhys," the High Lady says gently. "No need to be so formal and he certainly doesn't need the ego boost." You look up hesitantly to see Feyre gently elbow her mate, who smiles fondly back at her. There's a shift in his eyes, when he turns back to you, a hardness creping in that makes your skin crawl.
Smiling weakly, you just nod, opting to look back down at your plate. Carefully, you squeeze Azriel's hand, the rough texture grounding you and the shadows immediately swarm up your legs and into your lap, twirling around your hands, offering their quiet support. A few wrapping around to your back, placing gentle pressure on a particularly sore part of your lower spine, and you extend the fingers of your freehand, twining with them in gratitude.
"You're a healer too, right?" Nesta asks, pushing the food around her plate. Your brows furrow, eyes flickering to hers. "Az mentioned you were seeing one of your patients today," she explains quickly, offering a reassuring smile.
"Oh," you breathe, glancing to Azriel, who nods. "No, not exactly. I, um… I'm a midwife."
The table stills, an uneasy silence falling over the room, broken only by the prince's giggling, throwing some of his bread and cooked carrots onto the floor. Your heart thunders and you force yourself to not shift in your seat, the ache in your back already starting to build. Azriel squeezes your hand, leaning just fraction closer to you. Amren hums, taking another up of her wine.
You are aware that the High Lady had… complications during her pregnancy. Almost all of Velaris had heard of how she died, or nearly died, giving birth to her son, only to be saved by her eldest sister negotiating with the Cauldron itself to save her life and that of the young price.
"A midwife?" the High Lord asks, voice dropping slightly.
You couldn't stop yourself from shifting this time, your eyes closing at the sharp pain shooting up your spine. "Yes," you confirm in a whisper.
Rhysand's eyes narrow, looking you over. "And you have been in Velaris since you were a child?" he clarifies, not impolitely, but there was an edge to his voice. A lump catches in your throat, eyes once again locked on your plate as you nod. The High Lord hums thoughtfully. "I don't remember speaking with any midwives in Velaris during Feyre's pregnancy."
"Oh, um…" you start, gaze flickering to Azriel and he nods again, eyes staying on you as Feyre shifts uncomfortably in the corner of your eye. "We- we weren't consulted," you admit softly, eyes lowering again. "I offered my services to Madja when I heard she was researching for the High Lady's pregnancy, but she refused my assistance."
Morrigan leans forward. "Why would she do that?"
Pursing your lips, you straighten in your seat, hoping to ease the sharp ache in your lower spine that continues to grow despite the shadows gentle massage. "I- uh, I don't know," you answer softly. You weren't lying, not really, but there was a reason you no longer consulted the old healer for your patients, even if you were stuck seeing her for your condition. "She just said that she had it handled and refused to hear of it again." Her angry words still echo in your head somedays.
Leaning back in his chair, the High Lord studies you, wine in hand. "And what would you have done?"
"W-what?" you ask, brows furrowing, slowly looking towards him, while keeping your eyes respectfully low.
"Rhys," Feyre murmurs gently, a warning in her voice.
"You claim you offered to help," the High Lord says, not taking his eyes off you. "You obviously heard something about the pregnancy, so what would you have done differently if we had hired you?"
An uncomfortable silence blankets the space, even Nyx quiets, his big blue eyes looking around the room confused. "I- I wasn't there," you attempt to reason, eyes flickering between the High Lord, High Lady, and Azriel. "I don't know all of the… uh, the details. I won't be able to say with any certainty."
The High Lord simply shrugs. "To the best of your knowledge," he prompts.
Azriel leans closer to you, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of your hand, the shadows swirling up and down your back lightly. You look to him, eyes wide, heart pounding. "You don't have to answer," he says gently, but loud enough for the table to hear. Your mouth opens, drawing a shaky breath while Azriel's gaze flickers to the High Lord and hardens. His hazel eyes are soft when they meet yours again and you can see the sincerity behind them, but also his curiosity. And, honestly, you are a bit surprised he hasn't asked sooner.
"Okay," you breathe shakily, licking your lips. Eyes falling back to your place, but you barely see it as your mind combs through all the information you heard about the High Lady's pregnancy, separating facts from fiction from rumors, most of it rumors. Your eyes close, a wave of pain emanating from your lower back rolls through your body. "Okay," you repeat slightly louder, eyes opening again, trying to ignore the scrutinizing gazes surrounding you.
Taking a slow, deep breath, you let yourself fall back on your decades of training. "From what I heard, it sounds like the majority of the complications were from… um, from the wings, is that correct?"
"Yes," Rhysand answers taking a sip of his wine.
"Okay, um…" you take a second, recalling your mentor's teachings on Illyrian pregnancies and anatomy. "How far along did you find out about the wings? If you don't mind me asking?"
"About two months," Feyre says, voice almost as soft as yours.
Nodding, you lick your lips. "And, uh, I also heard you have the ability to shapeshift in a way similar to the noble fae of the Spring Court, is that right?"
"Yes," Feyre replies slowly.
"No," Rhysand snaps loudly. You flinch, eyes closing again as another wave crashes over you your empty stomach roiling with nausea. Azriel's shadows rise around you and his grip on your hand tightens, your freehand moving to cover his, keeping him from pulling away. "Madja said any alterations to Feyre's body could've put Nyx at risk."
Your mouth parts slightly, shoulders dropping barely an inch from where they had curled into your ears. Brows furrowing, your eyes open, moving over the table, thoughts racing through your head. "Madja has experience with the pregnancies of shapeshifting fae?" you whisper, more to yourself. There aren't many shapeshifting fae in Velaris and, to your knowledge, they all come to either you or Eda for their pregnancies, or to Priya before her death.
You are only vaguely aware of the looks being shared around the table before the attention returns to you. "Do you?" Nesta asks.
Slowly, you nod. "There are many species of fae who can shapeshift to some degree, with the way the magic changes the body different for each. If Madja is unfamiliar with any shapeshifting pregnancies, or only has experience with some of the more… well, violet shapeshifting magic that's native to the Night Court, I can understand her concern. But, if the High Lady's is more similar to those High Fae in Spring…" you trail off, pursing your lips.
"All magic has its risks, shapeshifting is no different," you conceded with a small nod to the High Lord, but you barely register the action. "Even under the best circumstances, there's always a risk, however small. That early on in the pregnancy though, with the more fluid change of the Spring Court's magic, especially changing into a similar form, the additional risk would have been minimal to both mother and child," you admit, voice barely above a whisper.
Several sharp intakes of breath echo around the room. You glance over to Azriel who's watching you, eyes wide in awe. "I- uh," you stammer, a flush rising on your cheeks. "I would have consulted with a midwife native to Spring, since they deal with this type of magic more often," you continue, eyes returning forward. "After confirming with them, assuming they agreed, I would have had the High Lady shift as early in the pregnancy as possible, in a controlled environment, with both myself and a healer present in the unlikely event of a complication."
