Summary: No one expected you to understand fae customs just yet—much less Illyrian customs. So maybe Azriel should have made his intentions a little more obvious. He began to understand that mistake as you began to pull away.
Word count: 3k
Warnings: Biggest miscommunication trope lol, angst, pining!, idiots in love, Archeron!Reader but really only that she was human and now fae
a/n: I can't believe I actually wrote something finally lol thank you for reading if you're heree <3 This is such a fun trope to read I love it please enjoyyy! (part 2 coming)
Read part two here!
Main Masterlist ♡
~~
You slumped back into your seat, arms crossed over your stomach in a show of frustration you would rather hide. Sometimes, it was easy to pretend you weren’t falling in love with Azriel in a pathetic way. Today was not one of those days.
The Shadowsinger had his head tipped back in a laugh, cheeks tinged a subtle pink as Mor recounted something you couldn’t hear. Well, you could, your new fae ears tuned to every sound, but you’d learned how to block out what you didn’t want. Sound had been the most disorienting sense after you’d been Made, but Azriel had done well in teaching you to hone it.
You wished he had taught you how to tamp down your emotions as well; immortality in the face of longing and jealousy was looking bleak.
Clutching your wine glass in twitching fingers, you directed your attention to Feyre and the babbling Illyrian babe in her lap. Things always seemed so effortless for her in this world, but that wasn’t true, and you knew it. Still, you found yourself envying her mateship and the ease with which love found her. It may have been a journey, but Rhys was clear with his intentions, and the mating bond cemented that.
Even Nesta, harsh and unrelenting as she was, had a sure bond that she could rely on. And then there was Elain, finding her way with Lucien in minute acts that all meant something to both of them. You had tried to chalk your feelings for Azriel up to jealousy or seeking a partner in a paired-up family, but those were surface-level excuses. The way your heart raced in his presence, the spark that lit up your skin each time you touched—those were not symptoms of pure loneliness.
But you were sure he would think it was desperation if you pursued him. He was the only single male out of the fae you knew, and you knew so few people in this world. If you started professing your love for him, waxing poetic about the simple way he smiled, you knew the pitying look of rejection would come soon after. He would wince slightly and run his hand along the side of your head as he so often did, and then he would say that he didn’t see you that way. That you were new and unexciting and a responsibility above all else—his High Lady’s sister that needed help adjusting to life as fae.
He hadn’t exactly shown interest in you. He had been kind and attentive and bordering on adoring, but that was just how he treated his family. You’d seen it. You were not going to be the pathetic little thing chasing after him in the wake of a war. Things were at peace now, and he didn’t need to be bogged down with the toll of rejecting you.
Still, you sighed as you watched him enjoy his night. You bit the inside of your cheek and choked down another glass of the fae wine you could barely stomach. Your sisters asked you questions about your training with Madja, and you answered them, allowing the ring on your pinky to dig into the skin of your palm. When Azriel had given it to you, sliding it onto your smallest finger, you had been elated, feeling light and dizzy with affection. You felt foolish wearing it now.
You couldn’t take it off. Azriel seemed to look for it whenever he saw you, eyes going from your face to your hands as if on instinct. He would touch it sometimes—when he flew you over the city or took things from your hands to carry instead. You would feel his thumb brush the metal embossed with twines of azure stone and think something was there, but then he would offer you a polite smile and simply walk beside you. He would blush and laugh with Mor, but he would only smile with you.
Pity. It was pity, surely.
You had clung to him for weeks after being Made. Something about him brought you comfort in a newly abrasive world, so he allowed you to follow him around and you accepted his touches with greed. It had all been ordered. Rhys had surely ordered his Spymaster to ensure his mate’s sister was properly cared for, but you hadn’t been thinking about the implications at the time, pathetically seeking him out under the pretense of a genuine connection. And sure, Azriel was not cruel. He thought of you as family and cared for you as such. But your feelings were yours alone.
“Shall I take you back? Or would you like to sleep here?”
You startled at the sound of his voice, Azriel suddenly at the back of your chair. The room had dimmed in conversation, with Rhys and Feyre gone to put Nyx to bed and Mor only muttering short sentences in low tones that had Cassian nodding in agreement. Elain had all but vanished from the table, and Nesta was facing the fire to capture its warmth. You had missed the shift as your thoughts ran rampant.
Your chair creaked as Azriel leaned against it, mouth closer to your ear. “Are you alright?”
You blinked and tilted your head slightly to show you were attentive to his words. “I’m fine. Just tired.”
Azriel hummed. “So would you like to stay?”
Staying at the Riverhouse would mean distance from Azriel. And you could walk to the clinic in the morning rather than depending on him to fly you down. That was good.
“Yes. That would be best.”
“I’ll walk you back then.”
He always walked you to your room—all the way there. He never came in, always content to stop at the door, but he never did anything less. Even now, when he would leave for his own room at the House miles away, he was offering to take you down the hall. It was too much. You’d become too much.
“That’s okay,” you breathed out, finally turning your head to look at him. Your faces were only inches apart, and you had to catch your breath at the closeness. “I’ll find my way.”
Something unusual flashed across his expression, quickly righted with a soft smile. “I wouldn’t mind.”
“It’s just down the hall, Azriel. I doubt I’ll get lost.”
He blinked, looking between your eyes before clearing his throat slightly and standing straight. You used the opportunity to push out from the table, trying to ignore his guiding hands. “Right, of course,” he nodded. He looked lost for a moment, standing before you. His wings twitched as you looked over his shoulder to the joining hall. “I’ll—goodnight, then. Sleep well.”
“Goodnight, Azriel.”
~~
Distancing yourself from Azriel after your dinner revelation was not an easy task. You hadn’t realized how much you’d intertwined your life with his, and the realization was enough to make you cringe. He was a whole person with a life before you, and now you were reliant on him for so many things.
So, you tried to make your own way. You stopped asking to stay at the House so you could walk wherever you needed. You asked passersby for directions instead of waiting for Azriel to tell you where shops and restaurants were located. You even tried making friends, talking more with the patrons of the clinic to… be more independent—separate, even, from Azriel and your newly grown family.
You figured he would appreciate the effort. He was probably so tired of guiding you everywhere, of keeping polite smiles on his face as you droned on about your new life and let him fly you around Velaris. And he probably loved that he finally got his overcoat back. He had let you borrow it several weeks ago, placing the Illyrian-forged threads over your shoulders when you asked him to go flying in the middle of the night.
He had told you how much it meant to him that night as he buttoned it up to your neck. His mother had hand-woven it when he came of age, he had told you, and he had saved it ever since. You might not have understood why a coat was of so much importance, but you understood that you were hogging it. That he had let you borrow it on a cold night, and then you had practically commandeered his prize possession. He always insisted you wear it when he would fly you around, but he was just being polite.
The thought grated on you.
“What?” Azriel asked, mouth slightly agape as you gently placed the coat in his stiff hands.
“I—Thank you for letting me borrow it for so long. I should have returned it ages ago. I was being greedy with it,” you tried to joke, pressing it further into his grasp.
Azriel remained frozen. His eyes flicked down to the material now in his hands and then back up to you. “I don’t—I don’t think I understand. You don’t like it?”
A flash of confusion struck you, but maybe he assumed you weren’t going to give it back? “What? No, Azriel, it’s a wonderful coat. Honestly, the softest, warmest thing I’ve ever put on. I just… I know it’s important to you. I’ll wear my own when I need you to take me somewhere. Although I think I’ve been doing well getting around by myself. I’ve been trying to learn Velaris’ layout, and I think I almost got it.”
Azriel finally moved, curling the coat closer to his chest. He wet his lips before shooting his gaze down to your hands. Finding some semblance of an answer there, he nodded once, mostly to himself. “I’ve noticed that. Have you enjoyed exploring the city?”
No. You enjoyed exploring it with him. “Yes, very much. The people of Velaris are very helpful with directions.”
Azriel hummed, rubbing his fingers along the sleeve of the coat. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. I’ll look forward to you enjoying flying again, though.”
“Yes, well, I never stopped enjoying that. I’ll try to space it out more, though—maybe get Cassian or Rhys to lug me around every once in a while.”
“Why?”
An unmistakable inflection of hurt trailed in his tone. Wonderful, now you were offending him. “Oh! Well, just to take some of that off of you. I know you’re very busy, and I’ve needed a lot of help for a long while.”
“Take…what off of me?” he asked, words slow and lingering.
“Um, the responsibility? Again, I know how busy you are. And I know it’s taken me a while to adjust, but I think I've got it now. At least, I’ve got it more than I used to,” you tried joking again, a dry laugh rocking you back on your heels.
“Responsibility,” Azriel repeated.
“Right,” you affirmed. “Now you can spend more time on other things.”
“Such as?”
You clicked your tongue, glancing up at the ceiling as if there were answers there. “I don’t know. What did you do before I was around?”
Azriel’s brows came together. He shook his head slightly as if you were partially insane. “I don’t think… I didn’t think you wanted to talk about that yet.”
Maybe you were partially insane. You thought you were having one conversation, but it seemed Azriel was having another. What did that mean? Maybe his life was far easier before you started forcing him into tasks and stealing his clothes? And you weren’t ready just yet to hear that? He really thought you were unstable then.
You laughed, despite that thought, brushing a hand through the air casually. “Come on, Az. You obviously had a life before me. Multiple lives, if we go on human terms. I’m sure you had several hobbies that didn’t include taking me places.”
And now he looked uncomfortable. Azriel folded his coat onto his arm, and his mouth twisted before he let out a sigh. “There were pleasure houses, obviously. A few relationships, although they do not seem important in the slightest now.”
You choked on air, clearing your throat as Azriel itched his jaw and looked up at the ceiling himself. Nothing was up there, but both of you were sure looking. “Oh,” you squeaked out.
“The relationships are in the distant past. The—well, the casual things are more recent, though nothing after I met you, obviously.”
Your mind was doing flips, bashing jarringly against your skull as Azriel looked at you with an almost concerned discomfort. When you said hobbies, you thought he would share that he used to train more or had a secret joy for puzzles. You had not expected a brief overview of his sexual partners, but Azriel looked about ready to give you a list if you asked. To dive deeper into the topic you were about to melt into a puddle over.
This was what you were really holding him back from, then.
He wanted to go to pleasure houses, but you were taking up all of that time.
When you remained silent, Azriel shifted his weight between his feet. “I know things were different for you. You were human. I’ve learned of the demands and expectations of human women, so that’s why we’ve been going slo—”
Your ears were ringing as he spoke. You clutched your hands together and interrupted him. “Right, yes, different for humans. And not alive as long, obviously. Less time for hobbies.”
“I don’t mind. I don’t care about that,” he offered slowly. You weren’t even sure what he was talking about. Another beat of silence, and then, in the most usure voice you had heard from him, Azriel asked, “Is that okay?”
Was it okay for him to go back to pleasure houses? To seek out intimacy? Who were you to decide that for him?
“Of course,” you blinked, raising a hand to your forehead. “I’m—I’m going to go rest, I think. Long day.”
“Alright,” Azriel simply replied, left standing in the hall.
~~
You missed him, which was terribly awful in the worst ways.
Not only had he made it abundantly clear that he was setting his sights on other women, but he was being extra nice now, probably fearing for the worst now that you were aware he was going to be spending his newfound time… doing other things.
He asked you to accompany him to dinner every night this week. You turned him down each time, but he still asked, a casual hope ringing in his words. He arrived at the Riverhouse every morning, ready to walk you to the clinic even though you assured him you were okay to go alone. He didn’t bring his coat back, but he grabbed your own from the closet by the door and had it open for you on each of those mornings.
And his wings were doing strange things. When you would come to the door, he would spread them just a few inches wider, seeking your eyes as they roved over the exposed veins. He opened them behind you as you walked, almost ushering you closer to him on the streets of Velaris. They seemed to ruffle when he sat beside you at dinner, in the sitting room, when he caught you reading and joined you on the couch. It was almost imperceptible, but the sound was becoming soothing, and that was dangerous.
You were reading too much into things, acting crazy again, and so, you distanced yourself more when you started to notice the patterns. And then you missed him because of it.
He noticed. You were sure he noticed. You could only turn him down so many times before he began to question the change.
“Have I done something wrong?” he asked after two weeks of your eyes flitting away from him.
“What? Of course not.”
“You’re avoiding me.”
“I’m not.”
Azriel took you by surprise then, kneeling by the chair you were nestled into. “You are. Tell me what I did.”
Such a picture of devotion made you squirm. You unraveled your legs from under you and sat eye-level with the Shadowsinger’s form. “Nothing, Az. Remember, I told you I was trying to be more self-sufficient. Give you more time back.”
“Is this because of our conversation a few weeks ago? Because I only told you because it’s important to understand my history as my—”
You quickly shook your head, not wanting another recount of his love life. Not when you weren’t part of it. “Nothing like that, I swear.”
Cassian chose that moment to enter the small library, a decision that was both your downfall and eventual salvation, as time would reveal.
“Nothing,” you quipped, feeling Azriel’s eyes still glued to your face as it heated and turned to Cassian. “What are you doing here? Feyre said you were at the camps until next week.”
“Yeah, well, got sick of the camps,” he replied, brow raised when Azriel reluctantly rose from the ground and stiffly turned.
“Glad you’re back then.”
