tamad is me.

Multi-fandom | INTJ | Res ipsa loquitur | 'Tis but a messy blog.

[gwynrieldefenseatty]

“Why do you ship gwynriel?”

Because I have taste

[lovelygwyneth]

✨Azriel worshiping his lovely priestess✨ for valentine's

"Gwyn let out a high-pitched noise that was nothing but pure excitement. Azriel, on the other side of the ring with the rest of the priestesses, half-turned at the sound, brows high."

"His attention was fixed on the young priestess, admiration and quiet encouragement shining from his face."

"Azriel went wholly still, as if he, too, had felt the shift.As if he, too, were aware that far larger forces peered into that training ring as Gwyn moved."

art by the amazing @/ohma4y_ on ig and commissioned by me

[mycadences]

Friendly reminder that Chaol and Nesryn had a bonus chapter TOGETHER after EOS (aka right before TOD, marketed as Chaol's book). Where there was a lot of emphasis on the sexual attraction between them. Where they shared a kiss that ended up nowhere except with Nesryn walking away, described as being emotionless as if "she'd blown out the candle that contained all of them" (= she was hurt), after Chaol stopped her. Where the next book eventually ended up with Chaol/Yrene and Nesryn/Sartaq.

Sounds familiar?

Yep, I'm seeing what you're doing here, SJM 😉

In fact, it's even more obvious this time because she actually included Gwyn -- correction, ended Azriel's POV with him thinking of Gwyn. Elain being in Azriel's BC, their interactions so eerily paralleling Chaol/Nesryn's, only makes me MORE certain that they are not going to be endgame.

Mor is Azriel's Aelin, Elain is his Nesryn and Gwyn will be his Yrene 💖

[starsreminisce]

“The Illyrians are pieces of shit,” he said too quietly. I opened my mouth and shut it. Shadows gathered around his wings, trailing off him and onto the thick red rug. “They train and train as warriors, and yet when they don’t come home, their families make us into villains for sending them to war?” “Their families have lost something irreplaceable,” I said carefully. Azriel waved a scarred hand, his cobalt Siphon glinting with the movement as his fingers cut through the air. “They’re hypocrites.”

It's not exactly a secret that Azriel harbors deep-seated issues related to his Illyrian heritage. Both his brothers are keenly aware of his feelings toward them, bordering on hatred. When HOFAS was released, revealing their rebellion against the Daglan and Enalius to align with High King Fionn, it shed light on a forgotten history. The blood rite, once a means of honoring Enalius, had devolved into a deadly competition. Against this backdrop, the Valkyries' victory in the Blood Rite stands out, with Nesta assuming the role of Enalius to protect Gwyn and Emerie's ascent to the mountain peak.

Gwyn didn’t flinch. “I have. And I am tired of it.” She surveyed the blood-soaked leather along her thigh. “I don’t want to take the safe road.” She pointed to the mountain, to the slender path upward. “I want to take that road.” Her voice thickened. “I want to take the road that no one dares travel, and I want to travel it with you two. No matter what may befall us. Not as Illyrians, not for their titles, but as something new. To prove to them, to everyone, that something new and different might triumph over their rules and restrictions.” A cold wind blew off Ramiel’s sides. Whispering, murmuring.

Gwyn's connection to Azriel extends beyond mere companionship; she represents his journey toward self-acceptance and a desire for change within the Illyrian community. It's noteworthy that Gwyn, not Nesta, is the inaugural Valkyrie and the first non-Illyrian to hold the Carynthian title.

This choice underscores Gwyn's pivotal role in Azriel's narrative and the broader arc of cultural evolution within the Illyrian society.

[ennawrite]

genuinely how it felt when Rhysand told Az to back off of Elain in that ACOSF bonus chapter

[foreverinelysian]

The Weight of a Crown: Chapter 1

a/n ahhh this series it finally here! so excited to share this with you all! I commissioned this brilliant cover from my dear friend @carol-pisarro who never fails to leave me breathless with her art! this series is of course written for @gwynrielweeksofficial! I hope you all enjoy it!

Read on AO3!

Series Summary: For most of her life, Gwyneth has run away from all duties as the second princess of Sangravah. However, with her country years into war and a shocking turn of events one night, she now has to marry Prince Azriel of the Night Kingdom and work with him to secure a victory for her country. Will Gwyn be able to rise to the challenge and save her people or will she crumble under the weight of her crown?

Chapter Summary: All it takes is one night for Gwyn’s life to change.

WC: 5119 Series warnings: violence, angst, pining, death, war, hurt/comfort, Az is a dick at the start, both of them need to go through development and healing. Not beta read, we die like men.

Gwyneth Berdara knew the life that was to come with being a princess. 

As the younger twin between her and her sister Catrin, she knew that her sway in Sangravah was far less than any other royal, with her mother only bearing daughters she knew that all eyes in her country and others were on them, and with her kingdom on a tiny piece of land whose soils were rich with nutrients, with rivers and channels leading straight to the blue waters of the sea, and enough fish to feed the people for centuries to come, she also knew that her kingdom and her home were always in danger. 

However she never would have thought that it would come to this. 

“Are you alright, you’ve been standing there for a while now.” 

She quickly turned around, squaring her shoulders and straightening her back. To her utmost relief, she didn’t see a maid wandering around for some late evening chores, but rather she met eyes that were the same shade of teal as her own. 

“Catrin,” Gwyn let out a sigh of relief, her shoulders sagging and back hunching, “you scared the me for a second.” 

Her sister shook her head with a laugh, “You’re always off daydreaming in your own little world. Soon you’ll have me agreeing with mother that those books you’re reading really are causing you to have hallucinations.” 

“Oh please,” Gwyn replied with a roll of her eyes, “she will find any reason for me to not read or sing or have any fun at all. Besides, I was just enjoying the view. It’s not often that the evening sky is so clear during this time of year.” 

“Maybe mother has a point,” Catrin hesitantly said. “I’m leaving tomorrow, you know? It’ll be just you two here from now on. It may be best to start taking things a little more seriously.” 

A frown came upon Gwyn’s face as she was reminded of the reason why she was so far in thought in the first place. 

In less than a day, her sister would leave to be married to Prince Azriel of the Night Kingdom not for love, but for their country. Because as much as she wished she could bury her face in a book and forget about the world around her, Gwyn could not hide from the fact that Sangravah, her kingdom, her tiny nation, her home, was entangled in a war. 

“I don’t see the point in this marriage to begin with,” she bitterly spat out, “why couldn’t we just forge an actual alliance between our two countries rather than having you wed to some man you’ve barely even met.” 

“You know as well as I do Gwyn, that a simple alliance will not stop Hybern’s forces.” Catrin replied, “An actual marriage with the joining of our two countries will read as a much clearer message, but more importantly a warning to them that an attack on us is an attack on the Night Kingdom  as well.” 

Gwyn loathed the fact that her sister’s logic made perfect sense.

The kingdom of Hybern was but a sea away from Sangravah and for decades there was tension between the nations as they battled for ownership of the waters, however it was with the death of the King of Sangravah by a Hybern arrow that made all hell break loose. No one would have thought that something as simple as a daily sail on the waters would lead to such a horrible outcome, least of all Gwyn who had been nowhere near ready to say goodbye to her father. 

The sounds of her mothers screams still echoed in her mind but it was the rage in her eyes as the Queen of Sangravah declared war against Hybern for the death of not only the king, but her husband that will forever lay imprinted in Gwyn’s mind. Never in her life had she seen such grief or vengeance consume someone’s entire being, least of all from the woman who had raised her. 

She had begged her mother to let her join in the battles. While Catrin had gotten most of her mothers features with her black hair, cutting eyes, and mind that seemed to view the world as a chess board, Gwyn took after her father. They had the same freckles and copper brown hair, the same spirit which longed to be at sea, and the same heart which beat faster with the clang of a blade. It was her father who had read that first story to Gwyn, who showed her how to parry and counter, who had helped her forge her own sword, and it was her father who Gwyn had longed to avenge. 

Her mother had refused her. 

No matter how much she screamed or pleaded, her mother was adamant that the battlefield was no place for her and Gwyn was ordered to remain on place grounds at all times. She complied. After all, a princess is still under the command of the queen. Things had been rocky between the two of them ever since and it certainly didn’t help that less than a month ago she had decided that Catrin, the one person who Gwyn knew better than anyone else, who had been there by her side since she came out of the womb, who was her sister, her twin, her blood, was to be wed to a prince of another nation in hopes of more military and political power. 

“Even so,” Gwyn countered, “you should have been able to at least have your own say in who your husband could be. Mother should have allowed you to properly meet with high ranking lords or dukes, not just ship you off to whomever.” 

“There is no stronger message than marrying a prince, a highly respected one at that.” 

“He’s more of a ghost than a prince and even you can’t deny it.” 

Gwyn has learned many things about the Night Kingdom. With them being Sangravah closest neighboring country, she had spent many days in her adolescence reading books upon books about their political and economic power in the world. 

Their military is unmatched due to the sheer size and brute force that it has. Prince Cassian, the second eldest son, is the general of their armies and from the books that she has read, there has not been a single battle that he has not been victorious. The youngest of the three brothers, Rhysand is the king and is highly revered in the land for his silver tongue and hypnotic aura, with many who have conversed with the royal to have almost fallen under a spell from how easily his words worm their way into their minds. Under King Rhysand and Queen Feyre’s rule in the past five years, the Night Kingdom has seen prosperity and wealth like no other. 

However it is Prince Azriel, the eldest son, that has a reputation far more sinister than his brothers. He’s hardly ever seen at any social gathering or appearances and the rumors which surround such a character are none too pleasant, with many saying that just locking eyes with him will freeze your soul from the inside out. It is said that he has ears in every room and eyes on every wall, which he then uses to twist and bend you to his will. Gwyn could scarcely find any information about him in the many books she had scoured through and that made her all the more upset. Not just because she was missing the knowledge she so desperately craved, but because Prince Azriel, the ghost, the shadow, the unknown and hidden royal, was the one her sister was to be married to. 

“There is no changing the past Gwyn,” Catrin replied bluntly, “and we should consider ourselves blessed by the Mother that the Night Kingdom even accepted the alliance and marriage to begin with.” 