"And," Feyre begins quietly, "you're sure it wouldn't have harmed him?" she asks, a hand resting on the princeling's back.
"Um," you purse your lips again, eyes dropping to your lap, brows furrowing as possibilities race through your mind. "Sin-since you would have been shifting from High Fae to Illyrian, that in and of itself lowers many of the risks of the shift. The same magic that keeps your heart, brain, and other organs functioning through a shift would have been employed to protect the child, even without conscious effort. And the shift would have resulted in more room for the child to develop. So, if my understanding of the Spring Court's shifting magic is correct, then the likelihood of any harm coming to you or him, my lady, would have been very low."
Azriel squeezes your hand lightly, an uneasy silence filling the dining room. Slowly, you turn back to him, your eyes wide. His lips twitch into a soft smile, even as you watch a war of emotions behind his eyes. Anger, confusion, and grief all seem to try to make a home there, but all outshone by a look of awe, wonder, and price as he looks at you. Your flush deepens, head ducking to look back at your lap, your own smile pulling at your lips.
"If that is the case," the General asks slowly, breaking you out of the quiet moment, "what do you think caused the early labor?"
Your gaze flicks up to him, your smile fading. "Oh… um. There are three main differences between the reproductive systems of a female High Fae and a female Illyrian," you recite. "The pelvis is larger to accommodate the wide birth canal. The womb itself is larger as well, for the wings, and…" you trail off, looking around the table. "Um, as the wings develop, the bones, including the talons, are some of the first parts of the appendage to form, and the talons form… sharp. Illyrian females have multiple additional protective inner linings along their wombs and birth canal to protect against them."
Your eyes landed back on your plate, fingers tangling in the opposite sleeves. Azriel's finger flex in your hand, and the small amount of magic you have rises without prompting. There is no glow to your healing magic, it's not strong enough for that, but it is enough to ease the stiffness in his muscles, to soothe the tender nerves. His fingers relax in your grip, his thumb beginning its soothing circles again. The shadows curl around you in gratitude.
"If I had to guess," you continue softly, "the High Lady's womb was not large enough to hold the wings and with the lack of the protective linings the talons would have been rubbing against the walls of the womb, likely causing no small amount of tears. The body would have known something was wrong and did what it could to get whatever was harming it out, triggering the early labor. Then the wings got stuck in the birth canal and it just made the problem worse."
"So," Morrigan starts, voice low, a dangerous edge lurking in it, "theoretically, if Feyre had shifted when we first learned about the wings…" she trails off, eyes locked on you.
Taking a deep breath, you nod. "Theoretically," you say so quietly it's almost a whisper, "she would have had a normal pregnancy."
The air in the room stilled at the pronouncement. The only movement comes from Nyx twisting in his chair and the shadows. Your lips purse, hands tightening around Azriel's. A part of you wishes you hadn't said anything, had let them believe that what happened was the inevitable. To forget the conversations whispered between you and Eda after one of the few times you worked together to help with a delivery. But, at the same time, you know lying wouldn't help, it would have only made whatever this meal is becoming something far worse.
Your heart beats wildly in your chest, your body begging you to shift in your seat, to find a position to ease the pain licking its way up your spine. You stay still, years of experience teaching you that moving won't help much, if at all, instead possibly making it worse. The shadows rush along your back, placing gentle pressure along the worst of the pain, while others tangle themselves with your legs and finger, a few running up your arms to play with your hair.
Azriel shifts closer to you, the warmth of his body, from a wing partially extending behind you, is grounding, comforting. His body is stiff, tension spilling from him, and everyone else in the room.
You can see them all in your periphery, but you don't dare to look. Amren regards you thoughtfully, her glass of wine resting against one of her cheeks. Morrigan purses her lips, eyes focused on you, taking long slow breaths. Nesta grips Cassian's hand tightly, her knuckles white, but her mate doesn't seem to notice. Feyre reaches for Nyx, hugging him gently in her lap. And Rhysand…
The High Lord glares at you, a quiet fury burning in his violet eyes. "Liar," he hisses, putting his glass down with a deafening thud. You flinch, forcing your eyes shut, your back flaring as your muscles tense. "You're lying. If the solution was really so simple we would have known."
The High Lord's anger fills the room, the glasses and plates shaking. Your breath comes in short shallow breaths, shoulders coming up to your ears as you curl in on yourself. Azriel moves closer to you as the High Lady says softly: "Rhys." Her voice hard, condemnation echoing in her single word. Gently, Azriel pulls his hand from yours wrapping his arm around you, the shadows moving frantically over you.
"I don't think she is," Morrigan says quietly, the words ringing through the room.
The High Lord stiffens, gaze flickering between his cousin and you. His chair creaks as he leans back. "Fine, you believe you're telling the truth," he concedes, words clipped. "But, what of your relationship with the Dawn Court?"
The tension in the room eases, slightly, your eyes opening, brows furrow along with everyone else. Amrem scoffs, rolling her eyes. "All healers have a 'relationship' with Dawn," she drawls into her wine. "An occupational hazard. It shouldn't be surprising if a midwife does too."
"Not all healers have private meetings with the High Lord of Dawn, and certainly not all midwives," Rhysand pauses, watching the blood drain from your face, eyes widening. "Did you think I wouldn't remember, or just wouldn't realize?" he taunts.
Pain rushes through you, your body shifting before you could think and gods everything hurts. Your shake your head, hands coming to pick at your fingernails again. Azriel tenses next to you, adjusting in his seat to face the High Lord. "Rhysand," he warns lowly.
"What are you talking about?" Cassian asks at the same time.
Rhysand smirks. "Was it three weeks ago, when I went to Dawn to renegotiate the trade deal for copper? They had me wait because Thesan was already in a meeting—"
"Gods forbid," Nesta mutters, taking a sip of her water, hand still clutching her mate's.
Rhysand continues like he didn't hear her. "—and when he was done, he was accompanied out of his office by you. Looking like you were having a very serious discussion."
Your heart pounds in your ears, gaze flickering to Azriel. You remember that meeting, of course you do. You had gone to Dawn for only a few hours to speak with Sira, wanting to get more information about a specific side effect plaguing your patient. And while you were there, you asked if they had any information on your condition. Word spread fast in the archives of Dawn and before you really understood what was happening, High Lord Thesan had come to speak with you, taking you back to his office to have a more private discussion.
"I- I was in Dawn seeking advice on a condition for one of my patients," you manage to say, voice barely above a whisper, eyes focusing on where you are picking at your nail beds.
"And that got the attention of the High Lord?" Morrigan asks, doubtfully.
"It- um, I," you stammer, glancing at Azriel who is staring daggers at Rhysand. "The condition I was looking into is very rare. Only six recorded cases… or, um, seven now. It caught the High Lord's—"your eyes flicker to Rhysand, his body tense"—I- I mean the Lord Thesan's attention."