“Thanks for the warm welcome, sweetheart.” Cassian kicked back into a far chair, the air still heavy. “Anyone have plans tonight? I feel like going out.”
Azriel cleared his throat, fingers flexing with shadows that twined between them. “I believe Mor is going to Rita’s. But I have… business tonight.”
“Business, huh?” Cassian smirked, flicking his gaze over to you in a quick motion.
“Cassian,” Azriel warned, but it was too late. Something ugly and hot gripped your throat, making it impossible to swallow.
This was it. This was what you wanted. He was finally free from you, and his words tonight were only a semblance of guilt for leaving you when you asked him to. But it wasn’t fair to hold him in your grasp when he didn’t want to be there. When you were a duty to him.
He needed to know that it was okay to move on from the responsibility of you, so you steeled yourself and swallowed down the searing pain in your chest that felt like it was yanking at you when you were resolute in your next words.
“Sorry, Cass, I’m not free either. I’m going on a date.”
Summary: Azriel and you have been friends for centuries. For just as long, you’ve hid your feelings. But a recent development slowly pushes you to your breaking point. Azriel calls it casual. To you, it’s everything
Warnings: ANGST, allusions to sex, Az is a bit of a bonehead here but we’ll fix it dw.
Azriel rolled off you, landing on the empty spot next to you in the bed. You looked over to him, catching your breath, the rapid rise and fall of his chest matching yours. His eyes met yours, and you felt a blush creeping up on your cheeks, as if he was a small crush in the marketplace rather than someone who had just made you see the heights of pleasure.
“Had fun?” You asked, a smile creeping up on your face.
He looked over at you, rolling his eyes.
”Wonderful, as always.” He teased. His eyes trailed over the length of your body, covered only by a thin layer of your sheets. The sunlight of the late morning crept in from your balcony window, illuminating the twinkle in his eyes. You had to look away, entranced by the beauty of him. Here, in your bed. Lying here with him like this, it was easy to pretend. The world narrowed to the two of you in this room, together. Here, your past no longer haunted you, there was no trauma, no secrets, no pain. If you closed your eyes and focused on the way his bare arm brushed yours and the breathing from right beside you, it was as if all was as you imagined.
“I have a light workload today. I was thinking I could take Elain to the marketplace, or through the River House’s garden for a walk.”
The cocoon shattered. For just a moment, your breath caught in your throat, and a surge of shame and embarrassment rushed through you, down to your fingertips. Quickly, you grabbed a hold of yourself.
“Are you…sure that’s a good idea?” You asked, trepidation heavy in your tone.
“Why not? I’ve been busy recently. I’m sure you’ve noticed,” he justified. “I wouldn’t want her to feel neglected.”
Ugly jealousy coursed through you, and you had the sudden urge to be alone.
You took a deep breath, willing your racing heart to control itself. “It’s just that Lucien will be in the city for dinner in two days.”
Defensiveness filled his expression, and you feared that perhaps you had made a mistake.
“So?” he started. “I’m not afraid of Lucien, Y/N.”
“I know that, but he’ll likely want to see her. You don’t want to start anything. Rhys will be unhappy. Maybe wait until after his visit.”
“Why are you being like this?” He asked. “Lucien can’t force her into anything, and I’m not going to refrain from seeing her just because of her so-called ‘mate’ visiting.”
You forced a teasing tone into your voice, trying to keep the mood light in spite of the knot in your stomach. “Az, he is her mate.”
He was silent for a moment, contemplation heavy in his voice. He rolled over onto his side, facing you. His wings shifted, and the sheet covering him from the waist down moved slightly. You forced your eyes up to meet his.
“What if…what if the Cauldron was wrong? What if he isn’t her true mate?”
Your eyes widened slightly. “Azriel.”
“I know. I know what you’re going to say, Y/N. But I just can’t help but feel like he doesn’t deserve her. She’s a Cauldron-made seer. He’s just an emissary.”
That sent a jolt through you. Just an emissary. In the logical part of your brain, you already knew that you weren’t necessarily special. At least, not in comparison to your chosen family in the Night Court. Feyre the Cursebreaker. Lady Death. The Shadowsinger. The Seer. And you were just an emissary. To your home court of Day that you once fled in fear, no less. You tried not to let that comment simmer in your brain for any longer.
“Doesn’t it make sense that she should be with someone else, someone who’s as exceptional as her?” he continued on. “She deserves better.”
He didn’t even seem to notice the effect those words had on you, the shock they sent through your system. For someone so observant, he never seemed to notice such things about you. Not with the comment he made, and certainly not with the fact that he was lying naked next to you, lamenting about his desire for another woman. You used to think him lowering his inhibitions so fully around you was a sign of his comfort. His innate relaxation in your presence, reflecting your own feelings. Recently, you’ve wondered if it was just a manifestation of how little he cared.
But Azriel loved you. If not in the way you’d hoped for, then as a friend. As a member of this family.
Didn’t he?
”Azriel, she has a mate.”
“I know that, but…”
“But nothing, Az,” you stressed. “You may want her, but it’s not a mating bond.”
Azriel remained still, but his wings shifted slightly. A tell of his exasperation. You always knew of his tells. You knew him better than anyone.
“Y/N, you wouldn’t understand. Mating bonds are difficult,” he sighed. “I should go.”
Azriel shifted up into sitting, silently as ever. The mattress dipped slightly as he turned his back to you, his wings dragging off to the side of your bed. He stood, and the emptiness of the other side of the bed was reflected in your chest.
“You’re right,” you said quietly.
But you knew about mating bonds. Knew them quite well, really. You knew what a mating bond felt like when a mate didn’t want you, and you felt for Lucien. He would take Elain any way he could have her, just as you did for your mate. Even if it hurt, even if it left your insides bleeding and yearning.
He paused his motions just slightly, as if sensing the poorly masked fatigue in your voice. Your gaze fixed on the sheets twisted between your fingers, unable to look up at his form moving about your space.
”I’ll see you later. Family dinner, tomorrow night?” he asked.
“Right. See you then.”
_____
You couldn’t really pinpoint when it started. The physical affair between you and Azriel had been unexpected, and you didn’t know exactly what it stemmed from. Loneliness, maybe. At first, you held out a little bit of hope that it would grow into something else.
“You’re not being serious, you did not.”
“I am not. I spilled wine all over him. It was mortifying!” You burst out laughing, and Azriel followed suit, the drinks flowing between you.
The two of you sat in the House’s study, illuminated only by the hearth in front of the room. The untethered mating bond hummed in your chest, filling you wholly with warmth. On a night like this, laughing with him sitting so close, it almost seemed silly to keep it a secret from him. He felt like home. Like the two of you belonged.
“I’m lucky that the High Lord of Day is such a flirt. He took no offense, and instead offered that I assist in bathing him.”
Azriel let out a barking laugh, inhibitions down in a way that made your cheeks heat. “Of course.”
The laughs died down, and for a moment the two of you just stared at each other, smiles lingering on your face. You couldn’t recall who moved first, but after another breath his mouth was on yours, and his hands wandered in places he had never dared touch before.
Through the haze of it all, a spark of joy burst within you. The mating bond sung within you, and fulfillment took over you in a way you’d never known before. It was happening, you’d thought. Finally.
Afterwards, the two of you lay in his bed, your head on his bare chest. His wing was underneath you, and warmth engulfed you from the tips of your fingers to your toes.
He was with you, and he was happy. It was an unconventional start to a relationship, but nothing about you and Azriel had ever been normal.
“I’m glad we can be like this, Y/N. Some…relief. No strings.”
Something within you broke, and the warmth of the mating bond grew cold.
“What are you thinking about?” A voice came from behind you, breaking you out of the memory.
You turned in your seat in the House’s kitchen to see Rhys approaching.
“Nothing, really.” You replied, taking a sip of the tea in front of you, Rhys taking a seat in the chair to your left. “Just thinking.”
”Hmm.” The High Lord started. “Does this have anything to do with a certain spymaster escorting my sister-in-law to the marketplace?”
You shot him a warning look. That bastard. “Rhys.”
“You can’t keep it a secret forever, Y/N. It isn’t fair to either of you, and I can only warn him off Elain for so long.”
Rhys learning of your mating bond had been a freak incident, the result of him catching onto a longing gaze last Solstice. He had agreed to keep it a secret, and to let you deal with it in your own way. You’ve had more than your share of men taking choice from you, and Rhys was not inclined to add to that list.
However, that didn’t stop him from meddling. He took every opportunity to encourage you to shout your bond from the rooftops, whether mentally at family dinners or through surprise check-ins. More recently, he had been more active in his intervention, barring Azriel from pursuing Elain. He claimed it was to prevent the Blood Duel. But from the moment Azriel relayed those events to you, you had seen right through it.
“I do not need you to warn him off Elain for me, Rhys. A mating bond will hardly change who he wants.”
“How do you know that?” Rhys stressed. “It can change everything. He deserves to know.”
The two of you have this conversation at least once every fortnight. It always ended the same way.
“Things would not change, and there is no point burdening him with a mating bond he will surely abhor.”
”It is not a burden. And you must know Azriel would never see you that way. It is a gift, to be mated to someone who is already so dear to your heart. One kiss, Y/N, could change everything.”
You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath and counting to ten. Letting the silence sit for a moment, you prepared yourself before speaking again.
“We have…done more than kiss.”
A beat passed between the two of you, before you spilled the details of the last eight months to Rhys, who watched with poorly contained shock. His eyes sat wide, and his mouth hung open. For the most powerful High Lord in Prythian, one could observe his ability to resemble a fish.
“This has been going on for nearly eight months,” Rhys repeated slowly, “And still he chases after Elain so brazenly?”
”He has never led me to believe this would grow into a romance. Any hopes are my delusion.”
Rhys covered his face with his hands, letting out a deep sigh, “It is not delusion. It is a natural response to a mating bond.”
“Perhaps, Rhys. But there is nothing I can do.”
Your fingers curled around the warm porcelain of your teacup.
“Nothing I wish to do,” you corrected, tone softening. “I do not want a mating bond that exists solely because he feels obligated to me.”
”You cannot truly believe that Azriel would see you as an obligation.”
”I think,” you said, “that if the Mother had some plan for him to joyously accept our mating bond, he would not leave my bed in the mornings with plans to pursue another female.”
—-
Family dinner was delicious, as always.
The aroma of perfectly roasted lamb and beautifully seasoned potatoes lingered throughout the River House, as empty plates signalled a meal well-enjoyed. Elain’s cooking was wonderful, but an ugly part of you couldn’t help but feel the weight of envy taking root in your chest.
Is there anything she can’t do?
Around the table sat you, Rhys, Amren, Cassian, Feyre, and Mor. Wine flowed generously as you discussed plans for a meeting with Lucien and Eris tomorrow. As a fellow Court emissary, you would be in attendance, so you did your best to focus on Rhys’ talking points despite the wine buzzing in your system. Luckily, your two most likely distractions were not here. Elain had excused herself to bed hours ago, and Azriel had left just moments ago to recon with some spies he had placed in Autumn. The table felt lighter without them here. All night, you had sat through Azriel sitting to the right of you, staring holes through Elain. It had been an effort not to burst out sobbing right there in front of everyone.
Recently, that had become a familiar feeling.
After seemingly hours of listening to Rhys drone on, making mental notes for later, you excused yourself to your room. You opted to crash at the River House, too weary to winnow to the House of Wind. Besides, you figured that a change of scenery might do some good. A futile attempt to chase the peace that had evaded you all week.
It didn’t matter that you’d be down the hall from Elain. You had no reason to be angry with her. Not really. She didn’t control Azriel’s overwhelming indifference to you. If he wasn’t focused on her, it would be Mor. Or someone else who met his standards. Someone special and outstanding and worthy.
Just an emissary.
Walking down the halls of the River House, you pondered on a future for yourself. Would you spend the rest of your life pining after a man who would never view you romantically? Would you ever tell him about the bond, wrecking a 200 year friendship and tying him to you in a way that could only lead to his misery?
The thoughts ruminated in your head until you heard the unmistakable rumble of Azriel’s voice.
Soft and low. Gentle in the way he speaks to you when you lay beneath him and you could pretend.
You looked up, eyes setting upon a slightly ajar door, moonlight filtering through.
Azriel’s room.
Your feet moved before your brain caught up to you. Rushing towards the doorway, you stood in the space of the open door before you truly knew what was happening. There stood Azriel and Elain, his arms just barely grazing upon her waist. They stood close, lips about to touch in a stance that you had been in with him just two nights prior.
Something was tearing in your chest. You tried to keep quiet.
But Azriel was an observant male. It was his job. Maybe not in the sanctuary of your bed, but certainly when he was tasked with protecting something as precious as Elain. His head snapped towards you in the doorway as if a fawn coming upon a faelight. His eyes widened slightly as he met yours.
The moonlight caught the gold flecks in his brown eyes, and the sight of them made your own vision blur with sudden tears. And all Azriel did was stare.
One moment he stood frozen, his form blurry through your watery vision. The next, he jumped back from Elain as if her touch had burned him. His gaze never left yours, though his expression shifted to something raw, something almost terrified. It was a jarring change, especially for a male so stoic and controlled. Some instinct deep within you recognized the strangeness of his expression.