Gwyn’s mouth snapped shut as she couldn’t even argue such a blatant fact. The Night Kingdom is the closest one to Sangravah, with the two nations often exchanging resources and there were even specific trade routes made just so that materials could be brought across the border more efficiently, but there was no doubt that her kingdom was drawing the long straw in this make-shift allyship. With the size of their territory to the sheer command they have over many other countries, the Night kingdom could have easily dismissed Sangravah, past trade deals or not. 

Some part of Gwyn still can’t fathom how her mother was able to make a deal with such a kingdom in the first place. When the engagement had first been announced, she had all but thrown open the doors of the Queen’s study, demanding to know why and how this was happening. In response, Gwyn had gotten nothing more than a, “In due time you will understand, but right now you are far too young to even realize the different pieces and people at play.” 

“What good is it to be blessed if the life you are set to live is one that could be even worse than the one we currently have?” Gwyn argued, “How are we to know that they will even hold up their end of the bargain?” 

“It is a chance we have to take,” Catrin shot back, her black brows pulled together in growing annoyance, “and we both know that this was to be expected of me. I am heir to our kingdom and I will do what I must in order to ensure that our people have a life of peace that they have been deprived of since this god awful war started. If marrying some prince I’ve never met and half the world had never heard of is what makes that possible then so be it.” 

It was times like this that Gwyn couldn’t help but feel a mix of envy and pride of having Catrin as a sister. Because unlike her, Catrin didn’t just know the life that came with being a princess, but had no hesitation in living it out. 

She was almost a carbon copy of their mother. The same midnight black hair, clear pale skin, and an iron will that gave even the weakest the strength to keep going. Catrin was strong, smart, charming even, especially when it came to forging new alliances or cementing past loyalties, there was not a single person in Sangravah who did not love or adore her. She was every bit what a crown princess should be.

Meanwhile, Gwyn would rather hide in the library or the crystile waters of the Sangravah sea than face the court or her country. Her parents had long since given up on their youngest daughter finding an interest in politics or the pressing matters of the nation, instead they relied on her for information on other kingdoms or to talk with the townspeople on ways to improve their cities, all of which were tasks that she had no opposal in doing. For Gwyn was terrified of nothing more than potentially being the reason that her country was to fail or fall. 

It was much easier to read through the history books and analyze past battles and techniques to win wars than to create the plan to execute during the war, or to talk to her people and hear their concerns than delegate funds and see which cities need it the most, pushing off the other concerns as a later issue to deal with later. It was easier for Gwyn to slip away into the water or her reading nook, ignoring the world and their problems, than have to stand in front of her sister, her mother, and her country, and wait for the moment where she makes one misstep and ruins them all. 

With a resigned sigh, Gwyn stood up and stepped a few paces before pulling Catrin into a hug, “You are a far braver person than I.” 

Her sister let out a soft laugh before pulling her closer, “You say that as if you don’t have the abilities to be the same.” 

“I will not kid myself into believing that I could be.” 

Catrin pulled away to level her with a sharp stare, matching teal eyes locking, “You are Gwyneth Berdara, daughter of King Alun and Queen Cordelia, Princess of Sangravah, and my twin sister. I know for a fact that there is not a sea on this Earth that could break you.” 

Gwyn felt tears spring into her eyes. “How the hell, I supposed to survive with you gone?” 

Her sister let out a sad laugh, “I’m only a country away. Not even a day's ride away.” 

“Now come,” Catrin said while gathering her skirts, “I need you to help me pick which gowns to take with me to the Night Kingdom. 

~

A heavy sigh left Gwyn’s lips as she crawled under her covers. 

“Who knew clothes could weigh so much?” She mumbled to herself. 

Every muscle in her body ached after helping Catrin pack all of her dresses, garments, and gowns into trunks for tomorrow and Gods, even training sessions were less of a pain than that was. 

With a huff Gwyn curled into a ball and slowly started to drift off, when a thump from outside caught her attention. She paused for a moment, waiting to hear any other movement but the only that her ears caught was the branches scratching on her window. 

Catrin probably ran into a trunk. Gwyn thought with a slight laugh. Her sister's balance and spatial awareness was probably the only flaw she possessed, unless one counted her sometimes moody personality. She could picture so clearly her sister’s face twisting in pain and cursing under her breath. 

With a slight smile gracing her slips, she buried her face back into her pillow and drifted off the sleep. 

~

The next morning, Gwyn was up at just past dawn, with the first rays of light shining through her room. It had taken her a few moments to get out of bed as she slowly came to terms that by half day, Catrin would be wed away in the Night Kingdom. 

A groan left her lips as she stretched her arms above her head and threw the covers off, before  heading out of her room. Ever since they were children, it was Gwyn’s responsibility to wake up Catrin. It seemed that even with all her grace and poise, the eldest daughter just could not roll out of bed. 

“Catrin?” Gwyn called, knocking on the door, “it’s time to get up now. The help will want to start taking the trunks down to the lower entrance soon and you must also get ready to leave.” 

She received no reply. 

Gwyn knocked on the door even louder, the sound echoing in the hall, “Catrin I know you must be tired but you have to get up.” 

Still silence. An uneasy feeling settled into Gwyn’s stomach. Usually her sister would be awake by now and saying a slew of words in a groggy voice not fit for a princess. 

“I’m coming in okay?” 

After a slight hesitation, she pushed the door open and walked into the room. Her heart dropped to the bottom of her stomach as she clutched the door frame for support. 

Oh Gods. 

Red covered every inch of Catrin’s bedrooms. The previously immaculate walls were dripping crimson, the pristine white sheets of the bed were drowned in its colour, and Catrin…

Gwyn turned to the side and emptied the contents in her stomach. 

Her sister's head lay on the bed, with her body twisted in a heap on the floor.  Her nightgown had multiple tears in it, with blood leaking from the cuts, her hand was stretched out, as if she were trying to claw her way towards the door. Catrins face had bruises and fingerprints, as if someone’s hand had covered her mouth to muffle her screams. 

Taking two fingers, Gwyn pinched the skin on her arm, hoping that all of this was some hellish nightmare that her mind conjured up. That soon she would open her eyes and be back in her bed. That Catrin’s lifeless eyes were just a figment of her imagination. That none of this was real. 

But no, she was still in Catrin’s room, her head was still laying on the bed, and there was no question that Gwyn’s sister was dead. 

A wail unlike any other left her lips, echoing through the walls of the palace. The pounding of footsteps grew louder and she whipped her head around to see the concerned face of her mother, followed by a group of a few soldiers and the Queen’s personal maids. She walked ahead of the others, holding up a hand to stop the others from following her into Catrin’s bedroom, and approached Gwyn. 

“Gwyneth?” Her mother asked, “What in the Mother is going on he-”

Queen Cordelia’s eyes widened in shock and Gwyn could see her mother’s mind processing the scene that lay before her. Tears welled up in blue eyes, eyebrows pinching in disbelief, before a mask came upon her face once again. 

“Quickly,” the Queen demanded, “Lock down the palace. No one is to leave or enter until the Night Kingdom arrives. I want every soldier patrolling the territory and no ships to leave the docks or port.” 

The maids and soldiers jumped into action at their sovereign's orders and turned down the corridors to carry out her command without question for what their Queen had seen. 

It gave Gwyn whiplash how easily her mother was able to slip back into her role as monarch. Catrin was dead and she was hanging by a thread, but Queen Cordelia was still just that, the Queen. Only her mothers deep blue eyes and trembling hands truly showed the sadness and grief she felt. 

“Gwyneth, did you see anyone unfamiliar near your quarters last night?” 

She shook her head, “No, I-I went to bed after helping Catrin but-but that was it.” 

“Did you hear any noises at night?” 

She wracked her brain for any memory of the past twelve hours, but her mind was in shambles. “I don’t- I don’t know, I can’t remember, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry your majesty, I-” 

“Gwyneth, listen to me.” Cordelia now knelt before her, ring adorned hands clutching her shoulders, grounding her to reality. Those blue eyes pierced clear into her teal ones and for a moment, Gwyn could see a glimpse of the woman her mother was before her father died. “I need you to try and remember. You and Catrin are the only two who are allowed onto this side of the palace at night, do you recall anything, anything that may have been off last night.” 

Taking a few deep breaths she closed her eyes and tried to jog her memories.

She and Catrin went to pack up her things, ate dinner, arranged the trunks, before splitting off to bed. From there Gwyn met with her maids to freshen up and prepare for rest. And then right before she drifted off to sleep…

Her eyes snapped wide open. “I heard a thump at around midnight from Catrin’s room, but I assumed it was her running into one of the trunks littered across her floor.” Gwyn’s breathing became heavier as she realized that what was happening on the other side of the wall was not something as innocent as her sister’s clumsiness. “Oh gods, I didn’t even get up to check on her. I just rolled over and went back to sleep. I could have gone over and maybe I could have-.” 

“Gwyneth, my child,” her mother cooed, pulling Gwyn close to her. The tone of voice was so gentle, as if she were singing a lullaby, “do not blame yourself for the actions of others. If anything, you going over to check on Catrin would have led to your death as well.” 

In her arms, Gwyn felt like a little girl all over again, crawling to her mother in hopes of comfort after a nightmare. “There is no use in trying to turn back the time. And though I will mourn Catrin, I am grateful that I have not lost both my children in one night.” 

Gwyn turned back towards the bed and took in the sight of Catrin’s face one more time. Never had she seen the face of her sister so scared, as if she were witnessing something so truly cruel and wretched. It was as if she were seeing her worst fears in front of her, even in death. Gwyn’s own eyes narrowed as she further analyzed the morbid scene. 

“They placed her head on the bed.” She murmured to herself. 

“Gwyneth, what's wrong?” 

She got up from the floor and walked closer. There was no way for Catrin’s head to have just found its way into that position or location, certainly not in such a way where it was propped against the pillows. Ducking under the canopy above the bed. Following the dead gaze of her sister, she turned her head upwards towards the ceilings and froze.

Her mother immediately gathered her dress and ran over, before she too stopped in her spot when she looked up. 

HYBERN SENDS THEIR REGARDS

For a moment, Gwyn was filled with terror, but soon it was overcome with anger. First they want her country, then they murder her father, and now they’ve slaughtered her twin sister in their own palace, only to use her own blood to write a threat on the canopy of her bed?  

“I’m going to kill them all,” Gwyn snarled with tears of grief and anger glistening in her eyes, “I don’t care what orders are given to me, I’m going to face them with my own sword.” 

