A Court of Song and Shadow: Chapter 3
Eventual Azriel x Reader Sorry for the delay for this chapter, but school and tests demanded my attention this week, as much as i wanted to write.
Chapter Length: 4,334 Words.
(Approximate) Reading Time: 17 min
Pairing: (Eventual) Azriel x Reader, Feyre & Reader, (kinda) Rhys & Reader friendship, general inner circle friendships.
Warnings: canon typical stuff, Nesta being Nesta, the Human Queens.
The month we spent waiting for the Queen’s answer was torture: no news came from our would-be mortal allies this side of the wall, and the days seemed to pass us by with the same speed and excitement of drying paint.
The monotony of waiting for the Queen’s answer was only broken by Cassian’s… lovely visits, in which i would like to think we became relatively amicable with each other, as we’d spend at least a couple of minutes talking during every one of his appearances; though unfortunately, the Illyrian man also endeavoured to drive Nesta up the wall with his comments and glances whenever he showed up at the estate; leaving her hissing and spitting for hours on end after he left.
Although I quite enjoyed Cass’ company, I quickly learned to avoid Nesta on days in which the Illyrian visited, else she’d rip into me the same way she did him.
At the end of the month we finally- finally- received an answer from the Queens, demanding from us the exact geographical location of the Archeron estate; that the meeting start at eleven o’clock precisely; and lastly that all of us, the hosts, be unarmed, though I had a hard time believing any of the three Fae men -or Rhysand’s tall, blonde cousin, called Morrigan, that accompanied their group this time around - could ever be harmless.
It was five minutes till eleven, and we were all waiting in the sitting room in tense silence; Cassian and Azriel leaning almost casually against one of the far walls; Feyre and Rhysand stood near the fireplace a few feet from Mor while Elain and Nesta were standing in anxious silence by the bay window.
I’d chosen to lean in a wall corner, opposite to the Illyrian pair and observing our strange group:
Rhysand’s fitting black clothes and calm demeanour, the dark metal crown shaped like raven’s feathers almost blending into his black hair, his attentive and appreciative glances towards Feyre- and her dress.
Men, I rolled my eyes, and Rhysand’s twinkled towards me with a cheeky wink.
Feyre stood beside the High Lord, much less casual looking than him, but no less beautiful in her revealing, gold accented-white gown and golden diadem that seemed to match Rhysand’s crown.
I could have mistaken her for a Queen, despite her clear nervousness.
Morrigan stood in her gorgeous red dress, fashioned in a similar cut to Feyre’s, though she looked much more natural and comfortable in it than my best friend. The Fae woman kept impatiently tap-tap-tapping her foot on the fluffy carpet in a legato that was, slowly but surely, driving me to madness.
She was probably the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen or would see, even as I stood in a room with the Archeron sisters.
Turning away from the Fae and doing my best to avoid looking in Azriel’s direction, lest i catch his strangely hypnotic gaze, i allowed my eyes to settle on my fellow humans:
Elain, the younger of the pair, was sitting at the bay window, wearing a warm, blush-pink gown that made her look like a fairytale princess in the morning light, while Nesta wore an off the shoulder black gown with blood-red accents that emphasised her steely grey eyes; and with her shoulders squared and her chin held high, she looked like the conquering Queen to Elain’s lovely princess.
I tried not to think about how plain I must have looked in the muted gray I'd chosen to wear, when compared to my companions in the sitting room even though the choice had been deliberate as to not draw undue attention to myself.
Perhaps the Queens would think me a servant of the house if- when they appeared.
At last, when I could not avoid it anymore, I allowed my gaze to travel to the other side of the room, to the quietest of the three Fae men I'd met until now, only to lock eyes with him once again, much as we’d done that night last month.
I couldn’t help my flinch; Azriel’s eyes were beautiful: sharp, hazel and intense, as if he could see right through my soul, into the very essence of me; and i couldn’t help but wonder how Elain could stand to talk to and be stared at by him for hours at a time the way she had done.
I looked towards the fire in a hurry, feeling his eyes finally leaving my form after a few moments.