His shadows surged forward from the corner of the room, wrapping around his form. They curled up his back, peering over his shoulders towards you. His gaze never left yours, and Elain’s eyes shot rapidly between the two of you, confusion painting her beautiful face.
It was then that you felt it. A tug deep within your chest, reaching down into a place that you knew all too well. Something strong and ancient thrumming within you. Light surged in your soul. Never in your life had you imagined a fulfillment like this. As if the centuries of your life had been black and white, and now you’d seen the colors of the sky for the first time.
The sensation flooded your body, bright and overwhelming, dimmed only by the absolute fear and shock that spread throughout your body. The look on Azriel’s face matched the war happening within you.
Oh gods. He knew. He knew.
Another tug pulled through you. Then another. The silence of the room was overwhelming, and you willed him to say something. To get it over with. To reject you. To end it. But all he did was stare.
“Y/N,” he rasped out, voice heavy. “You…”
You couldn’t do this. Couldn’t bear the words he would inevitably say. The disgust he would regard you with.
The bond tugged once more in your chest. Azriel’s wide, wild eyes were on you.
You turned and ran.
—-
Two weeks.
You’d successfully avoided Azriel for two weeks before the inevitable confrontation. For his part, he had stayed away from your meeting with Lucien and Eris. Immediately afterward, you had left for Dawn to meet with Thesan. An emergency alliance negotiation.
In your mind, it was a blessing from the Mother. Perhaps a small act of repentance after the stunt she pulled revealing the bond to Azriel.
The journey back to Velaris felt far heavier than the one that had taken you away. Dawn had been bright, orderly, predictable. Everything that Velaris couldn’t be until you had settled this with Azriel.
Winnowing to the House of Wind, you headed straight for the kitchen, intending to grab a cup of tea and hide away in your room.
”You’re back.” The voice came from behind you.
The male had an innate talent for silence.
Mother help me.
You took a slow breath, then another. It was time, you supposed. You turned to look at him, wanting to memorize the exact details of his beautiful face. Once he rejects you, would you ever see him this closely again? Could you bear it?
“I’m back,” you said, keeping your voice light, moving towards the kettle on the counter.
Azriel stared at you intently, unspoken emotion deep within his eyes. As if he too, had been anticipating this moment. Dreading it.
Neither of you spoke. The silence stretched between you, thick with everything that had gone unsaid for two weeks. His eyes stayed heavy on you.
He finally broke the silence, tension laden in his voice. “You knew. Didn’t you?”
Your eyes slid shut “I did. I’ve known for almost a hundred years.”
The memory hit you hard.
“How’s the lemonade?” Azriel asked, taking a sip of his own in the chair across for you.
“You were right, this is delicious. Best I’ve ever tasted,” you took another sip of the sweet liquid, “How did I not know about this place?”
“It’s one of Velaris’ many hidden gems. You could live here for years and not know of every treat.”
“Well, I suppose I have much to learn.”
A laugh burst out of him, and you his eyes. It was full and deep and brought heat to your cheeks. His large form, wings brushing along the floor, seemed almost comical in this small, intimate cafe. For a moment, you just watched him. His beauty.
Warmth filled you, and you felt something snap within your chest. Like a key slotting into a lock, something had slid into place within your soul. Your mouth dropped open slightly, and all you could do was blink.
“You ok?” He teased. “Missing the Day Court?”
Your hands trembled slightly from the shock of the revelation. “I’m fine. Just…enjoying the lemonade.”
You gazed up at him, and his expression held shock, betrayal, a hint of anger. “A hundred years? You have known of this for that long?”
You nodded once, fixing your gaze somewhere over his shoulder.
Azriel leaned back slightly, as if the distance might help him process what you had just said. If anything, it only heightened the tension between you two.
“I-” he paused, swallowing before continuing. “Why have you not told me, Y/N?”
“I wanted to, at first. I didn’t wish for you to be disappointed, I suppose.”
He gawked. “Disappointed?” He took two steps closer to you, a smile barely there on his face. “Y/N, I am far from disappointed. I am…elated. But I cannot understand why you’ve hidden this so long.”
Your breath stopped. He took another step toward you. You tried to calm the panic in your brain. This is not what you were expecting. Not how you’d envisioned this moment at all.
”You don’t understand?” You parroted, a mocking tone creeping into your voice. He stood so close to you now you could see the faint crease between his brows, the tension in his jaw.
Something soft crept into his voice. “You truly believe that I would be disappointed to learn that the Mother chose you for me?”
Your laugh came out brittle. Disbelief flooded through you at his words. “The Mother may have chosen me for you, but you have never chosen me, Azriel.”
”What?”
You laughed again. Surely, anyone walking by would think you mad.
”When this bond snapped for you, you were ready to kiss another female, Azriel!”
”So this is about Elain?” He exhaled slowly. “Y/N, that was a misunderstanding. I believe she might be my mate.”
”She has a mate!” You were shouting now, your voice rising despite yourself. An overflow of emotions betraying you. In the past, you’d always thought this moment would be defined by his anger, his emotions towards such a disappointing pairing by the Mother.
“I understand the timing was awful. I’m sorry.”
”You’re sorry,” you deadpanned.
Azriel shook his head, speaking slowly. “I know…I know that I have failed you in many ways. And I can understand why you wouldn’t have told me.”
He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. It was a stark change from his usual directness. Your hands shook slightly, tears welling up in your eyes.
”Please. Please don’t cry, Y/N.” He sounded desperate, pained.
“So what happens now?” You posed. “Elain is not your mate, which anyone with half a brain could have told you.”
”Now you are my mate. Everything has changed, darling.”
”Don’t call me that.” Gods, why couldn’t you stop the tears? They streaked down your face, staining your cheeks. “Nothing has changed.”
Azriel only gaped at you. “How can you say that? We are mates. Elain does not matter.”
”Doesn’t matter?” It was your turn to stare at him like a fish out of water. “You have no feelings for me. And I am not interested in you pretending to care for me.”
”I- I would not be pretending.” He stuttered.
You stepped back immediately.
“Yes, you would,” you argued, insistence heavy in your tone. “Two weeks ago, you lay with me in bed and told me that you wish to be mated to another!”
You had to shut your eyes before continuing. “Do you think that I don’t know you? I have watched for two centuries how you look at women that you actually want.”
“I want you.”
”Because of the bond,” you shot back.
”No,” he said without hesitation. “Don’t say that.”
A bitter breath escaped you, “What would you have me say, Azriel? For hundreds of years, you have looked at every female but me. And when you finally-“ a sob cut through your words. “When you finally touched me, and I had hope, you broke that trust. Stress relief, isn’t that what you said?”
He flinched at the words. “I did not mean to imply-“
”You implied nothing. You said it quite clearly.”
”I thought you were happy with our…arrangement. You never asked for more.”
”So you assumed that I was happy with just sex while you pined for another?” You let out a scoff at that. You were being petty, you knew. But you found that you didn’t care. This was uncharted territory.
You’d never imagined that you’d be the one with the power in the situation. Here he was, and he seemed as if he wanted you. Desired you. But that couldn’t be right. There was no way. He was only trying to do right by you.
“Azriel,” you continued, “You have never desired me romantically. Physically, clearly. But do not stand here and lie to me.”
His shadows peered at you from over his shoulder, and his brow creased slightly with effort. As if he had to work to hold them back from you. “I am not lying to you. I have never lied to you, Y/N.”
“But you still do not love me.”
Azriel huffed. “How can you say that? You are my mate!”
”But you do not love me!” Your voice raised again. “This is why I never told you about the bond.”
”It isn’t like that,” Azriel tried, anguish heavy in his voice. “Please, let’s sit and we can talk about this.”
”There is nothing to talk about.” You sniffled, hand moving to wipe a tear from your cheek. “And we’re stopping our little…arrangement, if it wasn’t clear.”
”Ok,” he nodded, frantically. He moved to take your hands into his. “How about this? We’ll start over. No past.”
You shook your head, sniffling. “No, you don’t understand.”
His expression fractured. “Tell me then. Help me understand how to fix this. We’re mates. And that means something to me, Y/N. It can mean something to both of us. We just need time. I know I was awful to you. And inconsiderate.” He lowered his forehead down to yours, and you felt a tear drop from his cheek to yours. “Let me fix it. I’ll do whatever you want.”
For years, you dreamed of this moment.
”We cannot be together, Azriel. I won’t be your second choice.”
”You would not be my second choice. Never. We are mates.” He stressed.
”But that is the problem,” you stressed. “The bond has chosen me for you. But you would never do so.”
“That isn’t true, Y/N. The Mother has linked us. And that means something to me. We can figure this out.”
Gods, you couldn’t do this. Couldn’t face him as he attempted to placate you.
Here was Azriel, a male that you had dreamed of loving you since the day you met him. And now he was telling you he wanted you. As a mate. As a lover.
You broke out of his hold, maneuvering your hands away from him, “I spoke to Rhys before I left for Dawn. I’m moving back to Day.”
He froze. A beat of silence passed between you, then another. “What?”
A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think! :)
Summary - Feyre was a High Lady. Nesta was a Valkyrie. Elain was a Seer.
And she was the sister the Cauldron ruined and forgot.
Invisible in a family of legends, haunted by nightmares no one noticed, she learned to stay quiet... to expect nothing.
Except Azriel noticed. The Shadowsinger who never spoke too much saw everything—her pain, her loneliness... and the bond between them she didn't even know existed.
When the world decides she is the easiest one to break—Azriel will make them suffer for it.
A/n - As always content warnings will be at the start of each chapter, so please be sure to read them before continuing.
This is my very first Archeron sister fic! For the sake of the story, I've had to make the sisters a little harsh at times but that's purely for plot reasons, not an invitation to throw shade at them x
Expect healing, found family vibes, and basically an overlooked girl x quiet boy kind of story. There will be heartbreak, angst and eventually fluff :)
Please don't hesitate to vote or comment along the way, it truly means the world to me <3
Azriel x reader
fluff / domestic intimacy / teasing / hurt-comfort
Tired of watching Azriel run himself into the ground, you storm into Rhys’s office and emotionally blackmail the High Lord into giving your mate a week off.
Azriel returns home exhausted, suspicious, and entirely too amused by the chaos you caused for him.
Rhysand was already annoyed before you even slammed the office doors open.
The sound cracked through the river house loudly enough that Cassian glanced up from the couch with immediate interest, the sharpening stone stilling against the dagger in his hand while Amren sighed over her book like your entrance had personally ruined her morning.
Rhys merely leaned back in his chair with the slow patience of a male who already knew he was about to lose an argument.
“No,” you said immediately.
“Good morning to you too,” Rhys replied dryly.
“No,” you repeated, striding across the office. “You are not sending Azriel back out again.”
Cassian’s mouth twitched.
Rhys folded his hands atop the desk. “There are problems at the Illyrian camps that need handling.”
“That’s not true.”
One dark brow lifted.
“You just want to send your best warrior to glare at everyone until they remember how to behave.”
Amren snorted softly into her wineglass.
Rhys pinched the bridge of his nose. “That is, unfortunately, part of handling the problem.”
“He’s exhausted.”
The amusement faded from his face then, if only slightly, because he knew it too.
Azriel had spent weeks flying between camps and borders and meetings, carrying half the Night Court on his shoulders with that same quiet endurance he carried everything else. He came home later now. Spoke less. Slept less. Even Cassian had started looking concerned.
And Azriel, of course, had said absolutely nothing about it.
“He would never ask for a break,” you continued, crossing your arms. “So I’m asking for him.”
Rhys exhaled slowly. “You know the timing is difficult.”
“Oh, spare me,” you said, throwing your arms in the air.
Cassian outright grinned now.
You pointed accusingly at Rhys. “You’ve worked him into the ground.”
“I have not—”
“You absolutely have.”
Rhys opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Cassian coughed into his fist to hide a laugh.
“So,” you said sweetly, “you are giving him a week off.”
“A week,” Rhys repeated flatly.
“A full week.”
Rhys stared at you. “Do you know how much work he handles in a single day?”
“Yes,” you replied without hesitation. “That’s exactly why I’m asking for seven of them.”
Amren smirked over the rim of her glass.
Rhys drummed his fingers once against the desk. “Do you realize the amount of chaos you’re asking me to deal with while you two disappear into domestic bliss?”
You leaned closer across the desk, crossing your arms with all the confidence of someone about to make a truly unreasonable offer.
“I’ll babysit Nyx for a week.”
For a moment, the entire room went silent before Cassian burst into laughter loud enough to echo off the walls.
Rhys blinked once at you. “You want to keep my son during your vacation?”
“No,” you said immediately, sounding genuinely horrified. “After.”
Cassian nearly slid off the couch laughing.
Rhys looked at you for another long second, like he genuinely could not decide whether to be offended or impressed. “You’re trying to barter childcare for my spymaster.”
“Yes.”
For a heartbeat, he simply blinked at you. Then laughter finally broke from him too, rich and disbelieving enough that even Amren looked mildly entertained now.
“You are unbelievable.”
You smiled sweetly. “And yet deeply persuasive.”
“You’re manipulative,” he informed you, though there was no real irritation left in his voice anymore.
“You raised me.”
“That is not remotely true.”
You waved a dismissive hand. “Close enough.”
Rhys shook his head slowly, still laughing under his breath as he leaned back into his chair. “Five days.”
“Seven.”
His eyes narrowed immediately. “You’re impossible.”