Her mother took her hand and walked the two of them to the other side of the room, away from Catrin’s body. “Gwyneth, you cannot go to battle.” 

“I sat by once already when father was killed, I will not stay in this palace when Catrin has just been-” 

“You cannot go into battle because you need to go to the Night Kingdom.” 

“What?”

The Queen let out a sigh before her head dropped a little, the golden crown on top of her head shifting with the movement. “At mid-day, the Night Court is expecting to pick up a Sangravah princess to be wed to Prince Azriel, in order to forge an alliance between our two nations. You are now the only princess in Sangravah and heir to the throne.” 

“Catrin was just beheaded in the palace by Hybern’s forces and you think I’m going to get wed to some prince in another country?” 

“There is no choice Gwyn.” Her mother replied, a steel in her gaze that told Gwyn that she was no longer speaking to the woman who raised her, but the one wearing the crown and ruling over Sangravah. “Uniting our two countries is the only way we stand a chance against Hybern and there is no one who can marry Prince Azriel, but you.” 

Gwyn stood silent in thought, reality finally sinking into her. No matter how much she hated this, the Queen was right. Sangravah needed the Night Kingdoms' armies, resources, and power if they wished to win this war and with Catrin now gone, Gwyn was the only remaining royal of her country, save for her mother. 

“What are we going to tell them then?” Gwyn quietly asked. “We can’t just announce that she was murdered within the palace walls. Many countries have retracted unions for far less and Sangravah cannot afford to be seen as weak.” 

Queen Cordelia pulled back, going deep in thought. “We could stage it so that Catrin had run away before the wedding. It wouldn’t be the first time that a royal had disappeared due to the responsibilities they had and with it being the night before the wedding, this possibly sets the scene even better.” 

“She would never run away,” Gwyn disagreed. Catrin was loyal, selfless, and would never hide from her duties. The very thought of sister’s character being tarnished made her  stomach turn. 

“It doesn’t matter what Catrin would or would not have done, she is dead.” 

She flinched back as her mother’s words struck her like a slap in the face. 

With a sigh, the Queen turned to look outside the window. “Alun is dead, Catrin is dead, and yet here we remain Gwyneth,” she said softly, a quiet sort of grief weaving its way between her words.  “Our country is without a king and now we have lost a princess. I am without a husband and a daughter, and I will not test the God’s for you to be taken from me as well in Sangravah lands.” 

Gwyn got up from the bed and walked towards her mother, before embracing her. “We will burn the bed sheets in the fireplace and give Catrin a proper burial at sea. We’ll scrub the walls until they glisten once more and make an official statement that Catrin has eloped with someone.” 

Queen Cordelia’s body trembled in her daughter's arms as Gwyn continued, “I will go to the Night Court and secure a victory for Sangravah, for father, and for Catrin. We will avenge their lives and all those lost at the hands of Hybern’s forces. Our people’s death will not be in vain.” 

~

Soon after, Gwyn and her mother carried out their plans. The sheets and carpets were burned in the fireplace, they utilized the help of those in the palace most loyal to the crown who would never utter a word of what they were seeing to clean the bedroom, before wrapping Catrin in fine linens and gently lowering her body into a small stream which led to the Sangravah river. 

The Queen’s announcement of Princess Catrin eloping sent the palace into a frenzy and even as Gwyn packed up her belongings to go live in the Night Court, she half expected to find a messenger raven carrying a note nullifying the engagement. To her surprise, it never did and soon the seconds were ticking by until mid day finally struck. 

A commotion was heard outside of Gwyn’s window and her two guards peered outside before giving her a nod, validating that it was safe. When she peered through the pane to see who had arrived, she withheld a gasp as she took in the site of two magnificent thoroughbreds who were pulling a beautiful carriage made of a deep and rich red wood, and complemented by drapes of dark indigo which were threaded with gold to display the Night Court emblem, three mountains with three shining stars at the top.

I suppose it’s time to go. 

Soon, all of Gwyn’s trunks carrying her clothes, small paintings, and little trinkets were loaded into the carriage and as she made her way down the stairs, two guards a few paces behind her, she couldn’t help but feel as though she was still stuck in a hazy daydream. 

Somehow, within a span of not even a day, her sister had died, she was now the heir to Sangravah, and was leaving the only home she had ever known to live in the Night Court as the bride of Prince Azriel, a man she knew next to nothing about. 

Every instinct in Gwyn screamed for her to turn back around.

Go back up those stairs, go out through the back door, grab a horse from the stables, and run, run, run away. 

“No,” she whispered to herself, “there is no room in this life to be a coward.” So instead of hiding away, Gwyn straightened her back and rolled her shoulders, before lifting her head high and walking the rest of the way down the stairs. 

As she approached the entryway, she was greeted by the face of her mother, a few soldiers, and an official from the Night Court, the first of which she approached. 

Queen Cordelia was dressed in one of her finest gowns, a deep blue with golden detailing, rings decorated her fingers, with diamonds and gold hanging from her neck and ears. Her hair was pulled back from her face, calling to attention to the colour of the ocean itself which swam in her irises. Lastly, adoring her head was the same golden crown Gwyn had always seen her mother wear. She looked every bit the Queen of Sangravah. 

“My dearest Gwyneth,” her mother spoke, “oh how I’ll miss you.” 

Tears sprang into Gwyn’s eyes at the slight tremor in the Queen’s voice and without regard for the people around them, she flung herself back into her arms. They squeezed each other tight, as if letting go would make the other slip through their fingers. 

“I wish I would have been able to prepare you more for all the things that are to come my child,” her mother whispered to her, “and it is my fault that things have been so tumultuous between us. I am so sorry Gwyneth.”

She shook her head, “There is no need for an apology mother. You wanted to protect me and now it is my turn to protect you.” With a turn of her head she declared softly for only their ears to hear, “I swear to you that Hybern will fall for what they have done to Sangravah.” 

Queen Cordelia stepped back and wiped her tears, but looking at Gwyn with a smile filled with steel and pride. Shock rippled through the room as she removed the golden crown on her head and placed it upon Gwyn’s. “May the crown which sits atop your head remind you not only of your role as princess and heir to the throne of Sangravah, but that this always has and will forever be a place which you can call home. And should you ever return, I will greet you with open arms.” 

“I will make you proud.” Gwyn vowed, voice thick with emotion. 

“You already have my dear daughter.” 

~

After all of her trunks were loaded into the carriages, Gwyn watched through the window as the figure of her mother and the palace grew further and further away. With a resigned sigh, she turned away and looked down at her hands. A ring would soon adorn her finger, she will be married to a prince who belongs to the most influential kingdom in the world, the deaths of her father and sister would be her duty to avenge, and the fate of her country would rest upon her shoulders. 

“Mother help me through this all.” 

[foreverinelysian]

Too Much

a/n there is no plot whatsoever, it's just smut lmao. this is my first time writing smut so I'm a bit nervous but I hope you like it! big thanks to @bearbluebooks for reading over this for me<3

Read on A03 here!

Gwyn learns that a simple, teasing comment, can get her in a world of trouble (or perhaps pleasure) with Azriel. WC: 1115 Warnings: porn w/o plot, overstimulation, Azriel is a talker in the bedroom, he fingers her but that's about it.

Gwyneth Berdara was sure that she had gone to heaven as her body shuddered for what felt like the hundredth time within an hour. 

“There you go lovely,” Azriel rasped in her ear, “just like that.” 

If her mind could have formed any words, she would have cursed the bastard for the smirk she could practically hear in his voice. With her back to his chest, she may not be able to see his face but she knew that the cocky son of a bitch was enjoying every second of this. 

One of her hands reached down to latch onto his wrist as the digits inside of her still moved in and out even after she came down from her high. 

“T-Too much,” Gwyn whimpered, her body shaking from the overstimulation. 

Azriel slowed his hand but didn’t stop, his long, scarred fingers still reaching so deep inside her that it made her thigh quiver, “Awe, but I thought you said you could take it my love? Or was that your pretty little mouth running before your mind could catch up?” 

Her mind flashed back to how she got into this pleasure filled mess to begin with. All it took was a few too many drinks at Rita’s with the girls  for Gwyn to come back home to Azriel and boldly tell him, “I doubt you’d be able to make me cum more times in one night than I could do with my own hand.” She had meant it as nothing more than a drunken, teasing comment, but today she came back from her usual morning training to find Azriel in the bedroom and she hadn’t left his arms or the bed since. 

Gwyn opened her mouth to defend her drunken self but was cut off by her own cry as Azriel took that moment to curl his fingers just right to hit that spot inside her that her own could never reach. Her legs snapped shut around his hand as she tried to keep up with the onslaught of pleasure racking her body. 

“No no,” Azriel tsked, using his free hand to grasp her thigh and open her legs again, “you’re going to sit on my lap and take it like a good girl, okay?” 

She felt her entire body clench at his words and he let out a husky laugh. Every single one of Gwyn’s  senses were  elevated as her body danced along the fine line between pain and pleasure. Somehow Azriel always knew exactly how far to push her even if she didn’t know it herself.  

“So responsive.” he whispered to himself. He then leaned closer to Gwyn while slowing his fingers once more, and Azriel’s  tone was softer as he asked, “Do you remember the safe word?” 

She nodded her head quickly as her hips started lifting up from his, trying to get his hands back at their previous euphoric pace. 

“I need your words, lovely.” Azriel gently pushed, needing the verbal confirmation from her lips. 

“Yes Az,” she gasped, “I remember the safeword.” 

He hummed, “And what is the safe word?” 

Now he was just fucking with her. 

“Red, the safe word is red Azriel,” Gwyn cried, “now please for the love of the Mother, keep going!” 

Az chuckled, “You’re so impatient, my love.” 

But he obeyed her request and soon his hand was moving at a steady pace between her thighs, curling his fingers with every pull, and grinding his palm against her clit with every push. Gwyn practically sighed in delight, before biting her lips and letting her head fall back against Azriel’s chest as she tucked her face under his chin. She didn’t know whether she was trying to run from the pleasure she so desperately begged for or from the embarrassment of being so needy in the first place. 

“None of that now,” he cooed, the soft tone of his voice made Gwyn’s mind turn to absolute mush with how drastically it contrasted the way he was so unabashedly making her fall apart by just his fingers. “I want to see your pretty face and hear your voice.” The hand which was previously holding her legs open now grasped her chin, his thumb tugging Gwyn’s lips from her teeth while simultaneously turning her head to face forward. 