A careful hum echoes through the room. "And what condition is that?" the High Lord asks.
You take a shaky breath. "I- I can't… I'm not supposed to say," you whisper, glancing at Azriel again. Gods, this is going to be how he finds out, isn't it? Then, of course he'll leave; to have a parter perpetually broken was bad enough, but to find out about it in this humiliating way? He will never want to see your face again and a part of you wouldn't blame him.
"Because Thesan told you not to," Rhysand concludes, his tone final.
"What? N-no!" you breathe. A painful shiver begins in your stomach, your breathing shallow as it spreads through your body.
"Rhys," Azriel interjects with a growl, voice hard. "That's enough."
"If she's having secret meetings with a foreign High Lord I have every right to question her," Rhysand declares.
Azriel's wings flare, one wrapping protectively around you. The shadows flicker, rising to encompass you, to protect you, but you barely feel them with your pain-filled shivers. "Why? Because you think she's a spy?"
"Maybe," Rhys responds with a shrug.
Your vision blurs, the edges darkening as you gasp for breath. "But- but I'm not. I- I would never- I just went to research–"
"Why should we believe you?" Morrigan asks, her voice gentle, but aloof. "If you can't tell us what you were researching."
Your shaking hands come up to your neck, applying a slight pressure you are barely aware of. "I'm sorry," you whisper. "I- I can't…"
"Rhys, stop," Feyre orders shakily.
Hot tears spill over your eye line, burning your cheeks where they fall. "I'm sorry," you repeat, looking over to Azriel who was still staring down Rhysand. "I-I don't understand. What did I do wrong?" you breathe, because you had to have done something wrong; why else would the High Lord be after you like this? The only things you can think of is not telling them about your condition or the mating bond, but it wasn't wrong to keep those to yourself, was it? No, no they were right; you should have told Azriel right away so he wouldn't have wasted his time on you. It was stupid and selfish and wrong, wrong, wrong–
Azriel's head jerks to you, your body curling forward, sobs wracking your frame. "No, no. Y/N," Az breaths, quickly getting out of his seat and kicking it away so he can kneel next to you. Pulling your chair out, the shadows bracing you so you don't fall, he turns the chair to face him and he gently grabs your hands. "You didn't do anything wrong," he whispers softly.
You shake your head, your whole body screaming, the pain only making the tears come faster. "I'm s-so-sorry. I'm sorry," you continue to breathe.
Gently, oh so gently, arms wrap around you, gathering you into his firm chest, the scent of mist and cedar filling your lungs. The feel of your mate's arms and his scent around you instantly calms your tears, even as you continue to shake in his hold. "You didn't do anything wrong," he repeats, voice thick. Slowly, he stands, his shadows swirling restlessly about him, itching to get you out. "We're leaving," he says simply, walking towards the door.
"Az, you can't shield her from this," Rhysand calls, his chair screeching against the floor as he stands. "She needs to answer–"
A low growl thunders through the room, cutting off the High Lord. Azriel turns to face his brother, baring his teeth. You whimper softly, some residual anger flowing down the mostly dormant bond. Azriel stops at once, dropping his nose to the top of your head, shushing you gently and leaving tender kisses against your hair, continuing through the River House.
He stops only once to grab your work bag before walking into the night-chilled spring air, letting the shadows surround you both.
You are only somewhat aware when the shadows deposit you and Azriel outside of your apartment building. A small, run down place, one of the units has a hole in the wall from when the attors attacked the city that was never fixed. It was a miracle the building was still standing, much less has people living in it, but it was the cheapest place to rent in the city and all you could afford.
Shame washes over you as Azriel enters the building, keeping his steps light, as it always does when Azriel visits your apartment. You knew Azriel hates this place, that you live here, but he never mentioned it to you, not directly. Just another reason the bond had to be a mistake; how could the Spymaster's mate live in such a place?
Climbing the stairs, Azriel whispers soft words into your hair, but you can't make out the words. Hot tears burn your cheeks even through your sobs have subsided. Azriel's arms tighten around you when one step creaks dangerously beneath him.
It does not take long for him to reach your door, gently setting you down, his hands remain, one on your waist the other your arm, to steady you on your wobbling legs. Clasping your work bag in shaky hands, you slowly move back a few steps, out of his grasp, fixing your eyes on the floor in front of him. Still, you don't miss the hurt and panic flashing across his face.
"I am so sorry, my love," Azriel whispers. Your arms wrap around your middle, Azriel's shadows slowly approaching you. "I'll talk with them."
"It's okay," you respond shakily. Your body tense to keep the pain-filled shivers at bay, which just aggravates your muscles in a different, but more familiar way.
The shadows lunge for you as Azriel's face crumbles. "No," he says fiercely, taking a step towards you. "No, it's not." You take a step back, against every instinct in your body begging you to go to him, you keep your distance. Azriel stops immediately, wings twitching at his back. "Y/N, look at me," he pleads, voice breaking, "please."
You take a shuddering breath, your mind at war with itself. You have no right to, you know that. Why should he want you to, a pour, barely educated female who can barely afford one of the worst apartments in the city. Weak, both physically and magically; how could you possibly be his mate, his equal? He should want nothing to do with you, even before knowing about your condition. You barely deserve being in the same room as him. But, at the same time, he was your mate and there have been a few occasions after a bad day that just seeing him made you feel better. And he was asking, that has to count for something, right?
Slowly, you look up, forcing your eyes to meet his, blurry through your tears, breathing sharp. "You didn't do anything wrong," he assures you, voice so gentle. "I promise. Not today, not in Dawn." you nod jerkily, wincing at the sharp pain shooting down your spine, a constant reminder of your unworthiness.
"I- I love you," he breathes, conviction filling the words, his hands flexing at his sides, one almost reaching out. The shadows curl around you, whispering in a language you will never know.
Your eyes shut tight, forcing fresh tears to stain your cheeks, lips pursing as your head falls forward. Stifling a sob, you force yourself to nod again. There was no way he meant it, not truly. How could he after the way his family, his brothers, reacted to you.
The lump in your throat kept you from saying anything for a long moment and you slowly fish you key from your bag. "You- you should go back," you breathe, fiddling with the key in your hand, turning to unlock the door, "be with your family."
"What? No. And leave you alone?" Azriel asks, brows furrowing, wings twitching as he glances around the hallway.
Your door opens with a loud creak, heat rushing to your face as it sticks at several points until the opening is large enough for you to slide through. "Yo-you will have a better time with them than with me," you insist, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. It had to be true, you were just going to down one of Madja's potions that do next to nothing and lay in bed, ignoring your hunger, and praying for sleep to take you away. His family would be much better company, even on your best day, especially without you there to ruin it.