Now safe from Azriel’s hazel gaze, i watched him from the corner of my eyes and actually took him in as i’d neglected to do so a month back, when all i could think about was Feyre: Azriel was tall, taller than any human man i’d ever met, much like Cass and Rhysand; though he was not as broad shouldered as the other two Illyrians, his physique seeming much better suited for speed and stealth than Rhysand or Cass, who i could easily picture in a brawl.
Azriel also seemed much tense than the other two during both of the times i’d encountered the Illyrian - i’d not seen him actually smile once - which made me wonder if his disposition was really as grumpy as it appeared or if both of the times he’d been here had found Azriel on particularly bad days.
I watched as his eyes strayed towards Mor and lingered.
My brows rose in surprise.
The clock chimed eleven, making me jump, and I caught Cass’ twitching mouth and Azriel’s amused smirk from the corner of my eye; as if my getting startled by the damned clock was just oh-so-amusing to the both of them.
I turned my nose up at the pair.
Jerks. Cass in particular.
At the third chime of the bell, it was as if all the air was sucked out of the room, a scent of iron started permeating the atmosphere and a sudden nausea nearly made me double over.
And the five Queens appeared out of thin air, each of them accompanied by two guards.
The mortal Queens were an eclectic but beautiful mix, much like our group:
The one who seemed like the oldest wore an embroidered dress of the deepest blue, highlighting her wrinkled brown skin and her cold, sharp eyes.
The two who appeared middle aged were opposites: one dark-skinned in a white dress accented by black, one pale-skinned in a black dress accented by white, one sweet faced, one hewn from granite, one smiling and one frowning. They even seemed to move in response to one another, and I wondered about the matching silver bands they wore proudly on their fingers.
Of the youngest two Queens, one was black haired and pale skinned, with eyes like twin voids that surveyed all of us with cunning and calculating eyes, her gown of the deepest black, as if cut from the midnight sky itself.
The youngest of the Queens was the most beautiful of them all: probably thirty at the oldest, she had freckled skin as dark as a stormy sea, with riotous curls like spun gold, both of which only brought out the golden amber of her eyes.
This Queen looked more Fae than human and I forced myself to look away from her, lest I become enchanted by such beauty.
“Well met,” Rhysand greeted as the guards took all of us in, scanned us for the threat we may or may not have been, and observed the room around.
The Queens scanned all of us, but Feyre and Rhysand especially, as our friends stood before them like monarchs in their kingdom.
With a silent nod from the golden Queen, their guards were moving around the room, taking stations by the walls, the doors, the window - forcing Nesta and Elain to move away from their perch to make room for the soldiers but barely glancing in my direction as i stood in the corner of the room.
As Rhys stepped forward, the whole of the Queen’s entourage tensed, as if readying for an attack, as if they could somehow feasibly defend themselves against the magic that these Fae would have at their disposal.
But Rhys simply bowed his head slightly, saying to the five assembled Queens, “We are grateful you accepted our invitation.” The High Lord lifted a brow in question. “Where is the sixth?”
The oldest of the Queens, in her rich and lilting voice, was the one to answer, “She is unwell, and could not make the journey.” She turned her gaze towards Feyre and I tensed as she surveyed my friend up and down. “You are the emissary.”
“Yes,” Feyre said, tensing under the judging gaze of the Queen. “I am Feyre.”
The Queen turned her cold but steady gaze towards Rhysand. “And you are the High Lord who wrote us such an interesting letter after your first few were dispatched.”
I wondered which of the letters she referred to, so many had been sent before they’d deemed to send us any kind of an answer.
“I am,” the High Lord answered with the barest of nods before he reached a hand out to his blonde cousin, who was standing a few feet away. “And this is my cousin, Morrigan.”
The Morrigan strode towards the trio, her gait pure confidence and her dress billowing around her like magic; and I knew- and the eldest Queen knew it too, judging by her envious look- that she was the most beautiful person in the room, if not one of the most beautiful people in the world. She still bowed to the human Queen when she finally stood beside Feyre. “It has been a long time since I met with a mortal Queen.” She spoke.
The Queen clad in full black placed a hand on her bodice in astonishment. “Morrigan - The Morrigan from the War.”
All of the Queens paused in surprise, but I could also find awe- and fear- in their gazes when I observed their expressions.