She felt his soft kisses trail up the now exposed skin of her neck, leaving little bite marks in its wake. It was going to be a bitch covering those up before training tomorrow. 

“Az I’m gonna cum,” Gwyn gasped, “f-fuck I’m gonna cum.” 

“What pretty sounds,” he murmured against her neck, “cum for me then, my love.” She let out a high whine as Azriel sped up the movement of his fingers and removed his hand from her face to rub tight circles on her clit. 

The coil in her abdomen wound tighter with each passing movement. Her mind was consumed with a haze of lust and pleasure with the only grounding force being the scarred hands that played her body better than any instrument known to Pyrthian. Gwyn gasped for air as her hips started squirming on its own from Azriel’s ministrations. She was entirely overwhelmed from how good it felt and she didn’t know whether she wanted him to stop so she could catch her breath or keep going until she didn’t know which way was up and which way was down. 

“Fucking hell,” she cried out, “I can’t, it’s too much.” 

“Yes you can, my love,” he gently coaxed in her ear, “come on, you sang so well for me the past three times, surely you can do it a fourth?” 

To Gwyn’s utmost surprise, Azriel’s hands sped up even more to a pace that made her eyes roll back into her head as her back arched off of his chest. With a loud cry, she felt the coil in her stomach snap and utter bliss overcame her body. His name was the only word that left her mouth along with whimpers as those long fingers never stopped curling inside her or circling her clit. If she had even half of a mind Gwyn would have been embarrassed at the noises that escaped her. 

“Gods above, you sound so pretty,” Azriel moaned out himself, “what a good fucking girl.” 

As her orgasm slowly faded away, Gwyn registered the soft kisses which now peppered her skin and the soothing rub of Azriel’s hands on her thighs, stomach, and breasts. With heavy breaths she leaned into his touch, finding comfort in her mate. 

“You did so well for me,” he cooed in her ear, “but you didn’t think we were done yet did you?” 

Mother help her soul. 

[mycadences]

Edit: HOFAS spoilers ahead! Tread carefully!

Azriel has had two bonus chapters so far -- and what did they share in common?

HOFAS bonus chapter: "And with each mile onward, she could hear Azriel humming softly to himself. The rolling, wild melody of "Stone Mother" flowed off his lips, and she could have sworn even the shadows danced at the sound."

ACOSF bonus chapter: "Azriel entered the warmth of the stairwell, and as he descended, he could have sworn a faint, beautiful singing followed him. Could have sworn his shadows sang in answer."

Still don't see it? Then let me ask you:

Who is Gwyn?

"Across the hushed, cavernous space, it was easy to hear Gwyn’s soft singing as she flitted from table to table..."

"Gwyn turned from the desk where Nesta had found the priestess singing softly to herself..."

"Gwyn’s voice soared like a bird through the cavern as she started the third song with a solo..."

Yes, she is a priestess-Valkyrie who sings.

And now, who is Azriel?

"Do you sing?"

He blinked. It wasn't every day that people took him by surprise, but... "Why do you ask?"

"They call you shadowsinger. Is it because you sing?"

"I am a shadowsinger -- it's not a title that someone just made up."

She shrugged again, irreverently. Az narrowed his eyes, studying her. "Do you, though?" she pressed. "Sing?"

Azriel couldn't help his soft chuckle. "Yes."

He's a shadowsinger... who also sings (a bit of a "duh" moment but pardon me, it's meant to be dramatic lol).

With how intense the ship wars are, and based on SJM's interview lives, I'll say she has a strong inkling that readers would be analyzing HOFAS -- in particular the bonus chapter centering on Azriel -- for clues on the next ACOTAR couple

Notice that she chose, yes she CHOSE, to highlight Azriel singing when we all know how music is Gwyn/Gwynriel's thing.

Gwyn is literally associated with music/singing the way Nesta is with dancing, Feyre is with painting and Elain is with flowers.

And I don't see any flowers in this bonus chapter.

What I do see, however, is Azriel sharing the same hobby as Gwyn, something that was purposely emphasized in this scene, and with SJM having said that she looks at compatibility for her couples... Well, I'm feeling pretty hopeful. More than hopeful, actually.

(Also kindly remember that Gwyn is a Carynthian (one of the only two females in history), which makes her Azriel's equal.)

Another thing of interest is that both Az's bonus chapters referenced his mate, but that's a juicy tidbit for another day.

And that's what you missed on Glee! ;)

[gwyns-shadowsinger]

Songs Gwyn & the priestesses sing during service 🤝 "Stone Mother"

[nightcourtreader]

I am seeing a lot of gwynriels getting hate lately because we’re excited about new character information about Az and a lot of people believing that Azriel’s book is next.

I feel like it’s fair, as readers to point out how the author is deliberately bringing a lot of attention to Azriel at the moment. It’s absolutely fair to believe that Azriel’s book is going to be next. We all know that Elain and Azriel’s stories are going to be told and it’s just a matter of when. A lot of people just think that it’s Azriel next and that’s fine if you disagree, but gwynriels shouldn’t be attacked or called delusional if they think that.

But being called delusional when we think that when SJM has build on Azriel’s character arc purposely since we’ve seen him on page since acomaf, gave him a bonus for acosf, then had him feature in cc3, then have him apart of a bonus again for cc3 is crazy. Especially since we learned more about Azriel in cc3.

Then people are dissing the hell out of Gwyn. Oh she’s just a side character, she isn’t important. Isn’t everyone a side character at the moment besides feysand & Nessian? Since they already had their stories told. And wasn’t Gwyn the one to introduce the valkryie storyline in acosf & became the first valkryie when the valkryie plotline is a huge plotline of acosf to the point where SJM named the different sections of acosf valkryie titles? And SJM could have easily had nesta become the first valkryie.

Gwyn can absolutely have a pov with Azriel in the next book. SJM herself stated she has two more acotar books (I’m not sure if she’s contracted for more). She said for each book, a couple is going to come together. That leaves 2 pov besides Azriel and Elain because we know she’s going to give them one. For Azriel’s counter part, it could easily be Gywn.

Gwyn is still in the library. The valkryies are still training. Gwyn has a autumn court ancestry, no matter how many people claim she doesn’t have a firm claim for it. Gwyn’s powers are a very popular controversial topic in the fandom on the daily. Gywn’s story is left opened and SJM didn’t add all that to Gwyn’s backstory for no reason. She retcon the sangravah story so Azriel was the one to save Gwyn. SJM dropped mate language in her BC with Azriel and Gwyn and yes, SJM references her bonus chapters in text. She did so in acosf when it came to cassian’s & nesta’s bonus chapter for acomaf, titled wings and ember.

Yrene in tog, was really fledged out in tower of Dawn and became a really important factor in the next book in the series, kingdom of ash. Why couldn’t the same thing be said for Gwyn? Just because she was introduced in acosf, doesn’t mean that Gwyn can’t have a pov in the next book.

There are different plotlines for Azriel to go through in his story. It’s not like he has 0 plotlines to filter through. SJM would be the one to decide what plotlines have the sense of urgency for the next acotar book.

CC3 can be used for evidence, because the author herself stated that cc3 will set up future acotar books. You know what acotar 5 is? A future acotar book since it isn’t out yet. From what I’ve seen, since I haven’t read cc3 yet, Azriel is a prominent figure besides nesta in cc3 when it comes to the acotar characters. If SJM herself is stating that cc3 sets up future acotar books, why wouldn’t we use cc3 of evidence for Azriel, especially since nesta’s story has already been told? So yes we can use that as evidence. We shouldn’t be talked down about and called delusional for it.

Yes CC is a separate series. But SJM recently stated that we should read acotar before reading CC now, at one point of time she said we didn’t have to. See how things have changed?

If she’s telling people to read acotar before cc, does it matter if she’s not telling people to read cc before acotar 5, when she’s already stated to read acotar before CC so no matter what readers are understanding what’s going on in both series no matter the order since acotar 5 isn’t out yet? She’s telling us to read both series regardless.

I get it, some people might not want to read the CC and they don’t have to, but I have seen people who said they aren’t going to read CC but are still asking for information about the acotar characters in it, and with people talking about it, they are going to find out about the information of acotar characters in CC anyway, whether they read the full book or not.

And I’m sick of elriels claiming that since Azriel is being brought up a lot, it’s going to be Azriel and Elain’s next. To the point, when new fans are asking about who’s the next book, they’re “confirming” it’s Elain and Azriel’s. Which is ridiculous. Because when it comes to the two, Elain would be the one to strong hold the book, not Azriel. SJM hasn’t brought Elain to the forefront as she’s doing Azriel lately, if anything, it just shows to me how SJM isn’t going to have a book with BOTH Azriel and Elain together. Just not happening.

But I need people to stop being mad/upset at gwynriels because we’re pointing out things from textual evidence that the author has set up. We could be wrong, I agree, but stop making it like we have no standing, that were dumb & delusional.

[lady-embers]

You know what cements my opinion Gwynriel is endgame? The sequence of events in ACOSF.

We have the Hewn City scene where Cassian raves about Nesta and Feyre in Night Court Black, but for Elain he specifically mentions it sucking the LIFE from her and it leeching the brightness from her face.

We then move onto Solstice where Nesta herself makes a comment about the Black dress being I'll suited for Elain.

Also, that same night, we have Azriel Bonus Scene where he clearly tells Elain "This was a mistake" and clearly hurts her. It's another form of rejection for Elain after her ex fiancee. Also, he admits his shadows are always prone to vanish around Elain and skitter back at her breath. He also felt wrong when putting the necklace on Elain. He never thought past his sexual fantasies of her even though he can plan a year in advance for a snowball fight.

We then have his scene with Gwyn right after where she gets him to reveal he does sing and it's not because he's a Shadowsinger, and its something personal about him. We have his shadows dancing with her breathe and after something restless settles in him, his shadows calm and are content to sit on his shoulders. We have him gifting the necklace to Gwyn through Clotho (anonymously) and he leaves that interaction with picturing how Gwyns teal eyes would light up, him consciously erasing the slight smile it brought to his face, and him tucking the thought away deep down where it glowed quietly.

After Solstice, Gwyn and Azriel moments pick up.

We have him looking at Gwyn with admiration and quiet encouragement shining from his face and stilling, along with the world, when Gwyn cuts the ribbon and becomes the first Valkyrie in Nesta book.