"Y/N," he breathes, taking a single step forwards before stopping himself. "I want to be with you," he argues. "If… if you don't want me here, I'll leave, but," he swallows thickly, "but, I don't want to go."
You shake your head, turning towards him through the opening of the door, keeping your eyes on the floor. "Please," you beg, voice tick with tears, "don't lie to me."
"I'm not," he says quickly, panic setting in and you can see tears lining his eyes in your periphery. "I swear on my shadows, on my life, I'm not lying. Please."
Biting the inside of your cheek, more tears fill your eyes. Slowly, you inch the door closed. "I'll, um… I'll see you in the morning for the Valkyrie training," you say softly. Best to get it over with, not that you will be welcomed there anymore, not after the dinner. "Good night, Az."
It takes a few seconds for you to close the door all the way and slide the lock into place. Leaning your head against the door, a sob escapes your lips. Your body finally giving out, it was all you could do to control your fall to your knees, the landing jarring every bit of pain in your body. You bring a hand to your mouth, smothering the sobs.
Through the door, you can hear Azriel, his breath stuttering. "Good night, beloved."
———
Azriel always prided himself on control; over his body, mind, magic, shadows, especially over his emotions. After spending the beginning of his life with no control over anything, it is not something he takes for granted. After five hundred years, Azriel considers himself a master. But, hearing you fall to the ground, sobbing on the other side of that door, his control snaps.
Leaving a few shadows to watch over you, he recalls the rest, wrapping them around himself to step through and back to the front door of the River House. He marches inside, anger boiling beneath his skin, his shadows screaming at him to make the people who hurt you pay.
He enters the sitting room in a storm of shadows, the same one he had spent hours in earlier, anxiously waiting for your arrival. Now, it’s the room his family had moved to, their conversations ceasing when he enters, not that he'd be able to hear any of it over the roaring in his ears.
They watching him carefully as he takes them in. Nesta sitting on Cassian's lap in an arm chair, his arms wrapped around her. Amren sitting across from them, wine still in hand. Mor sits perched on the armrest of the couch while Rhys and Feyre stand closest to the doorway, Nyx sat on Feyre's hip. Azriel is just barely able to keep his shadows from strangling the High Lord, barely.
"Az–" Rhys starts.
"Tell me, Rhysand," Azriel interrupts, voice low and deceptively calm, "do you think me incompetent?"
Rhys' brows furrow, inhaling sharply. "What? No, of course not."
Azriel takes a careful step forward, hands clenching into fists at his side. "Then did you think that I was not aware of her visit to the Dawn Court? Or of her meeting with Thesan?" Rhys opens his mouth to respond, but Azriel cuts him off with a snarl. "Did you not think that there was a shadow with her the entire time?" His shadows grow around him, swirling frantically, the faelights seeming to dim in response.
Rhys freezes, eyes widening, bringing his hands up in a placating gesture. Everyone stares at Azriel, eyeing the shadows carefully. They have only rarely seen this side of their Spymaster, he knows, and never directed at them.
"She told me about her trip to Dawn days before it happened. She told me she met with Thesan when I first saw her after she returned. And my shadow confirmed their conversation," he growls looking around the room. It is a slight exaggeration; while the shadows did confirm the reason Thesan sought you out was in regards to a condition you were researching, they kept the confidentiality that you always stressed, keeping both the specific condition and the patient's identity from him, but Azriel didn't mind. He trusts his shadows will tell him any information that could affect or jeopardize the court, and he trusts you implicitly.
"Do you think I don't know about Thesan's spies in this court? In this city?" he continues, voice dropping, taking another step towards his brother, wings flaring wide. "I know their names, their aliases, their movements, what they ate for dinner, what they are doing this very moment. Did you think I would bring one to the very heart of this court?" The room is silent, no one dares to draw a breath, save for Nyx, watching his uncle with tear filled eyes, burrowing into his mother's chest. "I'll ask again, High Lord. Do you think I am unfit for my job?"
Azriel's heart pounds in his chest, his skin tight. Eyes locked with Rhysand's, he forces himself to take few deep breaths through his nose. His wings twitch where they are extended, jaw clenched. Rhysand doesn't move, blinking slowly, licking his lips, looking as calm and composed as normal. But, Azriel knows his brother better, he can hear Rhys' thundering heart, can see the small bead of sweat forming on his brow.
"She didn't tell the truth though, Az," Mor says quietly, as if speaking to a dangerous animal.
Azriel's gaze snaps to where she's perched, his lips pull back in a snarl. "But she did, she just didn't tell you everything, which is her right," he spits, hands clenching and unclenching at his side. "She agreed to come to a nice cordial dinner. She did not agree to be questioned about her work, her expertise, and certainly did not agree to be interrogated about a research trip she took, one I had full knowledge of! Why should she have told you anything?"
"Az–" Rhys tries.
"I have spent the better part of this past year trying to convince Y/N she's worth my time. That she deserves love and attention, and something good. And now… now she won't even look me in the eye because she doesn't think she has the right to." Azriel's voice cracks, the worst of his anger bleeding out as he speaks, wings sagging. The shadows slow, returning to dance around him in an attempt at comfort. "Now, she won't let me stay and comfort her because she doesn't feel worthy of my presence." He whispers the last bit, a part of him can still feel her insecurity, her self-deprecation, like it is his own.
No one responds as he looks around the room, meeting each of their eyes. "I trusted you, all of you." The words are whispers, but they land hard. Rhysand stumbles back a step. Feyre takes a shaky breath, tears lining her cheeks. Cassian and Nesta hold each other tighter.
Scoffing, Azriel turns to the door, to head back to you. You might not want him there, might not feel worthy, but something in him needs to be near you, to know you are safe. Even if that means keeping quiet vigil outside through the night.
He pauses at the threshold, turning his head slightly, enough so his words will carry through the room. "If I lose her because of this," he says softly, raising his eyes to Rhysand's, the promise echoing through his words, "I will kill you."
Summary: When an emergency causes the Inner Circle to crash into Madja's clinic, they unknowingly take over your appointment. Azriel, infatuated by your quiet beauty, wants to make it up to you
Hi everyone! This is my first time posting my writing… anywhere really. We'll see how this goes. This is being posted on my side blog, might add my main one here (which is currently comprised exclusively of reblogs) but for now, I kind of want to keep this on a clean blog.
Also, I am notorious for switching back and forth between present and past tense in my writing for some reason. I tried to clear it up as much as possible, but if you do see it… pretend you don't 😁
Word Count: a little less than 6K
Warnings: Reader has chronic pain (I'm trying to keep it accurate, but just in case: any medical inaccuracies are due to the fact that Reader is fae and not human and should be attributed to the biological differences between the two species 😊), semi-unreliable narrator, feeling insecure, angst (my fav!), minor descriptions of blood but nothing too bad.