Morrigan bowed again. “Please - sit.” She gestured to the chairs that had been arranged in a comfortable distance from each other, far enough apart that the guards could flank their Queens as they wished.
In near perfect synchrony, the Queens sat down, though their guards stayed in their chosen posts around the room.
Rhysand, Feyre and Morrigan followed the Queen’s example.
The golden haired Queen smoothed her clothes before turning her gaze to Nesta and Elain and said, “I assume those are our hosts.”
Nesta adjusted her posture, though she made no other show of respect while Elain bobbed a pretty courtesy towards the Queens, her cheeks turning a lovely rosy pink to match her dress.
“My sisters,” Feyre clarified to the Queens.
The golden Queen’s amber eyes turned back to Feyre, her diadem, and lastly to Rhysand and his crown. “An emissary wears a golden crown,” she observed. “Is that a tradition in Prythian?”
“No,” The High Lord answered calmly and smoothly, “but she certainly looks good enough in one that I can't resist.”
I turned to him, not managing to keep the pure, unadulterated disbelief and judgement in my gaze.
The High Lord had the gall to smile at me.
The golden Queen didn’t smile, for her part. “A human turned into a High Fae…” She mused, “and who is now standing beside a High Lord at the place of honour. Interesting.”
Her gaze turned my way, as if finally she’d known I had been there all along. “And you?” She asked, turning her whole torso in my direction.
I tensed.
“That is my best friend.” Feyre answered for me, extending her hand in my direction.
I moved towards her, standing beside her chair and taking her hand in mine briefly, before moving it to her shoulder.
The golden Queen took me in, my lacklustre dress, especially when compared to the rest of our entourage; the way I couldn't quite stop fidgeting as her gaze scanned me from top to bottom, the way i stood protectively behind my best friend, even if there was little i could do here.
I hadn’t been trained since childhood to know how to handle situations like these, not like most of these people, and suddenly I wished to disappear about as much as I wanted to be here as support for my friends.
When i could barely take being scrutinised under her amber gaze anymore, the golden Queen turned away as the eldest’s voice rang out, “You have an hour of our time,” she told Rhys clearly, “make it count.”
“How is it that you can winnow?” Morrigan questioned from where she sat beside Feyre.
The golden Queen gave her a small, mocking smile and replied, “It is our secret, and our gift from your kind.”
I narrowed my eyes, my grip on Feyre’s shoulder tightening slightly from where I stood behind her.
Rhys briefly turned to Feyre before speaking to the Queens, “War is coming. We called you here to warn you - and to beg a boon.”
“We know war is coming,” the oldest of the Queens said, her voice clear and loud through the room. “We have been preparing for it for many years.”
They had?
My hands trembled.
They had been preparing for years? Shouldn’t we have been informed? Shouldn’t we have received reinforcements from the continent long ago, then?
“The humans in this territory seem unaware of the larger threat. We’ve seen no signs of preparation.” Feyre spoke, calmly and clearly.
I wondered if she truly was as calm as she seemed.
“This territory,” the golden Queen started cooly, “is a slip of land compared to the vastness of the continent. It is not in our interest to defend it. It would be a waste of resources.”
My blood turned to ice in my very veins as I felt my knees threaten to give out from under me, the only thing keeping me upright at this moment being the deathgrip I had on Feyre’s shoulder, likely hurting her at this point.
No… they couldn’t - they couldn’t mean that they’d leave our people to die here! Even far removed from the continent as we were, we were their subjects and they had a duty of protection.
“Surely the loss of even one innocent life would be abhorrent.” Rhysand drawled, seeming much too calm for the information we’d just been given.
The eldest Queen folded her withered, soft hand in her lap. “Yes. To lose one life is always a horror.” She nodded agreeably, “But war is war. If we must sacrifice this tiny territory to save the majority, then we shall do it.”
“There are good people here.” Feyre rasped, her hand raising to settle over mine on her shoulder, her grip strong and hurting me, though I barely registered the pain as it raced down my arm.
“Then let the High Fae of Prythian defend them.” The golden Queen answered sweetly, as if she weren’t talking about the massive loss of life that was to come with this war, as if this wasn’t genocide.
My blood boiled and I felt the nausea build even stronger, but it was Nesta who hissed from behind us. “We have servants here. With families. There are children in these lands. And you mean to leave us all in the hands of the Fae?”