“You owe me.”
That finally made him pause.
Cassian’s grin sharpened instantly.
Rhys narrowed his eyes. “What favor?”
Your own smile turned positively wicked.
“Oh, don’t pretend you forgot.”
Rhys already looked wary enough that Cassian immediately sat up straighter, clearly sensing entertainment.
“You were sixteen,” you said casually, “and you broke one of your father’s study windows sneaking back in at night—”
Cassian barked a laugh.
“—so I told your father it was me.”
Rhys groaned loudly enough to throw his head back against the chair. “Mother save me.”
“You said you owed me.”
“I was a child!” Rhys snapped.
“And now you’re High Lord,” you replied smoothly. “Look how beautifully things worked out.”
Amren was openly smirking now.
Rhys threw up a hand in outrage. “You’ve been waiting years to use this against me.”
“Absolutely.”
“I should have let Uncle kill you for that window.”
“You cried. Like a big baby,” you snorted.
Cassian made a strangled sound somewhere between a laugh and choking.
Rhys looked deeply offended. “I was emotional.”
“You were throwing up from fear,” you said through a laugh.
Cassian collapsed back against the couch laughing hard enough that even Amren muttered, “Pathetic,” into her wineglass.
Rhys glared at all of you with the exhausted suffering of a male betrayed by his own court.
“You are all cruel.”
You smiled brightly. “I want Azriel home by tomorrow morning.”
Rhys held your gaze for another long moment before finally waving a hand in surrender.
“Fine.”
Victory surged through you so fast you nearly laughed.
“You’re the best cousin anyone’s ever had,” you declared proudly.
Rhys stared at you over the edge of his desk with the exhausted expression of a male who had ruled an entire court for centuries only to somehow still lose arguments to you specifically.
“I regret every moment of your existence.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“No,” he admitted dryly after a beat, waving a dismissive hand toward the door. “Unfortunately.”
—
Snow drifted softly beyond the balcony the next morning while pale winter light spilled across the river house in silver ribbons.
You were halfway through making tea when shadows curled suddenly across the balcony doors.
Your heart leapt instantly.
Azriel had barely landed before you were moving toward him.
He only had enough time to straighten before you collided into him hard enough to rock him back a step, your arms wrapping tightly around his neck while cold air and cedar and night clung to him.
A soft laugh escaped him the moment you collided into him, warmer than you had heard in weeks.
“There you are, sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling you tightly against him like he could not quite get close enough fast enough.
Gods, you had missed him.
You clung tighter as his arms slid around you automatically, warm and solid and achingly familiar. His wings tucked close behind him while he buried his face briefly against your hair like merely breathing you in eased something inside him.
Then he kissed you.
Slowly at first, his mouth brushing yours softly before he did it again, deeper this time, exhaustion and relief and quiet longing all tangled together.
When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, one hand firm against your waist while his thumb traced absent circles there.
“What have you done this time?”
You blinked up at him innocently. “Nothing.”
Azriel huffed a quiet laugh. “Sweetheart, that face usually means Rhys is about to develop a headache.”
You gasped softly. “You wound me.”
“I know you,” he replied, warmth threading through his voice in a way that only made your grin worse.
“Rhys said you weren’t needed at the camps anymore,” you said quickly before he could continue interrogating you.
Azriel went still for half a second before one brow lifted slowly. “Oh, did he?”
The amusement in his voice deepened immediately, smooth and deeply skeptical now, but you ignored it completely and grabbed his hand before he could start asking dangerous questions.
“You have a week off.”
That finally made him stop moving altogether.
“A week,” he repeated carefully.
“A full week.”
Now he was openly suspicious, his shadows curling around your shoulders like they too were waiting for an explanation while he studied you with growing amusement.
“You managed to convince Rhysand to give me a full week off,” he said slowly, sounding like he was piecing together evidence at a crime scene, “and I’m supposed to believe you did absolutely nothing.”
“Yes.”
Azriel held your gaze for another long moment before the corner of his mouth finally curved.
“That’s deeply concerning.”
Rhys strode past moments later with a cup of coffee in hand, looking entirely too composed for someone who had been emotionally blackmailed less than twenty-four hours earlier.
“Good to see you home, brother,” he said smoothly as he passed. “Please enjoy your time off with your mate.”
You immediately shot him a warning look that very clearly said shut up.
Rhys’s mouth twitched.
“You’ve been working so hard,” he continued innocently to Azriel, entirely ignoring you now, “I wouldn’t want her to feel neglected.”
Azriel looked between the two of you slowly, suspicion giving way to realization piece by piece.
Then he laughed.
The sound was low and warm and rare enough that your chest tightened painfully at hearing it again, especially when genuine amusement finally softened the exhaustion lingering beneath it.
“You threatened the High Lord for me?”
“I negotiated.”
Rhys snorted loudly into his coffee.
Azriel’s eyes gleamed as he pulled you closer against him, his hand settling more firmly at your waist while his shadows curled lazily around your shoulders like they were just as entertained as he was.
“Remind me,” he murmured near your mouth, “to thank you properly later.”
Behind you, Rhys gagged dramatically.
You didn’t even bother turning around. “Go away.”
Rhys left laughing under his breath, though not before throwing you one deeply entertained look over his shoulder.
The moment Rhys disappeared down the hallway, silence settled softly around the house again, broken only by the crackle of the fireplace and the distant murmur of Velaris waking beyond the windows.
Azriel was still watching you.
He didn’t look suspicious exactly. If anything, the quiet amusement lingering in his eyes was somehow worse, because it meant he already knew you had absolutely caused problems and was simply waiting for you to admit to them voluntarily.
You moved back toward the kitchen with deliberate innocence and reached for the kettle again, though you only got as far as touching the handle before shadows curled around your wrist, gentle and insistent.
You glanced over your shoulder.
Azriel stood a few feet away, snow still dusting the dark shoulders of his leathers while exhaustion lingered beneath the gold and green of his eyes despite the growing amusement there.
“What did Rhys bargain away?” he asked.
You snorted softly. “His dignity, mostly.”
That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, but he kept watching you in that steady, patient way that made lying to him feel almost impossible.
Almost.
You sighed dramatically before turning fully toward him. “Fine. I may have reminded him that he owed me a favor.”
“And what favor exactly did you use to convince the High Lord of the Night Court to part with his spymaster for an entire week?”
You grinned. “Classified.”
His shadows drifted curiously toward you, brushing around your ankles like smoke.
Azriel stepped closer then, slowly enough that you could have moved away if you wanted to.
You never did.
“How angry were you?” he asked quietly.
The humor faded from your face at the softness of the question.
You looked down briefly, fingers tugging absently at the sleeve of your sweater before muttering, “Pretty angry.”
Azriel said nothing after that, and you hated when he did this—this quiet patience, this unbearable way he simply waited until you gave him the truth willingly because he knew eventually you would.
“I know there are actual problems,” you admitted after a moment. “I know your job matters.”
“It does.”
“But Rhys keeps sending you because everyone listens when Azriel shadowsinger walks into a room looking murderous.”
A quiet exhale left him, not quite a laugh.
“And?”
“And I’m tired of everyone acting like you can endlessly carry things just because you don’t complain.”
The room fell quiet after that.
Outside, wind rattled softly against the balcony railings while Velaris carried on below, distant and glowing beneath the snow.
“You shouldn’t have spent your favor on me,” Azriel said at last, the quietness of his voice making your chest ache instantly.
There it was again.
Not embarrassment. Not annoyance.
Something far worse hidden carefully beneath restraint, wrapped so tightly into his composure most people mistook it for strength.
You crossed the remaining distance between you without hesitation.
“I’d spend worse things for you,” you replied softly.
Azriel’s hand tightened around yours so suddenly it almost hurt.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. He simply looked at you with that terrible quiet intensity of his, like he still never quite knew what to do with being cared for so openly.
Then Azriel looked away first.
Your heart ached at the sight.
“You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” you whispered.
Something flickered across his face, quick enough most people would have missed it entirely.
Not you.
Never you.
“I’m alright,” he said automatically.
You stared at him flatly. “You fell asleep standing up last week.”
“That happened one time.”
“Azriel.”
A pause stretched between you before he finally sighed.
“…Maybe twice.”
“You walked into the bedroom door yesterday.”
“It was dark,” he replied with complete seriousness.
“You are literally made of shadows.”
Another pause.
“...It was very dark.”
Despite yourself, you laughed, and the corner of Azriel’s mouth curved faintly at the sound.
Now that he was home, now that the constant tension of duty had loosened even slightly, you could finally see how exhausted he really was. His shoulders remained stiff beneath the leather of his clothes, his wings slower to settle behind him than usual while even his shadows drifted lazily around the room with a strange sluggish softness, like they were tired too.
When your fingers brushed his hair back from his forehead, his eyes closed immediately, his body reacting before his mind could stop it, like gentleness itself had become permission to finally stop holding himself upright through sheer force of will.
That hurt more than anything else.
“You need food before you pass out,” you said quietly.
One eye opened slowly. “I’m not going to pass out.”
“You nearly fell asleep while kissing me on the balcony.”
“That could have been very romantic, my love.”
“It would have been if you weren’t swaying.”
A quiet laugh escaped him then, warm enough to make your chest tighten all over again.
Before he could argue further, you grabbed his hand and started dragging him toward the dining room.
Azriel followed immediately, not even pretending to resist.
Halfway down the hall, you stopped suddenly to grab a blanket abandoned over the back of a chair, and Azriel nearly walked directly into you before catching himself at the last second.
You turned slowly toward him.
“…Are you aware you’re following me around like a particularly dangerous housecat?”
“No,” he replied far too quickly.
“Liar.”
The corner of his mouth twitched while one of his shadows curled smugly around your wrist like it agreed with you entirely.
The dining room was already occupied when you entered, warm light spilling across the long table where Cassian lounged with enough food for six people spread before him, Nesta seated beside him with her coffee while Feyre bounced Nyx lightly on her knee near the far end of the table.
Rhys looked up first, and the moment his gaze landed on the two of you, a deeply entertained smirk spread across his face.
“Oh, this is fascinating.”
You narrowed your eyes immediately. “Shut up.”
Cassian glanced between you and Azriel once before his own grin widened into something outright dangerous.
Azriel had stopped directly behind your chair, close enough that the front of his chest brushed your back when you pulled the seat out for yourself, one hand still loosely holding yours while the other rested absentmindedly against your waist.
He did not seem remotely aware he was doing it.
Cassian absolutely did.
“Did the bond break his survival instincts,” he mused aloud, “or has he always followed you around like that?”
Azriel gave him a flat stare.
Cassian only grinned wider. “You know she’s not going to disappear if you stop touching her for five minutes.”
As though realizing it only because it had been pointed out, Azriel’s hand shifted slightly against your waist, though he still didn’t move away.
You bit the inside of your cheek so you would not smile.
Rhys looked delighted by the entire thing. “Oh, he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.”
“Rhys,” you warned.
Feyre was openly laughing now while Nesta hid a smirk behind the rim of her coffee mug.
Cassian leaned farther back in his chair, looking genuinely fascinated. “This is unbelievable. The terrifying shadowsinger returns from weeks of missions only to become—”
“If you finish that sentence,” Azriel interrupted calmly, “I’ll throw you into the Sidra.”
Cassian pointed triumphantly across the table. “See? He means it now because she’s here.”
Nyx giggled loudly at absolutely nothing.
Traitor.
Before the conversation could devolve further, you shoved a plate toward Azriel. “Eat.”
“I can serve myself,” he replied automatically.
“And yet you aren’t.”
Azriel looked down at the plate for a moment before glancing back at you, and then, to the visible horror of everyone at the table, obediently started eating.
The entire room went silent.
Cassian looked genuinely alarmed.
“Who are you,” he demanded, “and what have you done with our Azriel?”
You smirked quietly into your tea while Rhys leaned back in his chair with the air of someone suddenly remembering far too much childhood blackmail material.
“You know,” he mused lazily, “when we were children, she once chased me through the entire house with a fork because I made fun of her braid.”
“It was a very hurtful comment,” you replied.
“You chased me for twenty minutes.”
“And I’d do it again.” You threatened him with your fork.
Azriel glanced toward Rhys thoughtfully. “I believe that.”
Cassian barked a laugh while Rhys looked scandalized all over again.
“You’re encouraging her.”
“Oh, she doesn't need me at all,” Azriel replied smoothly.
You smiled sweetly at him.
Azriel’s hand settled absently against your thigh beneath the table. Not possessive, not deliberate, just there, like some instinct in him needed the reassurance of contact now that he was finally home.
Your heart softened at the feeling.
The conversation drifted around the table after that, easy and warm and mostly filled with Cassian complaining dramatically about training recruits while Nesta ignored him with the patience of a female who had heard this exact speech twenty times before.
Azriel barely spoke after that.
At first, you assumed he was simply listening while the conversation carried on around him, but then you started noticing the smaller things: the slight delay before he answered whenever someone spoke directly to him, the way his eyes kept drifting half shut whenever the conversation moved away from him for more than a minute, the way his thumb had gone completely still against your leg beneath the table.
Rhys noticed a second later, and you saw it happen in the subtle sharpening of his expression as amusement quietly gave way to assessment while he studied his brother more carefully.
Azriel blinked slowly once, then again, exhaustion finally beginning to win its battle against sheer stubbornness.