Possibility of one or two more parts, but can be read as a one-shot
Part 2
————
Closing your eyes, you forced yourself to breathe through the deep ache emanating from your bones, seeping into your muscles, washing over your body. A pain that has followed you your whole life. Glancing up at the clock in Madja's small waiting room, you urged the time to go faster.
Madja had been the one to diagnose you when you were a child with an exceedingly rare chronic illness that effects your spine and muscles in your back. Manageable, mostly, but the constant pain from your condition was unavoidable, with only a few tonics having been proven effective at easing the pain… slightly. Your parents, who owned a small farm outside of Velaris, left in the middle of the night after receiving the news. Madja tried for weeks to return you to them, but was unsuccessful and eventually brought you to an orphanage on the outskirts of the city. The healer still saw you and continued to treat your condition at no cost, at least until you got a job, but felt she was in no place to raise a child.
Even now, decades later, you were still dependent on the healer and her tonics to allow you to function. Five more minutes, according to the clock, then you can get your medicine, go home, lay in bed and not move for a few hours.
A loud crash echoes outside, making you jump in your seat. The door burst open, shadows spilling into the building and a deep male voice shouts for Madja, the sound sending chills down your spine.
Two males appear out of the newfound darkness, one with huge dark wings protruding from his back, dark blue gems glowing on his chest, knees, shoulders, and wrists. The other male you recognize from your time orphanage; the High Lord used to visit the small building each year before donating money to the owners. If only he knew where the money had truly gone.
The High Lord shouts for the healer and your eyes fell to the limp form slung between the two males, similar dark wings hung limply behind him, the red stones adorning his leathers dull. You had heard enough stories of the High Lord's Inner Circle to recognize the Spymaster and General, although it was the first time you have seen either of them. Your eyes were drawn to the spymaster, Azriel, as the shadows dance frantically around his form.
Emerging through the doorway, Madja's eyes widen at the sight of the lifeless Illyrian, wasting no time ushering them into the back. You remain frozen, eager to stay out of the way. Something pulls in your chest as the Shadowsinger moved to drag his friend forward, following the healer. It pulls and tightens until it glows in your chest.
A small gasp left your lips, the sound lost in the chaos. He disappears behind the door you crumple forward, pain radiating through your back from the pull of the bond. The mating bond. A gift so rare it might as well be legend, but none of the stories you heard described the bond as painful. A hot of tear rolls down your cheek, body shaking to fight back a sob.
There is no way he would want you, bond or no. He's the spymaster for the High Lord, some say the two, along with the General, are as close as brothers. He's the Shadowsinger, one of the most powerful Illyrians in history. And you… you were a broken, weak, uneducated orphan whose own parents abandoned you as soon as they found out. The Mother must be cruel to think he could even want you. That you were his equal.
Focusing on your breathing, you refuse to let your emotions overwhelm you, at least not in public. It takes a few minutes, but you regain control of your breathing and slowly uncurl yourself to sit up.
Wiping the tears from your cheeks, your gaze catches on a swarm of black shadows emerging from the door to the back, followed closely by the Shadowsinger himself, running a gloved hand over his face with a sigh. Your breath catches, studying him for a moment. He's beautiful, even covered in blood, sweat, and dirt, your heart leaps at the sight of him. His golden skin glows in the evening light flooding through the window, dark hair drenched in sweat clung to his forehead. His massive wings tucked in tightly to his muscular body. The world seemed to go silent around him, his shadows calmer than before, swirl throughout the room.
Opening his hazel eyes, they lock on yours, widening slightly. Heat rose from your neck and onto your checks, and you quickly advert your eyes. Slowly, he looks back through the door, still partially propped open, almost ... sheepishly.
"Sorry we took over your appointment," he says softly, moving further into the waiting area, closer to you, his size seemed to take over the room.
Hesitantly, you glance up, cheeks flaring as your eyes caught once again. "No need," you respond quietly, barely above a whisper, just as a low groan echoed from the back followed by Madja's calm voice ordering people around. "Looks like your friend needs it more than I do." Your spine flared with pain as you spoke, but you hold back the grimace that threatened to emerge with practiced ease.
Still, the Shadowsinger shifts closer, offering a small smile. "May I sit here?" he asks, gesturing to the seat across from you.
Glancing up, you nod, the movement more of a jerk, sending sharp pain shooting down your neck. Letting out along breath he collapses into the chair that was too small for him and definitely not built for wings.
Hands clutched in your lap, you manage to keep your eyes on him this time. Thankfully, he didn't seem to mind, an easy smile lighting up is face. "What's your name?"
Your voice caught in your throat for a moment, mouth opening silently. "Uh… Y/N."
He hums quietly, studying your face. "I'm Azriel."
"I know," You say. His eyebrows rose slightly and you swore your face couldn't get any warmer. "The, uh, shadows gave it away," you admit, voice barely a whisper, gaze dropping once again.
Azriel chuckles softly, leaning back into the too small chair. "They tend to do that," he mutters, glaring at the swirling darkness playfully. Your lips tug upward, and he leans his head against the wall behind him closing his eyes.
You allow yourself a second to admire him, now that no one was around and he wasn't looking. This male, your mate. You had heard stories, of course, about the fearsome Shadowsinger, the High Lord's ruthless Spymaster. Even in Velars, where it's common knowledge these stories are exaggerated and that he would only my act like that with the Night Court's enemies, they persist. But sitting in that too small chair, head leaning against the wall, eyes closed, he didn't seem like the same person as the stories, the male whose very presence can scare people into spilling their darkest secrets. He just seemed... like a male; a beautiful male beyond compare who could use a good night's rest, but still a male.
The corners of his mouth twitch up, and you knew that he, somehow, knew you were looking. Probably thanks to the shadows now swirling against your legs. But he didn't stop you, only shifted, spreading his wings slightly wider behind him in a way that was definitely more uncomfortable, almost like he was showing off.
"Y/N!" a shrill voice called out, drawing your attention to the short tree nymph in healers garb standing in the doorway, bag in hand. Azriel's eyes snap open, body stiffening as he takes in the healer, Melina. She stalks over and you stand slowly, barely making it to your feet before she shoved the bag into your chest. "Here," she spits out. You stumble back, the ache in your bores becoming sharp, shooting down your spine and legs.
Clutching the bag, you fall back into your chair, closing your eyes to contain a wince. Melina has been one of Madja's assistants for a few decades. You had met her during her first week of her working for the older healer and have put up with her temperament ever since. It was about what you deserve, you had concluded long ago, since you tended to make everyone's lives harder. Madja sitting back and doing nothing about it only further nailed the point home.
Opening your eyes, you peered into the bag. Melina already stomping away. Scanning the vials inside your eyebrows furrowed. "Where are the-"
"Oh, for Caudron's sake," Melina curses, stopping in the doorway, head tilted to the sky. "It's all can give you without interrupting Madja," she explains slowly, turning backs to face you.