The face of the eldest Queen softened, her gaze turning to the oldest Archeron sister in an almost pitying manner. “It is no easy choice, girl-”
“It is the choice of cowards,” Nesta snapped.
Before Nesta could go on, Feyre interrupted the pair, “For all that your kind hate ours… You’d leave the Fae to defend your people?” She questioned.
“Shouldn’t they?” The golden one asked, her beautiful curls cascading over her shoulder when her head angled to the side. “Shouldn’t they defend against a threat of their own making? Should Fae blood not be spilled for their crimes over the years?”
I felt like throwing up; not only would they leave us to die here in the place that was surely to be no-man’s-land in this upcoming war, but they’d also doom innocent Fae and humans alike because of their blindness!
I tried to steady my rising heartbeat, tried to take deep breaths that seemed to never bring me enough oxygen.
“Neither side is innocent,” Rhys countered the Queens calmly. “But we might protect those who are. Together.”
“Oh?” the eldest of them said, her voice mocking as her wrinkles seemed to deepen on her face. “The High Lord of the Night Court asks us to join with him, save lives with him. To fight for peace. And what of the lives you have taken during your long, hideous existence? What of the High Lord who walks with darkness in his wake, and shatters minds as he sees fit?” A laugh, evil and full of derision to my ears. “We have heard of you, even on the continent, Rhysand. We have heard what the Night Court does, what you do to your enemies. Peace? For a man who melts minds and tortures for sport, I did not think you knew the word.”
For a moment, I imagined jumping this woman, this lady who was beautiful only in appearance, and hitting her, though I knew that would help nothing, though I could never bear to hurt another person. Feyre's whole body seemed to become as hot as a lit coal under my hand, threatening to burn me, if only for a moment, and then her flesh became as cold as an ice block under mine.
“If you will not send forces here to defend your people, then the artefact we requested-” Feyre started.
“Our half of the Book, child,” The oldest cut my friend off; I couldn't keep my hatred from reaching my eyes, cursing this woman and her counterparts in my head. “does not leave our sacred palace. It has not left those white walls since the day it was gifted as part of the Treaty. It will never leave those walls, not while we stand against the terrors in the North.”
The terrors? The ones who were coming with magic and weapons that we could not hope to combat without their armies, and would surely take our lands and lives as if they were nothing? No - She could not be serious. Prythian wasn’t the terrors; Hybern was!
“Please,” Feyre said.
Silence met her.
“Please,” she repeated, and my heart broke for my friend, proud and strong and stubborn, forced to beg these detestable women. “I was turned into this - into a faerie - because one of the commanders from Hybern killed me.”
Tears gathered in my eyes; even though she’d told me the story already, just the mention of it hurt me; I couldn't imagine what saying those words might have made Feyre feel.
I turned my hand, gripping hers in an attempt to comfort her.
“For fifty years,” She continued, “she terrorised Prythian, and when I defeated her, when I freed its people, she killed me. And before she did, I witnessed the horrors that she unleashed on human and faerie alike. One of them - just one of them was able to cause such destruction and suffering. Imagine what an army like her might do. And now their king plans to use a weapon to shatter the wall, to destroy all of you. The war will be swift, and brutal. And you will not win. We will not win. Survivors will be slaves, and their children’s children will be slaves. Please… Please, give us the other half of the Book.”
The eldest Queen and the golden Queen shared a loaded glance before saying in a placating manner, “You are young, child. You have much to learn about the ways of the world-”
I could not believe her! She’d just been told my friend had died, had fought in ways I doubted any of these women had ever been forced to and this woman would dare-!
“Do not,” The High Lord said into the suddenly deadly quiet air, “condescend to her.”
The eldest Queen - who would be but a child to Rhysand - had at least the sense to look nervous at his tone. I couldn’t see his face from my position behind Feyre, but I could hear his unforgiving voice as he went on, “Do not insult Feyre for speaking with her heart, with compassion for those who cannot defend themselves, when you speak from only selfishness and cowardice.”
The eldest stiffened, the scowl forming on her face quickly smoothed over by a cold mask of calmness. “For the greater good-”
“Many atrocities,” Rhysand crooned, his voice a seductive caress that had me shivering at the threat I felt in his words, “have been done in the name of the greater good.”