Without really thinking about it, your fingers slid gently into his hair and brushed the dark strands back from his forehead.
The reaction was immediate.
Azriel’s eyes closed completely beneath your touch, his body softening for the briefest moment like instinct had overtaken awareness before he could stop it.
Silence settled around the table.
Not awkward silence. Not dramatic silence. Just the sudden stillness of everyone realizing at the same moment how exhausted he truly was, because Azriel never relaxed like that around people and certainly never let himself look tired enough for anyone else to notice it.
Your fingers continued slowly through his hair while his breathing deepened almost imperceptibly beside you, his head tipping the slightest bit toward your touch before realization finally caught up to him.
His eyes opened immediately.
Embarrassment flickered briefly across his face, subtle enough most people would have missed it entirely.
You did not.
And judging by the expressions around the table, neither had anyone else.
Cassian was staring openly now while even Nesta’s expression had softened slightly. Rhys looked like someone had quietly punched him in the ribs.
“He’s exhausted,” you said flatly before anyone could speak, your tone making it very clear that you were not inviting commentary from anyone at this table.
Cassian’s expression lost all humor immediately.
Rhys leaned back slowly in his chair, guilt flickering briefly across his face before he masked it again, while Azriel looked vaguely like he wanted the floor beneath him to split open entirely.
So you squeezed his hand once beneath the table before saying with complete casualness, “Anyway. Bath.”
Feyre immediately choked on her tea.
Cassian looked delighted again within seconds.
Azriel blinked at you slowly. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
Rhys actually laughed into his coffee while Cassian pointed dramatically across the table.
“See? Terrifying. Absolutely terrifying.”
“You’re all exhausting,” Azriel muttered, though the faint color still lingering high on his cheeks ruined any real intimidation.
Feyre smiled brightly. “You love us.”
Azriel looked at her for a long moment before replying in a perfectly deadpan voice, “…Debatable.”
Nyx giggled loudly from Feyre’s lap like he personally found Azriel hilarious.
You stood, taking Azriel’s hand before he could decide to pretend he was fine for another hour. He followed you from the dining room with very little resistance, though Cassian’s voice immediately trailed after you both.
“If she throws you in the bath fully clothed, blink twice.”
Azriel didn’t even bother turning around. “If she decides to kill me, no one here is stopping her anyway.”
“Noted,” Cassian called back. “I’ll start planning your funeral.”
You rolled your eyes, though Azriel’s fingers tightened briefly around yours, faint amusement flickering down the bond before fading again by the time you reached the sitting room.
Without another word, you reached for the siphons strapped across his chest.
Azriel glanced down at you, one brow lifting slightly as your fingers immediately started working at the leather buckles. “What exactly are you doing?”
“Disarming you.”
“I’m not a threat.”
“You are, the second someone mentions work.”
That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, though he stayed perfectly still while you unbuckled the straps one by one. After a moment, Azriel finally let his arms loosen fully at his sides in silent permission, watching you quietly the entire time.
The siphons glimmered softly as you placed them onto the nearby table beside Truth-Teller.
The second your fingers wrapped around the dagger, his shadows recoiled dramatically like you had personally offended every single one of them.
“Don’t start,” you warned.
One immediately curled possessively around the hilt anyway.
You narrowed your eyes at it. “Oh, so now you care about workplace safety.”
Azriel huffed a tired laugh, low and warm enough that your chest tightened at hearing it again.
You carried the dagger toward the mantel and placed it high enough that he would actually have to make an effort to retrieve it later before turning back toward him with narrowed eyes.
“Upstairs.”
Azriel immediately looked suspicious. “Why do I feel like I should be concerned?”
“Because you should be.”
One of his shadows vanished down the hallway ahead of you both without hesitation, like it had already decided whatever you were planning was an excellent idea.
You pointed after it triumphantly. “See? Even they agree with me.”
A dangerous glint entered Azriel’s tired eyes then, low and warm enough to send heat curling through your stomach despite yourself.
“If your plan involves getting me out of these leathers,” Azriel murmured as he stepped closer, his voice dropping lower while his gaze dragged slowly over your face, “you could have simply climbed into my lap and asked, sweetheart.”
The look in his eyes nearly undid you, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing just how much that voice affected you.
So you rolled your eyes with as much dignity as possible while pushing firmly at his chest toward the staircase.
“Move,” you ordered, even as your face betrayed you completely.
Azriel barely resisted, which honestly worried you more than if he had.
Usually, he would at least pretend to argue.
Instead, he only shot you a slow, lazy grin that said he knew exactly what kind of effect he’d just had on you before allowing you to shove him toward the staircase without further complaint.
His shadows curled lazily around your ankles as you led him upstairs, one occasionally nudging against your heel like it wanted you to hurry up and put their ridiculous male to bed already.
The bathroom slowly filled with steam while you rummaged through cabinets gathering oils, salves, and clean cloths. Behind you, leather hit the floor piece by piece until the room finally fell quiet.
When you turned around, your chest tightened.
Bruises mottled his ribs in deep violet and yellow while thin cuts crossed his shoulders and abdomen, half-healed already thanks to fae healing but still fresh enough to tell their story clearly. His wings hung lower than usual too, not badly injured, only overused in the way muscles looked after being pushed far beyond exhaustion.
Azriel noticed your expression immediately.
“It looks worse than it is,” he said.
“That sentence should be carved onto your grave someday.”
A quiet snort escaped him, though his eyes stayed fixed on you as you crossed the room again, watching the anger flicker briefly across your face before gentleness replaced it entirely.
Your fingers brushed lightly across one of the cuts near his shoulder, the touch so careful it almost hurt to look at.
Azriel inhaled softly at once, his eyes lowering to your face while that familiar look crossed his expression again, the one that always seemed caught somewhere between tenderness and disbelief, as though he knew your softness by heart by now and still could not quite understand how it belonged to him.
You guided him toward the bath with surprising ease for someone handling the Night Court’s deadliest male, and the second he sank into the steaming water, a low exhale escaped him so involuntarily it almost sounded startled, like relief itself had caught him off guard.
“There he is,” you murmured softly.
Azriel opened one eye slightly. “Who?”
“The male I threatened a High Lord for.”
A tired smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he let his head fall back against the edge of the bath again.
You knelt beside the tub and began gently washing blood from his skin while silence settled comfortably around you, warm and intimate beneath drifting steam and candlelight.
Azriel watched you the entire time, not speaking, just looking at you with that same quiet intensity that always made your chest ache, like some part of him still could not fully understand how someone could love him this gently and mean it.
Your fingers eventually slid through his damp hair, combing the dark strands back from his forehead while tension slowly left him piece by piece beneath your touch.
“You know,” you said quietly, “you’re allowed to rest before you collapse.”
“Mmm.”
A small smile tugged at your mouth. “Use your words, sweetheart,” you teased softly, stealing one of his own favorite lines.
Even exhausted, Azriel cracked one eye open just enough to give you a knowing look, desire flickered low beneath your ribs.
Then, after a small pause, he finally muttered, “I know.”
Something in your chest twisted painfully at the admission.
You moved behind him then, carefully lifting one wing enough to inspect it properly, and Azriel tensed instantly beneath your hands with pure instinct.
Your fingers stilled immediately.
“It’s okay,” you whispered softly.
The tension slowly eased.
Wing membranes shimmered darkly beneath the candlelight, tiny tears and strain visible along the strongest parts from too many hours spent flying without proper rest. Your fingers moved gently while you spread healing salve carefully across the damaged skin, and Azriel’s head tipped back against the edge of the bath, eyes sliding shut again.
The sound that escaped him when your nails lightly scratched near the base of his wing was dangerously close to a groan.
You froze instantly.
Azriel’s eyes opened at once, heat flashing there despite the exhaustion weighing them down.
“That,” he said hoarsely, “is unfair.”
A slow smile curved across your mouth. “Oh? The terrifying shadowsinger finally has a weakness?”
Azriel narrowed his eyes slightly, though the effect was ruined entirely by the way his wings had twitched beneath your hands.
“You know exactly what you’re doing.”
“Maybe,” you admitted lightly before dragging your nails along the sensitive spot again just to watch his breathing hitch.
Azriel swore softly under his breath.
Your smile widened immediately. “Gods, you’re easy.”
His shadows stirred restlessly around the room while Azriel looked back at you over his shoulder, his expression equal parts exhausted and heated.
“You are enjoying this far too much.”
“You make it very enjoyable.”
A rough laugh escaped him then, low enough to send a shiver down your spine.
“You’re cruel.”
“And yet,” you murmured while smoothing more salve carefully across his wing, “you’re still sitting very still for me.”
That earned you another one of those dangerous looks, slower this time, heavier somehow despite how tired he clearly was.
“Love,” Azriel warned softly, “if I wasn’t half asleep already, this conversation would be going very differently.”
Heat climbed immediately into your face, which only seemed to amuse him more.
Barely.
Because a moment later his eyes drifted shut again almost helplessly, exhaustion finally dragging him under faster than he could fight it.
Your heart cracked quietly at the sight.
So you kept tending his wings while snow drifted softly beyond the windows and the rest of the world faded farther and farther away.
At some point, your wrist began to ache from holding his wing at the careful angle you needed, and you shifted your grip so slightly you barely noticed it yourself.
Azriel noticed anyway.
His eyes opened halfway, heavy and unfocused, but his hand still found your wrist beneath the steam. He drew it gently away from his wing and pressed his mouth to the inside of it, a slow, absent kiss that felt more instinct than thought.
“You’re straining your wrist baby” he murmured.
You blinked at him. “Azriel.”
His eyes were already drifting shut again.
“I’m allowed to take care of you too.”
“You’re barely conscious.”
A faint hum escaped him. “Didn’t stop me noticing.”
The words were so soft, so entirely him, that you had to swallow around the ache rising in your throat before carefully returning your hand to his wing.
“Ridiculous male,” you whispered.
His mouth curved faintly, but a breath later he was gone again, sinking deeper beneath exhaustion as your fingers continued their slow, careful work.
Minutes passed. Maybe longer.
Eventually, you realized Azriel had gone completely still.
You leaned slightly around his shoulder and found him asleep.
Actually asleep.
Your throat tightened instantly.
Even then, even unconscious, his brows faintly furrowed when you shifted beside him, like some stubborn part of him still resisted rest on instinct alone.
Gently, you brushed damp hair from his forehead.
“Finally,” you whispered.
Azriel slept through drying off only halfway gracefully and absolutely refused to fully wake when you guided him toward bed afterward. He leaned heavily into you the entire time, one arm wrapped loosely around your waist while his wings dragged tiredly behind him.
“You’re bossy,” he murmured sleepily against your shoulder.
“You love it.”
“Mmm,” he hummed, eyes still closed. “Unfortunately.”
You laughed softly as he collapsed face-first onto the mattress moments later, wings spreading across nearly half the bed while one arm immediately reached toward where you stood beside him, like even half asleep he was still searching for you automatically.
Beautiful male.
You only meant to grab an extra blanket from the nearby chair, but the second you stepped away, Azriel made a quiet dissatisfied sound in his sleep and reached blindly across the bed after you, brows pulling together faintly when he found empty sheets instead.
Your heart nearly stopped.
“Alright, alright,” you whispered, climbing back beside him immediately.
The moment you settled beneath the blankets, instinct took over completely.
Azriel moved toward you at once, one powerful arm wrapping tightly around your waist before dragging you flush against his chest with surprising strength for someone barely awake. His face buried automatically against your throat while his hand spread across your back, fingertips flexing once against your spine like he needed to physically reassure himself you were there.
Even asleep, he kept pulling you closer.
One leg tangled with yours beneath the blankets while his wings shifted instinctively around the bed, curling slightly toward your side like they, too, were trying to keep you near.
The bond between you pulsed warm and drowsy beneath your skin while snow drifted quietly beyond the windows.
Then, already half asleep again, Azriel pressed a slow kiss against the sensitive spot beneath your jaw before murmuring softly against your throat, “You make me forget I’m tired.”
The words hit like a bruise straight to the heart.
You turned carefully within his arms just enough to press a kiss against his temple.
“Good,” you whispered.
A sleepy hum vibrated against your skin while his fingers slowly traced once along your spine, more instinct than conscious movement now.
Then, voice low and rough with exhaustion, Azriel brushed his mouth slowly against your throat before murmuring against your skin—
“Tomorrow,” he promised softly, “I’m going to pin you beneath me and remind you what happens when you spend an entire evening teasing my wings, sweetheart.”
---
a/n : this piece was so fucking funny to write because i’ve had this exact vision of exhausted azriel for MONTHS 🤭
i don’t know if they’ll become a full series necessarily, but i definitely want to keep writing little glimpses of them because their dynamic has completely taken over my brain at this point.
Okay this is kind of a broad request, and plz feel free to take the parts you like (if you want ofc) and run with them.
I’m like an ABSOLUTE sucker for an injured reader. Exhausted reader. Reader who absolutely needs to be cared for. Reader who is physically unwell to the point that those around her are mentally unwell, and then reader that’s upset she made others upset and she’s a mess. If you’d be interested in writing literally anything along those lines for any acotar guy or any poly acotar ship I would eat it right up.
I was read your requests for high stake hurt/comfort and I think this should be good? If not plz ignore lol but sometimes I just love a damsel in distress.