Your cheeks heat as she speaks to you like a child, looking down on you as if you are an idiot. Tears bristle in your eyes. "But this isn't enough for-"
"Well it's all you're going to get," she hisses.
"If I need to wait for Madja, I can -"
"We're busy, Y/N," Melina snaps. "Mother are you really so stupid? The General is dying and you're taking up my time when I should be helping," she growls, slamming the door behind her.
A hot tear burns your cheek as you clutch the bag to your chest. Gods, Melina was right, as she tended to be. You had seen the General's limp form, his blood still stained the floor and Azriel's leathers, the stench of death hung in the air.
You glance at your mate, face burning with shame. This is now you introduce yourself? His first impression of you? Taking away resources from his dying friend, his brother. At some point, Azriel had sat up straight and he now stares at the closed door, shadows eerily still around him, face carefully blank. What does he think of you now?
"I'm sorry," you whisper, arms tightening around the bag of medicine serving as your shield.
Azriel's eyes snap to you, head turning so fast you wonder how it didn't hurt. "What?" he barely breathed the word. You expected malice, anger, disgust, not the disbelief that floods his tone, the shock breaking through his mask.
A sharp hot pain twists in your gut, one not from your condition, but still one you know all too well. "Your friend is hurt," you explain weakly, eyes dropping to the floor, missing how his widen, "and I-"
"She shouldn't have spoken to you like that," he mutters, shadows beginning to dance around him once again, their movements choppier than before. A fierceness enters his eyes, his face, sending painful shivers down your spine.
Exhaustion seeps into your muscles, settling next to the constant ache that only seemed to be getting worse. You tried to shrug, but your muscles refuse to cooperate. "She's right," you sigh.
His gaze softens and out of the corner of your eye you could almost see him force himself to release the tension in his shoulders. "No, she's not," he insists, voice soft. You tense; it has been a long time since someone spoke to you so softly, and the last person who did... you suppress a shudder at the thought. "You have every right to see a healer when you need to. It's on us for barging in," he continues.
"Your friend was hurt," you reason, voice barely a whisper. "I'll live." He sucks in a breath, a few of his shadows resuming their dance around your legs.
"That doesn't make it okay," he counters. "And it certainly doesn't justify the way she spoke to you."
Twin streaks make their way down your checks you force yourself to stand. "It's fine," you whisper, turning to leave. "Good evening."
"Wait," he calls standing up so quickly the chair almost fell over. You tense as he approaches and he stops immediately, slowly opening his gloved hands. Pain rolled through your tense muscles while you turned your head to him. "Let me make it up to you."
Eyebrows furrowing, you half turn back to face him. "What?"
A soft blush graces his cheeks, but he didn't faulter. "Let me buy you a drink. It's the least I can do."
Your gaze flickers to the window, the sun having just disappeared behind the buildings moments ago. "N-now?" you ask, staring at him with wide eyes.
Azriel glances down at his leathers, still covered in blood and dirt, and gives you a sheepish grin. "Maybe tomorrow?"
Your month opens, prepared to turn him down, but you hesitate. He was asking you for a drink. Your mate was asking you out for a drink. A part of you knew a relationship between you would never work, not with you being as you are. But you would be foolish to turn him down, to forfeit the chance to get to know him before he found out about your condition and left, like all of your previous romances, like everyone else in your life. Your spine throbbed as if to remind you. Even though you don't drink alcohol, you could suffer through one night if it meant being with your mate.
"Okay," you hear yourself whisper.
A dazzling smile broke out on his face. "Okay," he confirms, nodding once. "There's a cafe in the Palace of Hoof and Leaf, The Ever Brew. Have you heard of it?" You couldn't help the sigh of relief that escapes you as you nodded. A cafe, not a bar. "Good, I'll meet you there at three?"
Shifting the bag in your hands, the weak muscles in your arms already protesting carrying it, you nod, a smile forming on your lips. "Three o'clock. I'll, uh, see you then."
——
Cassian was dying and that was all Az could think about as Rhys winnowed them to Velaris. He couldn't focus on anything else as they burst into Madja's clinic shouting for the healer, unable to see the female watching the scene, eyes wide. At Madja's direction they brought Cassian into an examination room, laying him on the table. Blood poured from the gashes in his abdomen, his skin becoming grey, broken wings dragging on the floor. Az and Rhys were pushed aside the moment Cass was laying down.
Neither of them knew what had happened. Az knew Rhys and Cass had an argument over Nesta and that Rhys sent him on a mission to Spring alone out of spite. Az was in the middle of chewing Rhys out when his face went pale and the two winnowed to spring immediately, finding Cassian's broken body on the forest floor.
No less than 3 healers were coming in and out of the room, each bringing supplies. Rhys, face ashen, winnowed away with a word about retrieving Nesta. Az remained, watching for a few moments, constantly moving out of the way of the healers until he slipped out of the room.
Trudging into the waiting room. He closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh, running a hand over his face. It was only then that his shadows mentioned the female. His gaze landed on you immediately when he opened his eyes. His breath caught, eyes widening. You were eautiful, not in the striking way like Mor or Nesta, or in the powerful way like Fayre, or even with the gentle confidence of Elain. No, your beauty was softer, more understated, but just as present and undeniable. When the blush graced your neck and cheeks, he forgot everything else for a brief moment.
He didn't even realize he had approached as he was speaking. Your soft voice was music to his ears and he needed to be near you, to hear your voice again. Az had to stop himself from preening when he sat, barely noticing the chair digging in to his wings and sides. You looked scared, ready to run at the first opening, so Az kept quiet, kept his distance since that was the last thing he wanted. When you told him your name it just felt right, fitting into place like the missing piece of a puzzle.
Exhaustion had crept over him then and he leaned his head back against the wall closing his eyes. Azriel had remained keenly nearly aware of your eyes on him, studying him. The shadows whispering every more you made, they seemed just as enamored by you as he was. He couldn't stop the grin pulling on his lips and he unconsciously shifted in the seat, only realizing moments later his wings had spread slightly behind him.
Embarrassment began to flood through him such a blatant show, but it was quickly cut off by a harsh call of your name. His body stiffened, eyes snaping open at the sound, just in time to see the nymph shove the bag into your chest sending your falling back into your seat. His brows furrowed, watching the healer stalk off we no explanation. Anger boiled in his veins when the healer snapped at you. Slowly, he sat up straight not taking his eyes off of the tree nymph. And when she insulted you and used his brother to make you feel guilty, it took every ounce of self-control to keep the shadows from lashing out and not slaughter the nymph where she stood.
Then you apologized to him, parroting the same reason as that disgrace of a healer. His heart broke when he heard you agree with the healer, voice so soft, so accepting of the nymph's words, so defeated. He tried to reassure you, to make you see how wrong the nymph was, but he could tell it didn't work.