We have the banter between them and Nesta saying Azriel was the new ribbon.

We have Azriel shadows dancing around him as he's conversing with Gwyn.

We have his shadows deepening around Azriel and his siphons gleaming like cobalt fire when Cassian mentions Emerie and Gwyn being hurt in unspeakable ways, and Azriel saying 'You- we- trained them well, Cassian. Trust in that." And this coming from the same person who said Elain shouldn't be exposed to the Trove....

Sarah set up and worded certain scenes in ACOSF deliberately. You can't convince me otherwise that with all this she isn't going to have Gwyn and Azriel as endgame.

[msshadowqueen]

Ranking Azriel ships

Bottom tier: Elriel (the worst ship of all time ew ew ew ew ew) Moriel (it's similar to Elriel but it's still better bc at least Azriel doesn't think Mor is a helpless little damsel and at least Mor isn't someone else's mate that we know of) Bryceriel (literally why does this exist) Mid: Nezriel (I'm only a fan if you add Eris in there) Luzriel (it's kind of funny for a sec but no) Top Tier: Cassriel (i mean Cassian is his husband let's be fr) Azris (the real enemies to lovers) Gwynriel (what will ultimately be canon) Thezriel (therapy x Azriel; the chemistry is sizzling i tell you)

[estellaluna-deactivated20240914]

One night at dinner with Nesta, Cassian, and Azriel

Nesta: *giving Cassian the eye*

Cassian: *groaning*

Azriel: *rolls his eyes* Can we have at least one normal fucking dinner?

Cassian: Shut up! You fucking do it with Gwyn too!

Azriel: Not on a dining table!

Nesta: Wait, what? So you actually did it with Gwyn?

Azriel: *realizing Cassian and Nesta just trapped him* Oh, fuck!

[separatist-apologist]

My Whole Life Is Ruined

Summary: When you hold me, it holds me together, and you kiss me in a way that's gonna screw me up forever

Surprise @talons-and-teeth! I'm sorry for the wait- I was not your original secret santa. I pulled this together based on what I know about you and I hope you like it! @acotargiftexchange

Big thanks to @octobers-veryown for making a moodboard with practically no instructions other than one Taylor Swift lyric and the description "Azriel has been hiding the fact he's Gwyn's mate and they have sex about it."

--

Insomnia was nothing new. 

Gwyn couldn’t remember the last time she’d fully slept through the night. The past chased the present, running in circles as she ran after her tail, almost grasping it before she woke covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Sometimes, bathed in nothing but moonlight, Gwyn wondered if there would ever come a time when she didn’t dream of her sister, of a life long gone.

It didn’t rattle her as badly as it used to. Sitting in the bed Nesta had so graciously offered up, Gwyn pushed the blankets from her legs to let the cool, winter air caress her overheated skin. Leaving the library still felt like a picked over wound. She didn’t want to go back, cloistered away from her friends and the life she’d begun to enjoy living. That didn’t mean she wasn’t scared.

Anxiety seemed to thrum beside her heartbeat, a constant presence she could only just shake if she was otherwise occupied. Right then, in the dead of night, Gwyn felt it snake around her until it was wrapped tight around her throat, choking a scream that always seemed so close to escaping.

She didn’t bother changing out of her thin nightdress, certain neither Cassian or Nesta would be up this late. If they were even back—they’d gone to Hewn City that evening for some meeting with a Day Court prince, giving Gwyn full run of the House of Wind. Not that she did anything terribly interesting with all that power—Gwyn got a book and some hot chocolate and spent the night curled in a chair reading until she finally dragged herself into bed.

Maybe she should have trained on the roof first. Really worn herself down so her brain was too exhausted to conjure up memories of the past, all the while whispering of how she might have prevented it, if she’d only been stronger, smarter, cleverer. Forcing her to relive it, to pick it apart to see what could have been different.

That was exhausting, too.

Cold air hit her the moment she pushed open the door, howling a greeting that might have scared someone else off. Gwyn liked the biting cold, the raucous yelling, the silhouette of the mountains looming like shadows in the distance. A half moon poured light over the rooftop, causing sleeping weapons to glint beneath. Maybe, she thought ruefully, she should have put on socks. Hair caught against her lips, and as Gwyn worked to push it out of her face, wishing for a hair tie, too. 

It wasn’t too late and yet she was already here, wasn’t she? Might as well just power through, ignoring her discomfort like she was so accustomed to. The bite of cold was a reminder she’d survived—she was alive. So what if it burned a little? Sometimes Gwyn thought she fought better when she was in pain.

And more often than not, she suspected she deserved to feel it. That the curling peace was a mistake and everyone was going to realize what an imposter she was. They’d tell her she didn’t belong with them and cast her back out. Gwyn was always just waiting for it, a hammer that might fall at any given moment. 

A blade just against her neck, never quite striking.

Gwyn pulled out a dagger, her favored weapon, and held it for a moment in her hand. Nesta was all brute strength, and Emerie terrifying yet easy grace, but Gwyn liked to be the shadow in the dark. The knife at someone's side rather than a screaming sword coming for a person's throat. While Nesta and Emeries radiated the kind of beauty that made men cower, Gwyn liked to think she was sweeter, more unassuming. People looked at Nesta, at Emerie, and were taken by their perfection.

They looked at Gwyn and wondered why she was with them. So Gwyn trained harder, made herself someone that couldn’t be ignored. Not forever, anyway. She was good at hiding, besides, taking to trees, blending into the background so often that on more than one occasion, Cassian and Nesta didn’t realize Gwyn was in the room until she cleared her throat. 

Unbalanced, Gwyn took a second dagger and for a moment, was the wind itself. Recalling the movements Azriel had been teaching her, Gwyn stepped like a dance, twisting her body and slashing her blades against invisible foes.

A real ones, too. A shadow moved from the edge of the ring, catching her by surprise. Gwyn darted, and just as Azriel had taught her, grabbed them, slamming their body to the ground. It was thunder the way that massive, familiar form crashed against the world, a mighty god dragged from the heavens themselves.

Azriel groaned, eyes closed even as his hands grabbed her waist, holding her knee painfully against his ribs. “That was good,” he gasped, fingers curling into her skin. 

“I’m so sorry,” she replied, dropping the blade she’d pressed to his throat. A thin line of blood snaked over golden, tattooed skin, staining the rather lovely black jacket he was wearing. Why was he up here, she wondered? Shouldn’t he be enjoying himself with his friends and family? 

Azriel swallowed hard, opening hazel eyes that cut through the otherwise oppressive dark to look at her.

“I’m not.”

And then he released her, letting her scramble backwards, heart thumping in her chest. Azriel didn’t move, wings spread wide around against the ground. He looked like a fallen angel and Gwyn was awed at the sight, the realization that it had been her who’d felled him. He was looking right back at her, his expression clouded by shadow. Was he angry? He said he wasn’t, but surely he didn’t appreciate being assaulted in his own home. 

Not that she saw much of him since she’d moved in. Azriel, who maintained a bedroom in the House of Wind, was suddenly gone and when Gwyn was really down, she sometimes thought it was because he didn’t like being around her. Here he was, though, clambering to his feet, his eyes sliding down her body. She could feel the heat of them like he was touching her skin and was grateful for a sudden burst of wind hitting her like a bucket of ice water.

Careful, she warned herself. 

It was hard, though. Anyone with eyes could see how beautiful Azriel was. She wasn’t stupid. It didn’t hurt that in her worst moment, Azriel’s had been the very first she’d seen. A savior—a dark angel, come to wreak bloody vengeance on her sister's behalf. It had been Morrigan who’d taken her away to safety, but when Gwyn thought about how she’d escaped, she always remembered Azriel’s curved, lethal blade, sliding cleanly through the bodies of the same males who had killed her sister.

She’d always been grateful to him for it, even if she’d never tell him. He’d never once looked at her like he remembered, had never betrayed an ounce of pity. She’d expected him to say something back when he’d first joined their training, wary and distant. And maybe he knew, because he kept his distance until it was safe, had held himself at an arm's length and let her decide how much or little of him she wanted. 

The problem was Azriel himself. Outside of being the most beautiful man he’d ever seen, he was just nice. Not in the way Cassian was, with big smiles and silly jokes, but with serious eyes and a dagger in hand, forcing her to move again and again and again. Your steps are off, Gwyn—you’ll get yourself killed that way. Eyes on your opponent, don’t look away. Hold your breath, don’t let them know you’re there.

Because he knew it mattered to her. That she wouldn’t be caught off guard ever again, that Gwyn would never let someone hurt her. Often, she wondered if he didn’t understand that pain, if it didn’t mirror some tragedy of his own. They didn’t talk about it—they didn’t need to. It was an understanding between them, something so intimate she would never share it with another living soul.

She kept waiting for Azriel to step back, to tell her she’d done enough, that she should finish with Cassian. He never did. Even when he was gone, Gwyn practiced knowing he’d want to see the progress she’d made while he was gone. And when he returned, he’d wait on the roof even when she’d flippantly told him it would be easier to just send word via letter.

I don’t mind waiting.

Those words still felt so charged to her. Like he was trying to say something else, eyes glittering and bright like the stars overheard. Gwyn pulled herself from her thoughts to look up at Azriel looming overhead, his wings flared around him as if he was trying to make himself seem larger. It was working—he was massive, muscular and tall and just like before, half fallen angel, half terrifying god come to earth so he might reign. 

“You look cold,” Azriel commented, caught looking at her. 

Gwyn put her hands on her hips. So what if he was? “I’m not.”

“Bullshit.”

Smothering a smile, Gwyn asked with faux outrage, “Are you calling me a liar?”

She swore the corners of his lips twitched. “To your face, even.”

“The cold doesn’t bother me,” Gwyn said, shifting from one leg to another, a gesture he seemed to register with sharp-eyed interest. Proof, she realized as his fingers began making quick work of his jacket. “No, that’s not—”

“Suck it up,” was Azriel’s dark voiced response, draping the warm jacket against her shoulders, leaving himself only in a black shirt stretched over his muscular torso. His eyes slid back down to her legs, lips flattening as he realized she was without shoes, too. “You’ll catch your death out here.”

Gwyn could smell the heady, masculine scent of him coming from the fabric, her arms far too small for the large holes. Still, she didn’t protest, turning to look toward the outline of the mountains instead.

“Maybe. But what a way to go.”