Love you!! MWAH
one damsel in distress coming right up 🫡
Azriel x fem!reader found in the snowy Illyrian forest [1.4k words]
CW: hypothermia, discussion of near-death/dying, possibly incorrect treatment of hypothermia, mating bonds, hurt/comfort
Azriel will find the time to be ashamed about his actions later, but right now his steps falter as he tries and fails to understand what he’s looking at.
He knows exactly what you are though, knows exactly what the violent burst of golden warmth that rattled in his chest the moment he laid eyes on you means; it’s a feeling he’s been praying to experience for centuries.
You’re his mate.
What his faulty, ill-equipped brain is having trouble comprehending is what you’re doing here and how Azriel came to stumble—almost literally—upon you in the dense, snow-covered forest in the Illyrian mountains on the brink of death.
You’re not Illyrian; Azriel doesn’t even think you look like you’re from the Night Court at all.
But you’re his mate.
He’s your mate, yet Cassian is the first one to shake himself out of his shock at finding a nearly frozen fae in the Illyrian wilderness. The Illyrian General moves towards your unconscious frame.
“Don’t touch her,” Azriel growls, his mouth moving faster than his brain for once in his life.
Cassian gives his brother a bewildered look.
Thankfully, it spurs the shadowsinger into action.
He’s on his knees beside you in a heartbeat. In a heartbeat of his own, at least; your pulse is dangerously—lethally—slow and weak.
“Azriel?” Cassian cautions, taking a few tentative steps towards the heap that makes up your lifeless body and Azriel’s hands hovering over it.
Azriel tries to respond, but the breath that leaves him is nearly sob-like. “M- mate.”
“Azriel.”
“She’s my- she’s my mate, she’s my mate. My mate.”
Cassian curses under his breath and rips off his top layer of Illyrian leathers, the one he wears for chilly flights in the high altitudes.
Azriel doesn’t have time to fuss about you being bundled up in another male’s clothing, nor that you’re going to reek of his brother now, and the thought of Cassian flying home without any protection from the north-chilled wind doesn’t even cross his mind as he quickly wraps you in the fabric, not even bothering with arms holes and the like.
“Go,” Cassian commands, bending to pick up your jacket—that you seem to have peeled off your frame in your hypothermic state—and giving it a sniff, trying to figure out how you got here and who did this to you.
“But-”
“I’ll be fine, Rhys is coming to get me and Feyre’s collecting Madja. Go.”
Azriel tucks you tightly into his chest and dissolves into his shadows.
Rhysand seems to have spurred the House into action at Cassian’s silent call. Azriel can hear the bathtub in his bedroom running and smells a pot of lavender tea coming to a boil in the kitchen.
He nearly flattens Morrigan as he barrels into his bathroom—her and Nesta having quickly arranged a pile of towels a mile high and placed some clothes that look like they more-or-less will fit you once you’ve warmed up—and barely manages to kick his boots off before he’s lowering the both of you into the room-temperature water.
Azriel curses, the water feeling bitterly cold as he sinks into it fully clothed with you in his arms, but you gasp as the water saturates your clothing, face screwing up in pain.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry, you’re okay. You’re going to be okay,” he murmurs into your temple, slowly unravelling you from Cassian’s jacket to help submerge you further into the tub. You let out a choked sob.
“Out,” Madja orders the two females, Morrigan immediately complying and Nesta shooting you a concerned glance and Azriel a warning one before quickly following. The ancient healer lowers herself to her knees beside the tub and feels for your pulse before moving her fingers to your pointed ears.
“How long has she been in the tub?”
“Maybe a minute,” Azriel replies.
“You need to submerge her more. Lay her back so that her head is floating.”
The order is blunt and Azriel doesn’t think he’s ever heard a thing so cruel, but he’s just found you and he’ll be damned if he loses you to the cold.
“Shadowsinger-” Madja warns at his hesitation, but Azriel does as told.
Your entire body tenses, arms immediately reaching out and fisting the material of Azriel’s leathers. He leans forward, hovering over you and holding you close to his chest while still keeping your ears beneath the surface.
He focuses on consoling you, holding your shaking frame tightly to his chest as Madja drains some of the tub and adds warmer water.
“Burns,” you whisper, teeth chattering and giving away how cold you still are.
Azriel focuses on not snapping at the healer as her hand shoves between the two of you and she feels for your pulse again.
“Please.”
Azriel considers pulling you out of the water now that you seem lucid enough to beg him for reprieve, but Madja grabs Azriel’s shoulder and pushes him back towards the water when he tries to sit up.
“She’s experiencing vasomotor failure, Shadowsinger. She’ll have no recollection of this conversation.” The healer turns the tap to add more hot water as she chastises him. “Rhysand told me you found her without her jacket. That is called paradoxical undressing which is a result of muscles that had once been constricting blood vessels becoming exhausted and failing, releasing blood back to the extremities and causing the victim to feel hot. It is the final stage of hypothermia; take her out of this water and her chances of survival plummet.”
All that leaves Azriel’s lips is a desperate, devastated please. He doesn’t know who he’s begging; Madja to save you, you to stay with him, or the Mother not to take you from him.
Madja’s hand leaves your frame and pats Azriel’s shoulders. “She’s shivering again, Shadowsinger; that’s a good sign.”
The treatment continues and Azriel remains silent; it’s easier to do now that you’re no longer begging him, but he’s wildly uncomfortable that you’re unconscious. The only consolation is that Madja is still here, still working, which means she’s got faith in you and your growingly steady pulse.
Eventually, Madja deems you warm enough and drains the tub, forcing Azriel to look at the ceiling as he helps her rid you of your soaked clothing and dress you in the warm layers Nesta and Morrigan provided for you earlier.
Azriel’s carrying you into his bedroom where he finds Feyre and Rhysand speaking in hushed tones behind the sofa that they’ve pulled towards the lit fireplace, pillows and blankets warmed by the fire piled up and waiting for you to be bundled into.
“Azriel,” Feyre gasps, watching the spymaster as Rhysand pulls back the bedding for him to tuck you in.
Like in the forest, Azriel finds himself on his knees before you, ensuring you’re adequately tucked into the heavy quilts yet still within the flames’ radius of heat. His hand shakes as he moves to brush some damp hair from your temple.
Feyre dries the strands easily with a wave of her hand.
“What do you need?” she asks, and Azriel’s face crumbles as he lowers his head to the edge of the couch cushion, his hand remaining on your blanket clad shoulder.
Rhysand’s warm hand lands on Azriel’s own shoulder. “You need to eat, brother.”
“I can’t leave her,” he responds instantly, never raising his head.
“I’d never ask you to.” Rhysand’s hand tightens. “Get changed, Az. Get into something dry, I’ll get you something to eat.”
“Can-”
“And I’ll make sure there’s something here for her when she wakes,” Rhysand agrees, knowing exactly where his brother’s mind went. “Get changed.”
Azriel spares one more look at your sleeping face—your cheeks and lips having far more colour in them now than when he found you—before standing and doing as told. He keeps his attention on you, his ears locked in on the even tempo of your heart, the long, deep pulls of air you inhale, and the rise and fall of your chest against the fabric you’re surrounded by.
Azriel doesn’t bother with the chair beside your couch, instead lowering himself to the floor and resting his back against the arm of the sofa, wings shifting awkwardly as he makes sure not to disturb you.
Two bowls of stew appear on the low table before him a few moments later, and Azriel makes himself comfortable as he eats his serving and waits for you to come to.
content warnings: pure fluff with a sprinkle of smut (wingplay, 18+)
a/n: seriously this is pure sap i'm sorry
word count: 9.6k
synopsis: Azriel had spent his entire life wishing for this—for you.
my masterlist
~ ~ ~
When Azriel found his mate, he was terrified.
You were everything he wasn’t.
Sweet. Gentle. Soft.
You wore your heart on your sleeve, and Azriel had never been good at handling delicate things. If he held on too tight, squeezed just a little too hard, he was liable to shatter anything precious in his vicinity. He was still racked with nerves any time he visited his mother, still sick with anxiety every time he held Nyx.
Now there was you, who looked at him with so much hope and unfiltered adoration that he could hardly breathe. He probably should have left you alone, but not even he was strong enough to ignore the way your soul was threaded through his. He still remembered the first time you touched him, the way you were the first to break from the stupor of a fresh mating bond, and gently curled your fingers around his wrist.
Azriel knew then that he was a goner.
Now he was standing next to you on the front porch of his brother’s home, listening to your heart beat erratically in your chest. You were nervous—you had said as much—and he couldn’t blame you. He was nervous.
He watched you for a moment. The way your eyelashes brushed the tops of your cheeks as you closed your eyes, the way your breath curled in the air as you let out a little puff. The flecks of snow that clung to your hair, melting slowly in your warmth.
Azriel felt like one of those snowflakes.
He wished he knew how to comfort you. He seemed to have the annoying tendency to freeze up around you. Any ability to form a coherent sentence seemed to flee his mind when he got too close to you, when he thought about you. He was fortunate enough that you didn’t seem to notice, or, if you did, you never mentioned it.
Azriel was flustered around you.
You were everything he ever wanted, and he was so worried about losing you, about messing this up in some way, that he overthought everything he said and did. He was so used to moving with absolute confidence—not necessarily in himself, but in what he was meant to say and do. He knew what was expected of him, but now, with you? Now he was desperate and infatuated and—
Your hand slid into his, your cold fingers entwining with his scarred ones, and Azriel’s spiral grinded to a halt. Your eyes met his, wide and nervous and eager. Your lips pulled into a small smile, your hand squeezing his as if his touch, his presence, was enough to ground you.
“This is fine,” you said, nodding to yourself as you glanced at the wooden double doors. Your gaze flicked back to him, the warm faelights surrounding the door making your eyes twinkle, and Azriel had to remind himself to breathe. “You’ll stay with me, right?”
Azriel blinked, his mind lagging as he processed your words. One of his shadows bumped into the back of his head, before spiraling down to wrap around your entwined hands, and Azriel felt his entire body turn warm. He squeezed your hand, his heart skipping when your smile widened into a grin. “Of course I will,” he answered softly.
You bit your bottom lip briefly, a nervous habit of yours, Azriel had noticed. He was entirely certain you had no idea how endearing, how alluring, the tiny motion was—how the darkened skin of your lips when you released the delicate skin tormented him. He wanted to kiss you. Every fiber of his being wanted to tug you close and press his lips to yours, but then doubt crept in and darkened the momentary haze that engulfed his senses.
He wanted to go at your pace. He needed to go slow. Azriel had taken plenty of lovers, but he had never had a partner, and he was quickly learning that this came with an entirely new facet of intimacy he was a stranger to. A form of intimacy so vulnerable it left him rattled—gentle smiles and grazing of hands, chipping away emotional walls he had built centuries ago.
Azriel shifted just a little closer, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. Everything about you was intoxicating. Your scent was sweet, like brown sugar and vanilla. Azriel thought at first it was because of the long hours you spent in your bakery, but he had decided that it was just you. Your eyes crinkled at the edges, some of your nerves dulling as the two of you stared into each other's eyes, and Azriel couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his own lips.
Then the door flew open, the hinges creaking slightly with the abrupt motion, causing the two of you to flinch. You curled into Azriel’s side, your hand still clutching his as your arm pressed flush against his, and he had never felt so much pride as he did then, knowing your instincts were to lean on him.
He glared at Nesta, who stood in the doorway with cool and narrowed eyes. Her lips pursed as she took the two of you in, and he felt you go rigid underneath her gaze. “Nesta,” he snapped, his spine prickling with irritation.
Her eyes dragged to his, her lips pulling up into the smallest smirk, and he knew then that this was her version of teasing. “Be glad it was me,” she drawled, stepping back to hold the door open further. She raised her brows expectantly, and Azriel sighed as he glanced at you. Your nerves were back in full force, and yet it was you who smiled hesitantly, and took the first step through the threshold.
Nesta shut the door behind the two of you, the heavy wood shutting with a soft click. Azriel helped you out of your coat, his skin buzzing as your smile turned bashful when his fingers curled around the lapels.
“Cassian is practically chomping at the bit,” Nesta warned, her gaze tracking Azriel as he put your coat and scarf in the closet.
“Wonderful,” Azriel murmured.
When he turned back around, you were still standing there in the foyer, your hands fidgeting at your sides as you took in Nesta. “Hi,” you said, a wide smile breaking out on your face as you gave a small, adorable wave that you promptly dropped. He watched your throat bob, your heart once again pounding in your chest. “I’m Y/N.”
Nesta, thank the Mother, smiled back. “Nesta,” she returned, her icy tone thawing a bit. “We’ve heard a lot about you, Y/N.”
Azriel’s face went hot as you glanced at him. “Oh,” you said, uncertainty lacing your words, “All good things, I hope?”
Nesta scoffed, waving away your worry. “The way Az talks about you—you would think you hung the moon and stars.”
Azriel’s face was molten now, but his embarrassment was entirely worth it to see your shoulders relax and your grin brighten into one unmarred by nerves. It was worth it to feel your joy radiate down the bond, a pulse of euphoria that made his mind fuzzy.
He expected you to follow after Nesta, and he sent you an encouraging smile as you watched her walk down the hall. Instead, you turned toward him, grabbing his hand in both of yours, and you pulled him with you after Nesta.