She got up to leave and Az panicked. He didn't want you to go, especially still believing the nymph. He didn't know where the idea for the drink came from and was so relieved when you agreed despite your hesitance. And the way you relaxed when he mentioned the cafe had something in him singing.
So now, Az stands outside the cafe, desperately trying not to shift on his feet, eyes scanning the crowd around him. He doesn't know why he is so nervous. Why his heart was pounding and he can't stay still. Even his shadows seem excited, darting around the square, telling him the minutes is they passed, which only made time go slower.
He straightens when the shadows whisper that it was three o'clock, pulling his wings in tight behind him. He had been with more females than he could care to remember, had taken many of them out, either to dinner or a drink first, and yet he was nervous. His unease only getting wore as the minutes passed there was no sign of you.
At first, Az brushs it off. There were plenty of reasons you could be a few minutes late. It wasn't until 3:15 came and went that the unease began to twist into something else.
He shouldn't be surprised, Az figures. Why should you come? He was a male you didn't know who demanded you come have a drink with him. Of course you wouldn't show up, for your own safety if nothing else.
3:30 passed and Az was about ready to turn around head home. His heart sinks at the thought although he wasn't sure why. The shadows kept whispering, urging him to stay a few more minutes, insisting you had to come, but Az was quickly finding their optimism annoying.
Still, he stays. Just a few more minutes he tells himself. It's not like he can stand around all afternoon anyway. He is the Spymaster, he has reports to read, others to write, missions to plan and delegate, information to go over, a brother to check on. But he couldn't get you out of his head; last night after you left the clinic, this morning while he tried to work. Even as he attempted to sleep is shadows kept supplying whispers of your voice, your scent, this brain constantly replayed the images of your shy smile when you agreed to meet him, the blush emerging on your neck and cheeks. He could've sworn he dreamt of you, although he could only grasp the very edges of the dream; it was the best night sleep he had in... centuries.
The shadows pull him from his thoughts, urging him to turn, to look as the clock overhead ticks to 3:38. Even through the bustling crowd he can make out your shuffling footsteps and quiet "excuse me" as you slowly make your way through the crowd. Gods, you were even more beautiful than he remembered with the sun rays shining down on you. Your hair was pulled back into two braided plaits, with quite a few strands falling out and sticking to your face, beads of sweat shimmering against your skin. A simple brown dress hung off your body, a size or two too big for you and your arms were wrapped around a large bag, holding it tightly to your chest. The bag was bigger and bulkier than the one you had yesterday and Az could see your arms trembling under its weight. Just the sight of you had Az's shoulders relaxing, an easy smile pulling on his lips.
Looking up, your gaze lands on him, eyes he knows he can spend centuries happily getting lost in, and he hears your breath catch. Straightening under your gaze, Az let his smile grow, trying to be warm and inviting, two words Az was sure were never used to describe him, not wanting to scare you off. As you continue to make your way through the busy square, Az watches, body tensing a moment before someone shoves you out of their way. You stumble forward, knees hitting the ground, vials and linen skidding out of your bag and your assailant mutters some obscenities your way. Az is moving before he can think, finding himself kneeling next to you in a moment, knowing his shadows are already following your assailant.
The crowd continues to move around you and Azriel, barely stopping to look, while you kneel on the ground, on hands and knees, taking long, slow breathes. The shadows begin to gather the fallen vials, which were miraculously intact, and folding the linens into a pile next to the discarded bag. Beloved is in pain. His shadows hiss, not that he needs them to at the way your brows are furrowed, your measured breathes, and the faint smell of blood in the air.
"Are you alright?" he asks softly, cautiously raising a hand to rest on your shoulder. Your eyes snap open the sound of his voice and you flinch back sharply as his hand approaches you. He stops, immediately withdrawing his hand, watching your eyes widen in what he could only describe as horror before shifting into one of shame. He opens his mouth to apologize, because of course he should've checked before he tried to touch you, and you were well within your right to say no.
"I'm sorry," you whisper before he could. His eyes widen, staring at you. He never expected those two words to be so haunting especially said in a voice as beautiful as yours. First last night and now this... a pit of dread slowly began to form in his stomach.
"For what, love?" he asks in a similar whisper, the endearment slipping out. But he didn't feel sorry, not with the way your cheeks and ears redden.
Forcing yourself to sit back on your knees, you kept your eyes low, picking up bag. Glancing down, Az sucked in a breath; the palms of your hands were scraped raw, dirt and pebbles imbedded in parts of the wounds, and he could make out the small bloodstains forming on your dress from your knees. Usually the sight of blood doesn't bother him, but for some reason, yours made his stomach twist.
Careful of your bleeding palms, you attempt to collect your fallen belongings back in the bag. "Here, let me," he offers, reaching a hand toward the bag. This time he was more cautious, stopping a distance away until you look at him and give a small nod, placing the bag in his hand. It took no time for him to carefully put the vials and cloths back into the bag. "Do you need help standing up?" he asks gently, glancing your knees once again.
Slowly, you shook your head, placing your hands back on the ground to push yourself up. Grimacing on your behalf, Az waits until you were half way up to stand himself. You sway on your feet, hesitantly accepting the arm Az offers for balance. Gently, he begin to lead you out of the center of the crowd to a secluded corner.
"I'm sorry," you mumble again.
Stopping, Az turns to you, his heart breaking seeing the tears lining your eyes. In the dark corner his shadows surround you, brushing across your skin attempting to calm you down. Az can't help himself, he put down your bag and used his now free hand to push some of your hair out of your face. "For what, sweetheart?" he whispers. You lean into his touch, the hand on his other arm tightening and Az wishes he wasn't wearing his gloves so he could feel your skin on his.
"Being late," you breath, closing your eyes. "The interview went long and by the time I left it was already twenty after and I tried to get then as fast as I-"
"You don't have to explain," Az interrupts your rambling gently, a small smile on his lips, "or apologize." His hand slides off your face and your brows furrow at the loss, opening your eyes. Carefully, Az takes the hand not grasping his arm a holds it up to examine. The bleeding had stopped and new skin was already starting to form over the dirt and pebbles. "I have an apartment not far from here. Can I take you there so we can get you cleaned up?"
Tugging your hand away from his, you turn it to look at your palm, brows furrowing and you nod. "O-okay."
Reaching down, Az easily pick up your bag once more; despite its load, the bag was surprisingly light. Even with your grip on him, you continue to sway slightly. Looking out at the busy street around them, Az takes a deep breath. "It would be faster if we fly," he says softly.
"F-fly?" you repeat. Eyes widening, they move toward the direction of the street. Your body wobbles and Az brings the hand with the bag up to lightly hold your arm. Leaning your weight into him, you look back, exhaustion coating your features. "You sure it's alright?"