“It’s hardly heroic to die from the cold,” Azriel murmured, turning to follow her gaze. Did he know what she was thinking? How they had nearly died in the blood rite, thrown in wearing only a thin night dress against well-armed warriors? She wondered if Azriel would have found that heroic, even if it had been the cold that had gotten them.

Gwyn blew out a breath, the steam of air curling between them as one of his shadows darted out, illuminated by starlight. It wasn’t the first time and she wondered if they thought she, too, had a shadow for them to interact with.

Or if it meant something else.

Something more.

“Inside,” Azriel finally said, a gust of wind ruffling his night dark hair.

“You’re fussy tonight,” she grumbled, not protesting when his fingers pressed against the small of her back, pushing her toward the door. Heat pulsated from the touch, settling low in her stomach. “Did something happen?”

Azriel pulled open the door with his free hand, his touch never quite leaving. “No. Hewn City is unchanging.”

She glanced up at him, the light softening the harsh lines of his face. “Is that a good thing?”

“It’s predictable.”

“I want to see it,” Gwyn declared, though in truth she wasn’t entirely sure that was true. Still, the corners of Azriel’s mouth twitched a bit, as if the whole thing amused him. 

“You would devour them,” was his easy, good-natured response. “To their endless delight.”

“And yet I’ve been snubbed yet again,” she teased, elbowing him gently in the ribs. “Do I file my complaint with you…or…?”

“You were spared the grating presence of Vanserra,” Azriel said, cocking his head with a half smile. “But I will pass along your discontent to the High Lord.”

“Be sure that you do,” Gwyn replied, grinning by the time Azriel deposited her into a chair in the study. He didn’t go far, sitting on the arm, his wings draped behind them. She could see the flexing muscle of his thigh beneath his well-tailored pants. If she’d wanted, she could have touched him.

It was obscene how badly she wanted to. How she had to clench her fingers to fists to keep from reaching out, well aware that Azriel would withdraw entirely and, perhaps, never speak to her again. He’d been nothing if not unfailingly polite, besides…though…he had been looking at her in the clingy, short nightdress, hadn’t he? 

Just because you were cold, her mind reminded her. After all, she was still wearing his jacket. Gwyn shrugged out of it, heat blooming over her cheeks as she shoved it into his lap. There. She’d gotten to touch him without him knowing and give him back his jacket before she convinced herself to keep it.

And possibly sleep in it.

Azriel arched a dark brow, hazel eyes staring at the rumpled fabric now balled in his lap. “What did the jacket do to offend you?” he asked, taking it in broad, callused hands. He’d removed his siphons, leaving the scarred skin wholly on display. She wondered what had happened to him—and why. 

If he’d ever gotten his revenge for it.

“It’s yours—that’s enough,” she replied flippantly. Holding her gaze, Azriel picked up the jacket and brought it to his nose. Time seemed to stop, frozen entirely as she watched him do this.

And he watched her, daring her to say something. She opened her mouth, gaping, only to close it.

And Azriel smiled. Broad and unrestrained, as if he were so delighted he couldn’t help himself. Tilting his head toward the roof, he murmured, “House—some tea, if you don’t mind.”

Of course the house didn’t mind. Two cups of steaming tea rattled on the coffee table before them, complete with sugar and honey, if either of them wanted it.

Gwyn didn’t think she could pick up a cup without betraying the rattle of her hands. Why? Azriel had discarded the jacket casually, tossing it to another chair like it was uninteresting to him. And was he closer, now? His thigh was, she was certain, but had his arm always been behind her. If she moved a few inches, he could have slid into the seat to join her.

He could pull you into his lap if he wanted. 

Which, of course, he didn’t

Didn’t he?

“Why are you here?” she asked, hating that breathless quality of her voice. Azriel heard it, too, head snapping to the side, nose flared as though searching for something she couldn’t place. 

“I like to be near you,” he replied. He could have thrown her across the room and surprised her less. Once again, Gwyn opened her mouth only for no sound to leave her throat. 

“You—you’re never here,” she finally managed. Azriel leaned forward, the faelights gilding the dark ink of his tattoos scrawled over his biceps. He took one of the cups and handed it to her, fingers brushing her own.

“I can’t stand being around you,” was his maddening, level response. 

Gwyn’s stomach sank. “What?”

She couldn’t drink—not when such a strange admission hung between them. Azriel, so unused to verbosity, was now forced to explain himself. It occurred to her just as he turned fully to look at her, some of the color drained from his otherwise beautiful face, that perhaps he wanted this confrontation. She didn’t, though, and wished she could have told him so. Things were fine between them—distant, maybe, and filled with a lopsided yearning on her end, but that was better than whatever he was about to do.

Gwyn had the distinct feeling Azriel was about to crush her. Emotionally ruin her. Destroy her so recklessly there would be no coming back.

“You still don’t feel it?” he asked instead, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “After all this time?”

A new fear speared through her gut. There was only one thing Azriel could possibly feel—and one thing she could possibly not. Gwyn had to set the shaking cup of tea down before bolting from her chair, arms wrapped around her chest. 

“You don’t feel anything,” she declared, deciding if she felt nothing, neither did Azriel. 

Pain lanced across his expression, replaced by grim determination. As he stood, Gwyn knew Azriel wasn’t going to let it go until they both felt exactly as he did—until she felt the mating bond. 

Gwyn shook her head, backing away as he advanced. “Don’t do this, Azriel—”

“Is it that terrible, then?” he asked her, his low words filled with a familiar emotion. One she recognized all too well—the loathing, the self-hatred, the expectation that of course she would reject him. 

“It’s—” Gwyn couldn’t breathe for the closeness of him, for the wanting to touch him. And maybe she did feel it, in her way. Had felt it the moment he’d strode into that cursed, wrecked room looking like the god of vengeance. She’d merely been too hurt to know it, too broken, too emotionally devastated. He should have frightened her and he never had.

Even then, towering over her with his muscular frame, Gwyn didn’t flinch away. She merely met his gaze with blazing defiance.

“You’re wrong,” she told him, keeping her voice light as she pushed at his chest so she could slip around him. “Or mistaken. There is no bond and I’m certain if you saw a healer, they’d—” Azriel grabbed her wrist, spinning her so her back was pressed to the floral papered wall behind her. Dipping his head, Azriel ran his nose the length of her neck.

“You’re no mistake, Gwyn.”

“I am,” she whispered without meaning to. Azriel could do so much better. Surely…surely he wanted better. What had that been like for him, she wondered, and before she could stop herself, she added, “When did you feel it?”

Something primal flared in those bright eyes of his. “Dinner with Nesta and Cassian. You touched my hand and I…” Holding up the offending hand, Azriel flexed his fingers in memory. “I felt the snap.”

That had been almost a year. It had been the last time Azriel had dinner with all of them, and right after she’d formally moved into the House of Wind. Gwyn still remembered that night—Azriel had bolted before dessert, murmuring something about needed to talk to Rhys. Gwyn had thought nothing of it—might never have thought about it again had he not pinned her against a wall to declare that had been the moment he’d felt a mating bond snap. 

“We’ve been training together for months,” she replied with no small amount of outrage. He’d been keeping this secret for that long? 

“I thought you’d feel it,” Azriel all but growled, eyes bouncing over her face. “And when you didn’t…”

“Rhys knows?”

“And Cassian—”

“So Nesta, too?!”

Gwyn shoved him again, harder this time. Azriel let her, she suspected, stepping back so she could have some breathing space. “They all know but I don’t.”

“And you’re taking the knowledge so well,” Azriel replied with a bite of sarcasm.

She whirled, wishing she had a dagger in hand even has the dried blood from his healed wound still taunted her. “I think I deserved to know before Cassian.”

“I needed his help,” Azriel admitted, running a hand over his mouth. “I needed to know how he managed it.”

“How difficult could it be,” she asked flippantly, intending to leave him there so she could think. Foolish to turn her back on a predator. Azriel had her again, wrapped in one strong arm, the other holding her jaw so she had to look at him.

“Hell,” he rasped, his anguish plain. “Every minute of it has been hell.” 

In Gwyn’s defense, she managed one, final, protest. “It’s just—”

His mouth covered hers before she could finish that statement, could say what they both knew she’d been thinking. As if he found the words so abhorrent he wouldn’t hear them, would swallow them until he’d snuffed them from their very existence.

Gwyn forgot what she’d been about to say at all. She’d thought about what it might be like to kiss him. If his mouth would be soft or rough, if he kissed like he fought or if there was passion bubbling beneath his icy exterior. She hadn’t been prepared for what it would feel like or how desire would overtake her so thoroughly she didn’t care about anything else. Were those her hands cupping his neck? Her lips hungrily kissing him back like a crazed, desperate creature?

Her tongue meeting his own, her legs moving until he had her back against the wall so he could press the length of his body against hers? 

There was only one thought in her name, an echo repeated over and over. Mate. Mate. Mate. 

Maybe he should have just kissed her at that dinner. Skipped the yearning, the anguish, the uncertainty. At least they would have been kissing, anyway. Gwyn forgot herself entirely, nails digging against his shoulder until Azriel helpfully hoisted her into the air so she could wrap her legs around his waist.

“Don’t talk about my mate like that,” he panted, dragging his teeth against her neck. “I love her.”

Gwyn whimpered. What did she say to that? As it turned out—nothing. Azriel kissed her again, sparing them both whatever incoherent nonsense might have tumbled from her lips. She might have sworn she loved him too, if only to convince him to keep kissing her like he was.

Gwyn was certain Azriel’s kiss had ruined her life. How was she supposed to go back to things as they were before? It wasn't knowing that he was her mate, but knowing the way his hands felt cupped against her face and the way wildfire sparked in her blood when his tongue slid into her mouth? 

The worst of it was when his hands left her ass, letting her slide down the hard slab of his body before she was ready. He pulled away, lips swollen and eyes wild, to take a healthy step away from her, though it seemed to take an immense amount of effort. For her part, she kept herself pressed to the wall, unsure what was happening.

“You know now,” Azriel managed, his voice hoarse, “and that’s…that’s all I wanted. I ah…I should go before—”

“You’re leaving?” she asked, strangely hurt by this new rejection. Gwyn knew all about mating bonds. What fae didn’t? Before she’d come here, she’d once dreamt of her own mate, giggling with her sister in their bunks as they imagined what that person might be like. If they existed at all, given the rarity of such a thing. It was almost funny that he’d been right here all along, close enough she could literally touch. 