Azriel felt like he was floating.
~ ~ ~
That night, after bidding his family goodbye and freeing you from their incessant questions, and himself from their relentless teasing, the two of you walked side by side along the Sidra. Azriel had offered to winnow you home—or fly you—but you refused. You always refused those offers, and Azriel never pushed, but part of him wished you would let him, just once.
It was admittedly nice to slow down with you, though. The water trickling along the Sidra was louder in the quiet of the night, at least on this side of the city. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, his wings were nestled tight against his back, and he was begging his shadows not to swarm you. You were close enough beside him that your arm brushed his every so often, every accidental graze making his heart leap and his shadows buzz.
Then you stopped, the gentle click of your footsteps abruptly halting. You grabbed Azriel’s arm before he could really even react, dragging him back a couple of steps so he stood in front of you. “Are you okay?” he asked, his heart rate immediately picking up.
You smiled softly, a smile unlike any of the others you had passed around to his family tonight, and he liked the thought of you having a smile just for him. “I’m fine—Az.” His cheeks reddened at the familial nickname you clearly picked up on. “I didn’t know you liked to be called that,” you added softly, a question hidden in your words.
Azriel shrugged. “Rhys and Cas have called me that since I was a boy.”
You nodded, looking out at the water behind him. “Your family is really nice—close.”
Azriel felt like there was something you weren’t saying, something you were holding back, and suddenly all of his earlier anxiety came rushing back. “They are,” he agreed slowly. “They can be a little much at times—I know that. I’m sorry if—”
“Azriel,” you interrupted gently, your hand squeezing his arm. “They did nothing wrong.” Then with a smaller smile, “I had a good night.”
He could feel the ache in his chest radiating through him, and he was fairly certain that at least some of that was coming from you. “Tell me what else you’re thinking,” he urged gently.
You took a deep breath, pulling your hand away to stick both of them in your coat pockets. Azriel hated it.
“I just—” you started, then shook your head. “I know we’ve only known each other for a month.” Another smile stretched your lips, but this time it didn’t reach your eyes, and it quickly fell. “And I know I just sort of dropped into your lap—and that I’m probably nothing like what you expected as you mate—”
“That’s not true,” Azriel hurried out, the words desperate. He was the one to reach for you this time, his hands curling around your arms, and he saw the way you watched him, the way your eyes widened at his touch. “You’re—you—” Azriel hated that he was fumbling this, that he was struggling to give you these words. “You’re beautiful,” he finally said. “I don’t have a better word for it. Inside and out—you leave me in awe. And I’m so grateful I found you.”
Your eyes glistened in the moonlight, laughing half-heartedly as you wiped away a tear. “I’m sorry,” you said, “This is silly.”
“It’s not,” he assured.
You shrugged, your hands still stuffed in your pockets and Azriel’s hands still gripping your arms. “I guess it just rattled me, being around so many people that know you so well. It—well, it didn’t feel great. I know that’s unfair, I know it’s only been a month, but—”
Azriel’s hands cupped your cheeks, startling you. Your eyes stared into his, wide and unblinking, and when you watched his gaze fall to your lips, he felt you relax into his touch. “Azriel,” you whispered, your breath warm against his cool skin. “You don’t have to.”
His thumb brushed your cheek, and you leaned a little more into his hand. You never balked from his scarred skin, and you never pushed for answers either. Azriel appreciated it, more than you likely knew, but maybe it was time he started peeling away some of his layers for you. You shouldn’t have to ask.
His eyes met yours again, and he thought he might like to fall into your irises, let the way they sparkled under the Velaris sky consume him. “I want to,” he murmured.
Your breath hitched, and your hands now clutched his waist, your hands curled tight in the fabric of his coat. “What are you waiting for then?”
That was a very good question.
Azriel pressed his lips against yours, and his entire world tilted on its axis. His blood rushed a little faster, his skin turning warm in the cold, early winter air. The thread twining the two of you together glowed when you pressed up on your toes to get closer, one of your hands reaching up to thread through the hair at the back of his head. You tasted like the glass of wine you had sipped on all night, mixed with a hint of sugar that made him smile against your lips.
The kiss was sweet—tender. It was unlike anything Azriel had ever experienced in his five centuries of life and he never wanted it to end. When your hand slid around to cup his face, when your fingers brushed his cheek, he felt himself melt a little, drops of his heart falling into yours.
You were the one to break away first, falling back onto your feet and wobbling a bit, Azriel quickly steadying you by a hand on your waist. You giggled, sniffing a bit as a cold breeze washed over the two of you, and Azriel was certain he looked like a lovesick fool as a grin spread across his face. Gods, you were perfect.
Azriel couldn’t help but press one more kiss to your lips, your face now flushed with warmth when he cupped your jaw. “You’ve brought out parts of me even I didn’t know existed,” he murmured, eyes stuck to yours again. Your lips parted, awe washing over your face. “This is just the beginning, Y/N.”
You smiled, that soft and special smile again, and Azriel was floating amongst the moonlit clouds. “I like the sound of that,” you murmured.
~ ~ ~
Azriel was in love.
His heart was irrevocably yours, and there was no other life on this planet he would trust to handle it with as much effortless care as you.
You were joy incarnate, and maybe there was some sick and twisted humor behind the Mother’s choice to link his dark and dreary heart to yours—but he was selfishly so grateful that he belonged to you now.
You were fluttering between booths in the market, your hair a little tangled and errant from the wind today, and a smile so soft it immediately disarmed anyone you approached. Azriel was trying to stay back, to let you shop and chatter to your heart’s desire without his intimidating presence dampening your glee.
It was freezing today, a light dusting of snow laid across the cobblestone streets—but you had insisted on visiting the winter markets, saying that today would be the best day for finding bargains, now that Winter Solstice had passed.
His heart was warm as he watched the silver pendant he gifted you glint in the morning sun, a diamond encrusted starburst that sat against the center of your chest. You had worn it every day since Solstice, and Azriel couldn’t deny the pride he felt when he saw the necklace around your neck.
Your head snapped to him, your eyes locking on him from across the street, as if you had known where he had wandered off to this entire time. Your eyes were bright as you hurried through the crowd, your steps light and airy as you ran toward him.
“Azriel,” you said excitedly. You looped your arm through his without a second thought, tugging him close against your side before you dragged him into the throng of faeries. “You have to see this booth. She has peppermint chocolates left over from Solstice, and I was so sad I didn’t find any this year. Oh! She has these chocolate covered cherries too, and I know you don’t love sweets, but you do like cherries—”
Azriel could listen to you talk for days on end. Your voice was like a balm for his soul, and your touch—your touch was enchanting. No matter how much time you spent together, Azriel was unraveled by every one of your touches. It was these casual displays of affection that really did him in. The way you pressed your side against his and held onto him as you pointed out sweet after sweet to him.
The way you didn’t mind the stares his presence garnered sometimes. The way you held on just a little bit tighter when you caught the interested gaze of a female across the table. Azriel loved it.
He loved you.
~ ~ ~
Azriel had done his best to shield you from the gory and unsavory details that came with his job. He hated that you knew he had hurt people, that he was feared. He was terrified you might one day wake up and see the blood on his hands, and finally decide to leave him.
That was why, despite every instinct inside him screaming to go to you, he plummeted on the balcony of the House of Wind, and not on the cobblestone street leading toward your house. He groaned as he pushed himself to his feet, cursing the Autumn Court bastards that had ambushed him at the border. He ought to wring Eris’s neck for letting his father’s minions slip through his fingers.
He should have probably found Madja, but he hated the idea of waking her in the middle of the night, when he knew he would heal—eventually. He just needed to shut himself in his room and lick his wounds for a bit, and he would be fine.
Fine enough to finally see you, after weeks apart.
Azriel didn’t know how he didn’t immediately notice you sitting on his bed, but he nearly fell over when he heard your horrified voice murmur, “Oh gods.”
The door shut behind Azriel with a harsh thud, his body falling against it as soon as it closed. He winced when your hands cradled his face, your skin soft and warm against his clammy and dirty cheeks. “Az,” you breathed, your mounting panic making your hands tremble. “What happened?”
One of his hands came up to wrap around yours, gently pulling it away from his face. “I’m okay,” he told you, voice rough with the obvious lie. He would be okay, though, and that’s what mattered. “Just a little bruised.”
“You’re bleeding,” you argued, sliding his arm over your shoulder. His sweet mate, who didn’t hesitate to shoulder the weight of his body that was twice the size of yours. He did his best not to lean too much on you, but his mind was addled with pain and exhaustion and confusion, and he just wanted to melt into your touch.
You guided him into the bathroom, setting him down on the toilet as the bathing pool behind him started to fill. You brushed the hair from his eyes, one of your hands gliding down to cup his jaw, and Azriel couldn’t help but let his head fall into your hand.
“Sweetheart,” you murmured, and Azriel was practically a puddle on the floor. No one had ever called him something so lovely, so soft. No one had ever handled him with so much care.
“I promise,” he said, meeting your eyes. “I’ll be okay.”
“Well, you’re not right now,” you grumbled. Azriel shouldn’t find it as endearing as he did. He knew it probably hurt you to see him hurt—he didn’t want to even imagine if the roles were reversed.
Azriel flinched when your fingers started working at the buckles of his leathers, making your eyes fly back to his. “Did I hurt you?” you asked, fingers hovering over his abdomen.
“No.” He shook his head. “What are you doing?”
You huffed, going right back to work on his leathers. “We need to get these off of you.”
Azriel’s hand grabbed yours, his eyes wide when he met your exasperated ones. “I am more than capable of—”
“Azriel—” you snapped, fingers tightening around his leathers, making him hiss. You immediately loosened your grip, and a flash of guilt passed through your eyes, making you deflate. “Just let me take care of you?” you pleaded.
Azriel wasn’t going to tell you no. Even if his heart had stopped beating and his shadows had stilled behind him.
So he nodded, and you started undoing his buckles and laces one by one, peeling away the blood soaked fabric until his skin was bare. It was unfair that this was how you were undressing him for the first time.
You tossed his leathers to the side, picking up a cloth and soap then dunking it in the tub. As you wrung the rag out, you glanced at him out of the corner of your eyes, catching him watching you. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
He tracked your movements, his shadows finally breaking from their stupor to circle around you slowly. A drop of water fell to his knee as you let the cloth hover between you, your brows raising expectantly.
Azriel knew he should. He should tell you about his mission—he should be transparent with his mate of all people about the atrocities he faces, and sometimes causes, if you were ever going to accept the bond between your souls.
He knew that, and yet the words wouldn’t form.
Instead, he swallowed hard, his mouth gone dry, and shook his head slowly. “Not tonight.”
He saw the disappointment in your eyes, no matter how carefully you tried to veil it. He felt the twinge of hurt that pushed through the bond, and Azriel hated himself for it.
“I’m not naive, you know,” you said as you pressed the cloth to his abdomen. Azriel flinched, and this time you didn’t pull away. “I know what you do is dangerous. I know the sacrifices you must make are unimaginable. You don’t have to hide it from me.”
Azriel’s brain was short-circuiting as he listened to your soft voice, as you gently cleaned the blood from his skin. It wasn’t until you pulled away that he realized he should really answer you, but he didn’t have a good response.
He supposed if he wasn’t ready to give you one truth, he could give you another though.
You dunked the cloth in the water, ripples of blood curling away from your hands—his blood, and undoubtedly others. You stood up, moving back to him, this time using the pads of your fingers to gently tilt his chin up. You held his face like that as you wiped the dirt and grime and caked on blood from around his eyes, your finger gently brushing his jaw anytime you went over a cut.
You were so beautiful. There were truly not enough words to describe how perfect you were, and Azriel was appalled when he felt his eyes burn and his nose tingle as he watched you take care of him. He was mortified when your eyes met his and your ministrations stopped.
“Azriel,” you said softly.
“I’m scared,” he admitted, voice rougher than he would have liked. “I’m scared you will look at me differently, if you know the things I’ve done—the things I’m capable of.”
Your face twisted, and Azriel immediately wanted to take his words back and shove them down deep inside. You tossed the cloth into the bath, cupping his face with both of your hands, and Azriel felt a tremble go through him. He had never felt so exposed as he did then, sitting on a toilet with bare and tattered skin, his head—and his heart—in his mate’s soft and gentle hands.
You kissed him.
It was just a chaste kiss, a slow and drawn out press of your lips to his, but it dragged the breath from Azriel’s lungs and left him dazed and blinking as soon as you pulled away.
Your eyes were locked on his when you said, “I know you don’t remember this, but you saved my life once—before we met.”
Every whirring and buzzing worry circling Azriel’s head ground to a halt. “What?” he rasped. How could he ever forget—
You smiled, the first one you had given him all night, and your thumb brushed against his cheek. “When Velaris was attacked,” you said, voice so soft in the quiet of the night, “I was cornered in the alley behind my bakery. One of Hybern’s monsters had found me—I’ll never forget its face.” Azriel’s hand came up to circle your wrist, his heart aching as your voice trembled. “I thought I was going to die, Azriel. Blood was raining from the sky and screams were piercing the air, and I was staring in the face of what I thought was my end—and then his head fell to the pavement.”