Smiling softly, Az nods. "I wouldn't have offered otherwise."
After another moment of hesitation you nod. Gently, Az lifts you into his arms, withholding his surprise at how light you are. Closing your eyes tight, you bury your face into his neck, hands grasping his shirt. With a sigh, Az lets his wings spread behind him, reveling in the feeling of having you in his arms, how right it felt.
Barely two minutes later, Az was landing on the small balcony of an apartment he had bought shortly after Cassian and Nesta's mating ceremony. "We're here, love," he whispers, his shadows already unlocking the door.
Inhaling deeply, you allow yourself to be placed back on the ground, opening your eyes slowly. Az smils, doing everything in his power to contain his excitement. You had scented him and now you are about to enter his home. You feel comfortable enough to let him bring you here. Gods, he was a dead male, whether you knew it or not, he was yours, Az knew. From now until the end.
His shadows swirls around you once you regain your balance, sweeping over every part of your exposed skin. You didn't flinch from their touch, just stared at them with eyes wide, not in fear but in awe. Gently the shadows lead you into the apartment and you didn't protest, letting them guide you to sit on the couch. Az follows close behind, a small smile pulling on his lips at the sight, although he was acutely aware of your stiff knees and stumbling steps.
A bowl of warm water was already set out on the coffee table in front of when you sat with the shadows placing more pillows behind your back and urging you to relax. The small medical kit Az usually keeps in the bathroom lay neatly next to the bowl. Setting your bag next to the door, Az slowly approaches the couch, the shadows reluctantly parting so he can see you better.
Your eyes remain on the shadows as they continue to pamper you, brows knit in confusion. You didn't even notice Az kneeling in front of you, dipping a cloth into the water, until he gently took one of your hands out of your lap. Your eyes dart to him, widening when Az eases your hand open and softly places the wet cloth on your scraped palm.
A flush grew up your neck and cheeks and you weakly attempt to pull your hand back. "What are you doing?" your voice is barely a breath.
Az keeps a gentle grip on your hand, not letting you pull back, keeping the cloth on your skin, a small frown forming. "We need to get you cleaned up, love. To make sure they don't get infected," Az explains softly.
Shaking your head, your gaze darts between his grip on your hand and his face. "I-I can do it. You- you don't have to," you try again, and Az could see tears forming along your eyeline.
Frown deepening, Az doesn't allow himself to analyze this, not now, not when your hurt, but he tucks your words, your actions, into the back of his mind for later. "I want to," Az insists, removing the cloth from your hand. The warm water had allowed the patches of new skin to soften and loosen, allowing him to gently begin cleaning the dirt pebbles away.
Your eyes land on his face, widening even more, disbelief shining through your features and it made Az's heartbreak. Softly, Az clears his throat, satisfied that your palm is clean he begins to prepare a bandage with ointments. "How was the interview?" he asks softly, hoping to give you something else to focus on.
"W- what?" you breathe, eyes flickering between his face and where he gently began wrapping your hand.
"The interview," Az repeats, a small smile slipping on to his face as he fastens the bandage and brought the wet cloth to your other hand. "You said it went long, how did it go?" he asks again.
"Oh, n- no. It's not…" you stammer for a moment. Az smiles softly, encouragingly, as you take a deep breath. "I… uh, I'm a mid-wife," you explain softly, watching your hands carefully while Az prepares the second bandage. "They were new parents, to see if they want to hire me."
Az feels his brows furrow, wrapping your hand. "I didn't know we had mid-wives in Velaris," he admits softly, glancing up at you.
You shift on the couch, the shadows continuing to lightly swarm around you. "Not many do," you concede. "There are only two of us that live in the city full time."
Az hums softly, gently tying off the wrap. "You must keep busy then," he says keeping his voice low.
Shaking your head slightly, Az sits back on his knees for a moment. "Not as much as you would think," you admit with a sad smile. "Most fae prefer going to a healer or an apothecary. They either don't know we are an option or think they are better suited for the service."
Brows furrowing, Az slowly reaches for the hem of your skirt. "May I?" he asks, eyes catching on your reddening cheeks. "For your knees," he explains, his own face flushing.
"Oh, um… okay," you breath out, body tensing against the couch. Az saw his shadows curl around you again, trying to calm you she he slowly, carefully, raises the hem of your skirt. Only enough to see your right leg, keeping the fabric bunched right above the knee, unable to see anything else.
Reaching for the cloth again, he wet a clean corner and tenderly placed it against the healing skin. "Is it true?" he asked, again trying to shift your focus. "That healers and apothecaries are more suited than mid-wives?"
"Uh," you hesitate, eyes drifting from your knee back up to him. "Healers and apothecaries have a lot of knowledge about a lot of different things," you answer, each word sounding carefully chosen and rehearsed. Probably a question you receive quite often in your interviews, if Az had to guess. "While mid-wives focus solely on fertility and pregnancy, meaning we have a lot of knowledge focused on one specific subject, so we are better able to handle more of the… unexpected or unique situations than can arise during pregnancies than most healers."
Brows furrowing, Az focuses on wrapping your now clean right knee. Many questions about the subject coming to mind, the image of Feyre's pregnancy and labor still somewhat fresh in his mind. But, he knew now was not the time to ask any of that, your anxiousness still permeating through the air, despite your practiced answer. Anxiousness that was almost overwhelmed by the insecurity radiating from you along with… shame; shame so strong Az could almost feel it in his own chest.
"Do you enjoy it? Being a mid-wife?" Az asks gently, lowering your skirt over your right leg and beginning to raise it to tend to your left knee.
Your breath hitches when the cloth came in contact with the torn skin. Taking controlled, measured breaths, you nod, another flush overtaking your face. "Yes," you breathe, eyes moving toward your wrapped hands in your lap. "It's… it's not simple, or easy, but… but it's beautiful, greeting a child in their first moments of life, laying them in their mother's arms." A small smile pulled on your lips as you speak, one Az echoes, taking the final bandage to wrap your knee. "And you?" you breathe, not daring to look up from your hands. "You work for the High Lord, right?"
"Yes," Az agrees slowly, leaning back slightly as to not crowd you after gently lowering your skirt. "I… catalogue and monitor potential threats to the court, to put it simply," he explains, setting the cloth back on the table. You nod, pursing your lips, watching the shadows swirl around your hands.
One shadow sneaks away, somewhat reluctantly if Az had to guess, snaking up to his ear. She's hurting. Beloved tries to hide, but we see. The whisper seems to echo in Az's ears, looking her over once more. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" he asks softly. You shake your head slowly, eyes closing like the action itself is uncomfortable. Pursing his lips together, Az doesn’t push, as much as something within him begs him to.
Shadows swallow the bowl of water and the bloodied cloth, a small gasp leaving your lips at the sight. Az smiles softly, head dipping to catch your eyes. "I believe I still owe you a drink."