And he was going to leave? He didn’t want to accept it? Did she? It was all happening so fast but of course you didn’t reject a mate. She could see the wariness on his face, could watch in real time as he pulled up his defenses as she realized that yes. That was exactly his expectation.

Why? She knew from Nesta’s stories that Azriel was well sought after. And she wasn’t blind. What female didn’t dream of a male with his bone structure? He was powerful and close to the High Lord, and beyond all that, Azriel was kind. A genuinely good person, the sort of male one could spend centuries with if they wanted.

What could she even offer him? Gwyn’s thoughts raced, listing all the reasons he ought to have stopped, why keeping this a secret made so much sense. She didn’t notice Azriel creeping closer and closer until his fingers were under her chin, lifting her face so she had to look at him. 

“You’re doing it again,” he murmured, his voice dark and dangerous. “Thinking unkind thoughts about my mate.”

“You can’t tell me what to think,” she shot back, her own voice trembling a little. He was so certain, so unbothered and in her entire life, had anyone ever immediately felt that way about her?

Nesta and Emerie. Catrin. 

Azriel.

“You have it all wrong,” Azriel murmured and she wondered if perhaps he could read her mind. “It is you who could do so much better.”

His words drew a gust of laughter from her lips. The mother had certainly chosen well, putting the two of them together. What a pair—she wondered who would relent first? Her, or Azriel? Who would believe they deserved a mating bond first? It occurred to Gwyn, as she reached for his arm to pull him closer, that she was a shade too competitive—she wanted it to be him who broke first. Who relented first, who believed he was worthy, was deserving. 

And she could see, from that golden glint burning in his own gaze, that he was thinking the exact same thing. 

“You’re stupid,” she whispered, surging up on her tiptoes to kiss him again. She could taste the smile spreading over his face, sweet against the warm heat of his mouth. It took her an embarrassing amount of time to realize he wasn’t smiling because she’d told him to stop talking, but because she was kissing him. Gwyn hadn’t even considered not kissing.

He was her mate, after all. He was hers. She felt that the way she felt her own heart, the possession, the desire, the heat. She didn’t feel the cord the way everyone spoke of, but perhaps that was mere metaphor. After all, Gwyn believed Azriel wouldn’t lie to her about something so life altering.

Besides. She liked kissing him, new as it was. Azriel was unhurried and thorough, just like every other task she’d ever seen him undertake. And for the first time in a long time, she wondered what it would be like if he paid her that sort of attention in the bedroom. They stood there like that, his arm keeping her on her toes, steady against his warm, solid body. Momentarily, Gwyn wondered what might happen if Nesta and Cassian were to come in and decided she didn’t care.

How many times had she walked in on them in far more compromising positions, besides? 

Tiny steps had Gwyn flush against the wood wall, pressed against Azriel’s hard body and oh. He wanted her. Wanted her in a way that emptied her mind of all other thought beyond the desire to touch him.

And she was allowed, she realized with giddiness. He belonged to her. It was a possessive thought that overrode everything else, including all her good sense. He was hers.

“Mine,” she whispered into his mouth, not meaning to. Azriel groaned, tangling a hand in her hair to tilt back her head, his tongue delving back between her teeth to really taste her. Without the leathers he usually wore, it was surprisingly easy to find the golden buttons on his jacket, undoing them before Azriel’s own brain seemed to catch up with what was happening.

His wings flared, enveloping around them for a moment as he pulled back, his breathing heavy.

“Cassian will be home soon,” he whispered, holding her close against him as if he expected his friend to take her away. “Nesta too.” “You have a bedroom here, right?” Gwyn said with more daring than she felt. Azriel’s once half-lidded eyes flew open, those hazel eyes searching her own. 

“I do,” he whispered, swallowing audibly. “There’s no rush—”

“Please?”

One moment she’d been standing there, her hand flat against the white, linen shirt Azriel wore beneath his jacket and the next her feet were in the air, her body cradled against him as he walked.

“I can’t think when you’re around,” Azriel was saying, his steps echoing against the wood. “Can’t think just looking at you. Sometimes I think I’ll wake up and this will have all been a dream.”

“It’s real,” she replied, pressing her lips to his neck. “I’m real. We’re real.”

He shuddered, all but running up a flight of stairs. There was no reaction when his wing clipped a door frame nor did he say a word when he had to use his nice shoe to slam his bedroom door shut. Gwyn wasn’t given the opportunity to really look around his space, either—though it seemed sparse and filled with dark, moody colors. 

Azriel had her on the bed, his own body over top her own before she could exhale the breath she’d just taken. 

“Tell me to stop,” he said, the maddening male. She would have told him she didn’t want him to, but he was kissing her again, his burning lips all but bruising her own. Drawing a leg up, Gwyn could line up their otherwise mismatched bodies so he was pressed exactly where she wanted him. 

They were going to do this. She wanted to do this. When she managed to take a breath, the taste of blood faint against her tongue, she rasped, “Take this off.”

Azriel was on his knees in a moment, shucking off his jacket before all but ripping off his shirt, too. There in the dark with nothing but silvery moonlight to illuminate him, Gwyn was allowed to really look at him. 

He didn’t move, a lock of dark hair half obscuring the intensity of his gaze. “All of it,” she decided before she lost her nerve. 

Azriel cocked his head, his lips pursed as though he’d tell her no.

“Please,” she added.

Azriel groaned again, softer this time. Somewhere in the house, a door slammed closed and a mingling of male and female voices rose like music, a soothing hum in the background as Azriel slid off the bed entirely.

Wings tucked tightly against his toned back, he quietly locked his door before turning back to her. “We don’t have to,” he said, his fingers hovering over the laces of his pants. Gwyn had a suspicion Azriel would spend the next century saying this and she’d spend the next century  reassuring him that she wanted all of it. All of him.

Maybe he’d realize in the morning when she snuck into the kitchen and begged the house for his favorite meal. She had no idea what it was, but surely the magic that governed this place did? Would he eat it from her hands? Or would he balk, certain this was just another dream?

“I know,” she said, leaning up on her elbows. “Take it all off, anyway.”

Gwyn knew what Azriel was wondering but her past was murky—forgotten in the dark, the ugly replaced with his easy, unassuming beauty. Still, she held her breath as he undressed entirely, drinking in the sight of him. This was the male she’d knocked to the ground, the very same that could kill another person without a second thought.

Underneath the thick, armored leathers and weapons lay just a male made of skin and bone. Gwyn’s eyes traced the tattoos adorning his shoulders and chest, the intricate swirls snaking up his neck and vanishing behind his back. Every inch of him was muscled, softer now that he was relaxed and still present just below the warm brown of his flesh.

And between his legs…

Gwyn giggled. She couldn’t help herself. It was so big—surely they weren’t supposed to be that large? That thick? There was an air of male pride shimmering around him, his legs spread a little wider as if to say, drink it all in. 

“Are you laughing at me?” he asked, his voice a dark, teasing growl. Prowling forward, Gwyn’s heart spiked loud enough he must have heard.

“I wasn’t prepared for…” For what? For him? Azriel was so quiet, so unassuming…she just assumed if he had all that going on he’d brag a little more? Swagger about the way Cassian always was? 

“I’d be a poor mate if I left you wanting,” he replied, his eyes glazed over once his knees hit the edge of the bed. Perhaps it was the sight of her, still dressed, scrambling on her hands and knees so she could crawl toward him. She just wanted to touch, to feel if his cock was as hard as it looked. 

Azriel sucked in a breath when her fingers curled around the base of his shaft, just barely touching. Looking up, she murmured, “Is this what you like?”

“I like you,” he replied, scooping up her hair in his hands as Gwyn stroked him experimentally. He choked out a sound, his heartbeat thudding in her ears. She supposed that was her answer—he liked the way she touched him.

Pride filled her chest knowing she could please her mate, even with something as simple as touching him. Gwyn stroked again, letting her wrist twist at the end as her eyes refused to leave his face.

“Gods,” he whispered, his wings tightening against his back. “I’ve imagined…Gwyn…”

She was allowed a third pass before he pushed her back, her clothes pulled off her body so quickly all she managed was to lift her hips and raise her arms. 

“Do you know how many nights I’ve laid in this exact bed and imagined you just like this?” Azriel began, his voice a dark, sultry whisper. “Splayed out…naked…undone?”

“No,” she squeaked out in response, half embarrassed to be undressed before him. Azriel’s gaze burned against her skin, warming a path from her collarbone to her thighs. 

“Would you like to know what I dream about at night?” he questioned, sinking to his knees so he was eye level with the edge of the bed. 

Arousal ribboned through her, making a fool out of her. “Yes,” she replied, strangely excited to be the object of this man’s fantasies. 

Strong, scarred fingers curled around her thighs, pushing them wider before hooking them over his shoulders. He was staring at her cunt, now, studying her like she was some priceless piece of art. 

“I dream of tasting you,” Azriel breathed, the warmth of his breath fanning against her. Gwyn squirmed when he kissed her inner thigh—the left, and then the right—before using his tongue to lightly take that first taste he’d been dreaming of. Gwyn might have asked him how he liked it had it not felt so good. 

Besides, she knew he liked it—Azriel groaned loudly, spreading her apart wider with his fingers so he could taste her everywhere. Gone was his slow exploration, his desire to take his time. All of it had been replaced with the animal kneeling between her legs, licking and touching her cunt like his life depended on it. 

All traces of her embarrassment evaporated, leaving only instinct behind. Gwyn surrendered to the urge, letting desire wash over her until it was all she knew. “Don’t stop,” she breathed, well aware he probably couldn’t. 

Azriel pushed a finger into her gently, moaning at whatever he felt. Gwyn hadn’t considered what it would feel like to share space with him—to feel him inside her own body but now…

“Az,” she panted, her hips rolling against his mouth and hand. She wanted him to stop licking, to replace his fingers with his cock. Heat was building in her chest beyond simple arousal, heavy like a chain. 

Unbreakable.

A bond. A real thread she could follow straight to the male between her legs. It reverberated and then snapped just as Azriel sucked her clit into his mouth, eliciting a scream that was half his name. Could he feel it too? No—his had snapped months ago and he’d just been living with it.

Gwyn couldn’t see how. If she didn’t have him right that second she might go insane. Reaching for his powerful biceps, Gwyn tried to pull him off her but the waves of pleasure made her hands shake. 