The Queen in blue held his gaze, terrifyingly confident in the face of the man who could be her killer today. She simply said, “The Book will remain with us. We will weather this storm -”
I could have laughed.
“That’s enough.” The Morrigan interrupted, rising to her feet and looking every one of these beautiful, selfish Queens in the eye as she said, “I am the Morrigan. You know me. What I am. You know that my gift is Truth. So you will hear my words now, and know them as Truth- as your ancestors once did.”
The Queens, for once, remained quiet, seeming frozen.
Morrigan gestured towards Feyre. “Do you think it is any simple coincidence that a human has been Made immortal again, at the very moment when our old enemy resurfaces? I fought side by side with Miryam in the War, fought beside her as Jurian’s ambition and bloodlust drove him mad, and drove them apart. Drove him to torture Clythia to death, then battle Amarantha until his own.” She took a sharp breath and I watched, from the corner of my eye as Azriel straightened, his gaze sharpening upon the blonde Faerie. But Morrigan simply continued on, “I marched into the Black Land with Miryam to free the slaves left in that burning sand, the slavery she had herself escaped. The slaves Miryam had promised to return to free. I marched with her- My friend. Along with Prince Drakon’s legion. Miryam was my friend, as Feyre is now. And your ancestors, those Queens who signed that Treaty… They were my friends too.” Morrigan bared her teeth at the Queens, her face, even with that horrid expression, seemed no less lovely than before. “I see nothing of those women in you. When I look at you, I know that your ancestors would be ashamed.”
I flinched as I felt a tear run down my face, realising that I had started crying at Morrigan’s impassioned speech, at her emotional words which I could feel in my bones.
“You laugh at the idea of peace? That we can have it between our people?” The blonde Fae’s voice cracked and once more I caught Azriel’s movements from the corner of my eye: his face remained impassive, though the Illyrian man had subtly shifted to be closer to Morrigan. “There is an island in a forgotten, stormy part of the sea. A vast, lush island, shielded from time and spying eyes. And on that island, Miryam and Drakon still live. With their children. With both of their people. Fae and human and those in between. Side by side. For five hundred years, they have prospered on that island, letting the world believe them dead-”
“Mor,” Rhysand interrupted his cousin as she revealed to us what I quickly realised was a secret that had remained that way since the War.
The golden Queen and the eldest one exchanged another loaded glance.
The ancient one’s clear eyes were bright as she declared, “Give us proof. If you are not the High Lord that rumour claims, give us one shred of proof that you are as you say- a man of peace.”
I felt as Feyre’s shoulders tensed then quickly slumped under my hand, her own finally leaving mine as it fell limply into her lap. I could feel the defeat she felt as if her feelings were my own.
Rhysand rose in one fluid motion, looking every bit a living statue as he did. The Queens mirrored his movements.
“You desire proof?” he asked, his voice cool as a winter night’s breeze, “I shall get it for you. Await my word, and return when we summon you.”
“We are summoned by no one, human or faerie.” The gold Queen simpered.
I wondered if that was why they had made us wait a whole month for a reply on such an urgent matter - simply for some.. Some power play to try and- and show that they were the ones in control; surely- surely not.
“Then we are at your leisure,” Rhysand said, his voice biting enough that the guards of the Queens stepped forward.
I watched as Cassian grinned at them, making some of the men pale considerably and hesitate in their tracks.
The High Lord inclined his head as he added, “Perhaps then you’ll comprehend how vital the Book is to both our efforts.”
“We will consider it once we have your proof.” The oldest one hissed. I imagined myself smacking that awful sneer off her face. Perhaps then she would finally look half as lovely as the Morrigan. “That book has been ours to protect for five hundred years. We will not hand it over without due consideration.”
The guards approached, flanking them. The golden Queen smirked towards Feyre, and said, “Good luck.”
And then they were gone.
And the sitting room, which had been too big and loud moments before, became too quiet.
And Elain sighed and murmured, “I hope they all burn in hell.”
I wheezed as I finally lost my battle to keep my breathing under control.
Feyre caught me in her strong, steady arms as my legs failed me.