“Az,” she tried again, his name a breathy moan against her lips. Her hips moved of their own accord, grinding against him in what must have seemed like encouragement to keep going. Maybe it was—she didn’t try very hard to get him off her.

Azriel managed a third finger, a whine slipping from his throat at the effort. Gwyn just barely registered any of it, her body jerking a second time from pleasure so bright and heady she could have died from it. It was too much—Gwyn was burning, was in free-fall with no one to catch her.

Digging her nails into his skin, she yanked at him. Azriel emerged, lips wet and eyes wild. “Please,” she heard herself saying, the magic words that, apparently, could convince him to do anything she wanted. “I need you.”

His fingers were wet as they skimmed the side of her body, palm grasping her breast before his lips found hers. He tasted sweet and she supposed it was herself, truly, she was tasting on his tongue. He was hurried, his desperation making him sloppy. When his teeth clashed with her own, nipping the sensitive skin of her bottom lip, Gwyn had enough.

“Az—”

“Don’t beg me,” he breathed, pressing his forehead against her own. Caressing her cheek, Azriel added, “I’ll do whatever you want. You don’t have to beg.”

“I feel it,” she replied, running her hand up and down his spine. “It’s a real thread.”

Azriel exhaled with relief, a smile ghosting his pretty face. Whispering something that sounded like gratitude toward the gods, he adjusted his body until she felt the blunt head of his cock pressed against her. How had he stood it? The waiting, the wanting, the utter need that Gwyn was all but drowning in. If they didn’t do this, she thought she might die from it. 

“You’ll tell me if I hurt you.” It wasn’t a request, though Gwyn had no intention of telling him anything. She expected a little pain, expected little pleasure. Why else had he used his mouth first? 

Gwyn had read enough books to know that there was blood and pain and so when Azriel slid himself an inch into her, she braced herself against him, her nails digging into his biceps. She could feel his eyes on her, searching for even a hint of discomfort. There was something reassuring about knowing he’d stop if she wanted. That he cared if she enjoyed herself. 

Gwyn didn’t need a book to know not all males cared about such things.

Azriel took his time—like he knew he had eons of it, that he didn’t have to rush. Gwyn loved him for it, eyes burning with unshed tears at the thought. She’d tell him all this later, when they’d had a chance to breathe and eat and really talk about everything that had otherwise been left unsaid. Instead she dragged her lips down his neck and focused on the feeling of his cock in her body, pushing further and further without any of the accompanying pain she’d expected.

She was slick enough that he felt less like an intrusion and more like a welcomed guest, and once he’d seated himself entirely, it seemed as though they’d been made like two puzzle pieces destined to fit. 

It took a moment to get used to the stretch, to breathe despite the feeling of fullness. Azriel gave it to her instinctively, as if he knew exactly what she both wanted and needed. There was that same sense of I have all the time in the world, despite her knowing he was desperate. A bead of sweat slid from his temple, rolling down his neck and his arms shook from restraint.

He didn’t move. 

Not until her mouth made its way to his collarbone and she whispered, “Give me more.” He groaned loud enough to shatter the silence, pulling himself out with a slowness that bordered on madness. 

“You’re so wet,” he whispered, burying his face into her neck. “I’m losing my mind.”

She couldn’t help the exhaled smile, raking her fingers through his hair. “Did you dream of this, too?”

“No,” he admitted with a grunt, sliding his cock back into her body. “I didn’t dare.”

“Why?”

“Couldn’t,” he managed, thrusting again with a little more intensity. “Would have gone crazy from wanting you. Surprised you couldn’t smell it on me.”

As if she would have known what she was smelling. There was no point in telling him so—not as Azriel confessed the depths of his devotion, the lengths he’d gone to give her time, space, and whatever else she’d wanted. Would he have continued to do so forever? 

Gwyn kissed his cheek. “I want you. I want this.”

He groaned again, sliding his hand between their otherwise flushed bodies to rub at her still swollen clit. She’d been half distracted by his words to pay attention to her body but right then, when his thumb began making tight circles, Gwyn was pulled back under the depths of shadowed darkness, half consumed by the male laying on top of her. 

Their mouths met, messy and unrestrained. Strange how kissing merely heightened the pleasure coiling through her—Gwyn wouldn’t have guessed that. In her books, everything was so neat and clinical. They kissed, they touched, they fucked with nothing in between. In real life, sex was messier, more fluid. Or maybe she and Azriel merely had more passion than the people in her stories.

Those love stories had once brought her such joy. Now they seemed dimmed in comparison to what was happening to her and her own feelings. 

“I need to feel you come,” he whispered, betraying how close he must have been. Gwyn felt the same way. She needed to feel him, needed to see him wholly unraveled. All because of her—no one else was allowed to know what he sounded like, what he looked like. They got control, they got the ice but she got the heat, the impulsivity—everything he was, everything he’d ever been. 

Gwyn came to the thought of that future, tightening around him as her back arched her into his chest, offering very little give. Azriel kissed her, swallowing the sound of her moans greedily. They belonged to him, anyway. 

He came mere seconds later, his own noise of pleasure delightfully loud for a male that was so often silent. Gwyn kept herself wrapped tight around him, arms winding against his neck, her teeth sinking into his shoulder. His pumping was erratic, uncontrolled and a little desperate. Gwyn was obsessed with this side of him—wanted more of it.

Azriel didn’t withdraw when he was done, his heart thudding against her breast. “It’s not enough, is it?” she whispered, thinking they both ought to feel sated. She didn’t. In her books, the heroine was always spent, the hero falling asleep not long after. The pair would wake in each other's arms, content and glowing from the night before.

Gwyn wanted to shove him to the floor and climb atop him. Wanted to hear him beg, too—wanted more of the whimpering, the groaning and everything in between.

“It was never going to be,” he panted, kissing her softly. 

“How long will it last?” she wondered, brushing a damp lock of hair from his face.

“Eternity, I imagine,” he replied, his eyes burning with that same unflinching intensity. “For me, at least.”

Gwyn’s heart exploded, racing in her throat. “Are you hungry?” she whispered, deciding she couldn’t wait for the morning. She wanted to do this right now. Wanted him to know that this meant something to her, even if she was scared, too. 

Azriel went still. “There’s no rush—”

“That’s yes or no, Azriel.”

A smile broke over his face. “Starving,” he admitted in that dark, sultry voice. 

“You have to get up,” she reminded him, pushing half-heartedly at his shoulder. Azriel lowered his mouth for another kiss.

“In a minute.”

Strange how a minute could stretch.

Into lifetimes, even.

[bearbluebooks]

Headcanon Gwynriel

Gwyn loves adventure books. Azriel has lived 500 hundred years of adventures with thousands of stories to tell.

Whenever either of them can’t sleep or when he visits her in the library Gwyn asks “tell me a story, Shadowsinger,” and Azriel tells one of the many stories of how he slayed an enemy, almost got killed retrieving an item for Rhys or exploring distant lands for a spy mission.

Gwyn listens with such enthrallment it’s as if she’s there with him in his memories.

[lunainfortuna-deactivated202503]

{a little something}

Gwyn remained completely silent.

Although she could faintly hear a female fae talking to her, she refused to look in her direction – they were in a room, somewhere safe inside the library, and they were supposed to be talking about what happened in Sangravah. In addition to this fae, there was someone else with them: Clotho, who sat a little distant from them.

Everyone in this place was… hurt, somehow. And never once in her life, had Gwyn imagined she would need this kind of shelter. Maybe she had been too presumptuous in believing she had a good life, a good home.

And now, she was paying for it. While the female talked and begged for her attention, Gwyn thought back to that night. She felt empty and broken in a way that even reliving every second of pain she had been through, she felt nothing. She did not cry in front of these two people trying to help her. She just…

“Who was he?”

She asked, suddenly. Elvenia – the female – stopped her chatting.

“I’m sorry, Gwyn. Who are we talking about?”

Finally, she looked at both Elvenia and Clotho. “The male who saved me. Who slaughtered my sister’s murderers.”

Silence. Silence.

Were they afraid of telling her? She wasn’t scared. Every time that night came back to her mind, she always remembered him: his deathly figure and gentle hands; his anger and coldness and his justice. Maybe because he represented the end of all of it – because he pulled her up when she was drowning.

And sometimes she wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or hateful. Yes, he was her savior. But did she deserve to be saved?

Yes, Catrin would scream in her face.

But Catrin was dead, so there was only silence.

“I-”, Elvenia started to answer when Clotho’s pen moved.

The male who saved you is Azriel, the Shadowsinger and Spymaster of the Night Court, it said.

Gwyn read the paper, her movements stiff and slow. Pale as she shouldn’t be; bags under her eyes, broken fingernails, a messy copper-hair and hollow cheeks. Did he save her? Today, it felt like he did and didn’t. In some ways, she was not in this room, but dead on the same floor the others were.

What would he think of that?

She wanted to ask more because it was easier to finish this conversation on a topic that was not her sister or the… pain they forced on her. Perhaps, if she showed enough gratitude she would be released from this situation. People would believe she was fine.

“Why do you ask?”, Elvenia sounded curious – and careful.

Why did she ask, yes. Gwyn just wanted to put a name on a face she would never forget. Azriel, the Shadowsinger and Spymaster, had no idea, but when he arrived in that kitchen and made every soldier – every fucking soldier she hated so much – shiver to their knees, made them whispered in fear, scream and try to run away, made them dead… when he put the cloak around her.

This male had clung to her own self, to her own life. And she wanted to beg him to go back in time and save her sister instead. She wanted to scream and to fight him. Wanted to cry and thank him.

She wanted to be there again and to tell Catrin she should run and hide – help was coming. She wanted to be the one who killed the Hybern soldiers. She wanted to get up and cut their throats like Azriel did. She wanted to be soaked in their blood and not hers.

She wanted that day had never happened. She wanted Sangravah the way she remembered it before: beautiful, peaceful and not enough.

Gwyn desperately wanted to crawl out of her skin; she wanted to be far away from this library. She wanted her life back, her sister and to have never met Azriel. And yet,

Gwyn could break in half of gratitude for she had seen

those dark eyes and dark shadows.

“Are you still with us?”

Elvenia’s voice.

And then Azriel’s voice, her mate’s voice: I’m here for you.

[nestaarcheronapologist]

things that feel like acosf but aren’t