Azriel shook his head, his chest tight. “I don’t remember—how can I not—”
“Sweetheart,” you interrupted gently, “You didn’t even see me—I mean, you obviously knew someone was there, but you came and went like a breeze. You were a little busy defending your city.” That smile again. “But a shadow stayed behind, curling against my neck like a worried pet—and I knew who saved me. I’ve never been scared of you Azriel, but after that day, knowing I lived in a city under your protection made me feel safe.”
Azriel was crying now. His cheeks were damp from the tears that ran down his face and onto your hands. “I don’t want the darkness that taints my soul to ever seep into yours.”
You hummed softly, brushing away the hair that had fallen into his eyes again. “I quite like the dark,” you said, “It’s gentle in its own way. It knows things that would never be found in the light.”
“I don’t deserve you.”
“You do,” you promised, your own eyes glimmering in the moonlight leaking through the windows now. “And you never have to tell me anything you don’t want to, Azriel—but I’m here if you do, and I will love you through it all.”
~ ~ ~
Azriel had never considered himself to be a jealous male.
Was he occasionally temperamental? Yes.
Did he have a history of pining? Unfortunately.
He was never territorial, though. He could still remember the days Cassian would spar with males in their camp after treading too close to a female, the rage that wafted off them in waves as Cassian’s smug ass smirked at them. Azriel was never like that.
No, he wasn’t territorial, and he wasn’t jealous—he was just protective. He would die for the ones he loved, and now that you were at the top of that list, he was just worried about you. Worried about the way the male at the bar kept inching closer, the way your smile grew tighter when he laughed at one of his jokes, and the way you flinched when his hand touched your arm.
Watching his fingers graze your skin turned Azriel’s vision red.
He shrugged off Cassian’s attempt to sit him back down, rage pumping through his veins as his gaze stayed glued to the hand resting on your arm. He really wasn’t thinking when his hands grabbed your waist, physically pulling you away from the male and inserting himself between you and him. Your eyes were wide when you saw him, startled by his sudden appearance. “Az—” you said, “What’s wrong?”
Azriel picked up the arm the male had touched, his disgruntled jeers behind him blurring with the rest of the raucous throughout Rita’s. He dragged his hand up and down the length of your arm, your breath stuttering at his touch. “Are you okay?” he asked, softening the venom that he had been ready to spew at the male behind him.
You blinked, glancing down at your arm in his hand. “I’m okay,” you answered, with a bit of confusion in your tone. “Are you?”
Azriel was practically vibrating with anger, every bit of his restraint being used to face you and to not turn around and grab that male by the throat. “Great,” he said.
“You’re shaking,” you said, your hand coming up to rest on his chest. “And your heart is racing.”
His hand came up to rest on top of yours, finally dropping your arm from his grasp. “I’m okay,” he said, this time a little more convincing—he thought. “I just—I got worried. When I saw that male…”
Understanding dawned on your face, and an amused grin stretched across your face. “Ah,” you said, patting his chest. Azriel only squeezed your hand. “I see.” You peered around his shoulder, and Azriel begrudgingly followed your gaze, relieved to see the male had turned his attention to a female that was not his mate. “He was harmless. A little touchy, if you ask me—” A lot touchy, if you asked Azriel. “But who isn’t when they’re drunk?”
“He shouldn’t just be touching people—”
“No,” you agreed. “He shouldn’t.” Then mischief lit your eyes, and you stepped in closer, your chest brushing against his. “I bet you’re a cuddly drunk.”
Azriel scoffed, leaning into you a little more. Your scent drowned out the sweat and alcohol of the bar, and he much preferred your sweet smell over the suffocating air in Rita’s. “In your dreams, honey.”
~ ~ ~
“Can I touch your wings?”
Azriel nearly dropped the glass of water he had just filled from the kitchen tap. He blinked, taking in the way you were sitting cross-legged on the edge of your bed, your bottom lip stuck between your teeth again. He could see the curiosity eating at the edges of your eyes, and he wondered just how long you had been dying to ask him that.
“You can tell me no,” you said, drawing him out of his shock. “I asked Cassian—”
“You asked Cassian if you could touch his wings?”
Azriel felt faint.
“No!” you exclaimed, hands shooting out to your sides. “No, of course not. I just—I didn’t know—” You huffed, clearly flustered. Azriel came closer, setting your glass of water on your night stand so he could sit beside you. “He explained that you’re taught to protect your wings as babes—that they’re sensitive, vulnerable—but he said that he didn’t think you would mind if I asked.”
Of course he said that.
“I’m sorry,” you said sheepishly. “That was foolish. I shouldn’t have brought it up—”
Azriel grabbed your hands that were moving around frantically, bringing them down to rest in your lap. Your throat bobbed as you looked at him, your eyes wide and nervous. “Of course you can touch my wings,” he said softly, his words alone making his stomach flip. “But, sweetheart, they’re very…” Azriel felt his face warm. “They’re very sensitive.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Not like that,” he corrected gently.
You blinked, recognition slowly creeping onto your face. “Oh.” Then you winced, embarrassment clouding your face. “Oh. I can’t believe I asked Cassian—”
“It’s okay,” he assured you, and he would make sure Cassian never brought it up again. “Cassian didn’t mind, I guarantee you.”
You nodded softly, your eyes roving over him, your gaze catching on his lips—then his wings splayed out behind him. When your eyes flit back to him, your pupils blown with your heart beating a little faster in your chest, Azriel forgot how to breathe. “Can I?” you asked softly.
Azriel licked his lips, nodding slowly, anticipation clawing at his chest as he waited for his mate to touch him. You slowly untwined your hands from his, shifting so you faced him more, your hand trembling slightly as you let it hover over the inner membrane of his wing.
When your fingers finally grazed the delicate skin, Azriel grappled for every last thread of restraint he possessed to hold still, to let you explore this part of him—months of growing tension and longing to tip over this new edge of intimacy with his mate, and he was wholly unprepared for just how transcendent your touch was. Your fingers dragged up his wing and then back down one of the ridges, your skin soft and warm against him, leaving a trail of unimaginable pleasure in their wake.
When you traced back up the ridge, and your fingers trailed along the arch to the inner membrane again, the shudder that escaped Azriel was inevitable. You paused, your fingers lifting from him. “I’m okay,” he said, his voice embarrassingly rough.
He noticed it then, the shift in your scent—your warm and sugary scent turning hot and intoxicating in an entirely new way. He felt the desire that twirled inside you pulse down the bond, and Azriel’s own arousal intensified ten-fold.
You grabbed his face in your hands, your lips locking with his before he could overthink this, before he could hesitate or flee or even think about slowing down. You had never kissed him like this before, never with so much fervor and white hot desire that it left him spinning and clinging to you just to stay upright.
You tugged him close by the neck of his shirt, stretching the flimsy fabric to the point it ripped a bit at the seam. You only huffed against his mouth in frustration, your hands reached around him to rip open the slats in his shirt, fingers grazing the skin at the base of his wings and forcing another shudder through his body.
Azriel curled into you, his forehead pressed against your neck, his arms looping around you to hold you even closer. His breaths were growing more shallow, his mind foggy with something beyond desire—a sense of belonging and love so potent he thought he might drown in it.
Your fingers slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, dragging over his abdomen as you pushed the fabric up, up, and up, a desperation limning your movements that he had never seen in you—a desperation that made his mind stutter, a kernel of worry nestling inside him as you pulled his shirt over his head—and then yours.
You were truly ethereal, which Azriel already knew, but seeing you like this was…it was an honor. A privilege—one he had no intention of taking for granted. His hands rested on the soft curves of your waist, your body warm and pliant against him.
Then your hands reached out, tracing his wing in delicate patterns that felt anything but—and there was only so much willpower Azriel had when he was in the hands of his mate. He squeezed your hips, holding you away from him just a bit, but you did your best to reach for him again. “Y/N,” he breathed out, voice ragged and trembling when you reached for his other wing. “Honey,” he said, pushing you back a bit, your hazy eyes finally meeting him. “Maybe we should slow down?”
A flash of hurt so raw and visceral passed through your eyes, and Azriel felt like he had been stabbed.
You shook your head, blinking too many times. “I don’t—do you want to stop?”
“No,” he rasped, his body coiled tight with pleasure that was sitting on a dangerous precipice. “But you seem—”
Your eyes filled with a new determination, your hands tracing down his face, his neck, his chest, his stomach. “I want to take care of you,” you whispered, your lips latching onto the skin at his neck before he could really respond.
Then you pulled back, tugging on his arm as you crawled onto the center of the bed. “Come here,” you coaxed, and Azriel was too enthralled by you to do anything but follow.
He fell back into the mountain of pillows you had scattered across the head of your bed, his wings splaying out on either side of him. He watched you carefully, his eyes drinking in every inch of your body, breathing in your scent that left him spinning as you crawled on top of him, your legs bracketing his hips. Your eyes locked onto his, and relief washed over him as he felt you tug on the thread between you, a gentle warmth rushing through his blood that seemed to anchor both of you back to each other.
Your hands roamed his chest, his stomach, your eyes tracking your fingers that tracing every ridge and valley of his muscles that rippled reflexively beneath your touch. “I’ve never felt this way,” you whispered, half to yourself. “You’re so beautiful, Azriel—it makes me dizzy.”
Azriel huffed a laugh, his head falling back into the pillows as he let you explore. “I know the feeling.”
He sucked in a sharp breath when your lips pressed to his chest, trembling as you worked your way over his skin, your tongue laving over his nipple briefly before moving up to his neck. He had never—no one had ever had this sort of access to him. He was always in control in the past, always the one in charge. Never had he just laid bare for someone to inspect and touch and kiss—but he couldn’t imagine not letting you have your way with him.
He would give you the moon if you asked.
He groaned when you sucked a little harder on the skin at his collarbone, and when your mouth dragged over his shoulder and to his arm, your teeth grazing his bicep in a way that simultaneously taunted and begged for more, he had succumbed entirely to your touch. Your hands moved back to his wings, stroking and brushing the membrane with exploratory and reverent touches that Azriel was certain was better than anything he had ever dreamed of.
When your teeth sank against the skin of his bicep, he gasped, the bite unexpected and intoxicating. You kissed the mark you inevitably left in your wake, and finally, finally, you brought your lips back to his. His hips involuntarily bucked against you, desperation creeping in as you kissed him and stroked the arch of his wings. “Honey,” he rasped, your lips sealing his warning away for another second. “I can’t—I’m going to—”
You rolled your hips against him, your lips kissing his jaw, his neck, his ear. “Good,” you whispered. “Let go, Azriel. I’ve got you, I promise.”
Your words electrocuted something inside him, sparking another dormant and fractured piece of him back to life. He fell into the pleasure you had weaved inside him, letting it wrap around him and hold him hostage for so many long and blissful seconds, his entire body trembling as he came undone.
You kissed him through it, your touches slowing and growing more gentle, and Azriel had never felt true euphoria until this moment. His chest heaved as he came down, his eyes never leaving yours. When you smiled softly with a hint of shyness lying in the crinkle of your eyes, Azriel knew that he had found a home in your arms, and he would protect and cherish it until the day he drew his last breath.
~ ~ ~
If a few nights ago was Azriel’s dream come true, today was his living nightmare.
You had been avoiding him since that night, and every second that passed without seeing you only stretched the chasm growing in his chest farther and farther.
He was panicking.
Everything seemed fine when the two of you fell asleep—good, even. Azriel had never felt so at peace as he had in that moment, with you in his arms and his wing draped over you.
You had not let him take care of you the way you had him, but he didn’t want to push. He would never do that. As much as it pained him not to give you the pleasure you had given him, he recognized the vulnerability that had crept into your eyes, that laced your words after you kissed him and said Not tonight.
He knew it was a lot.
It was overwhelming and intoxicating and he could have very well stayed in bed next to you for an eternity if you let him—but you were gone come morning.
The bed was still warm where you had once laid, your scent still potent on your sheets, and the morning sun glittered off the charms and suncatchers you had hanging in your window—it was a perfectly warm and peaceful morning, except you were nowhere to be found.
Azriel would have liked to stay until you returned. He tried. He spent the morning cleaning your kitchen, doing the dishes from last night’s dinner, wiping down the counters and straightening the Solstice decorations you still had out. He picked up your living room—he even folded the pile of laundry you had stacked on the chair in your room.
Hours passed and your apartment was spotless, but you still weren’t back—and well, Azriel wasn’t clueless. He could take a hint.
He started to feel like an invader and less like a guest the longer your absence stretched, and he never wanted to encroach on your space, your privacy. He never wanted to be the reason you were uncomfortable, though it seemed that was exactly what he was.
So he left, the smell of you and your apartment clinging to his clothes as he shut and locked your door behind him, a twinge of guilt in his chest for stealing your spare key, but he would be damned if he left your apartment unlocked and vulnerable.
He really wanted to sit on the roof across the street and wait for you to return, but the odds of you catching him were too high—you always seemed to know exactly when he was near and where he morphed into the shadows. He also didn’t want to scare you, so he settled for a note on your counter and your spare key in his pocket, and possibly a small tendril of shadow lurking in the curtains of your living room.
You came home in the early evening—and that’s all he knew.
He was itching to see you, to talk to you, to understand what went wrong, but you were never home when Azriel stopped by.
Just like you weren’t home now. It was like you knew when he was coming, and fled before he could catch you. He didn’t understand.
He wasn’t angry. Far from it. He would be the biggest hypocrite in Prythian if he was—the Mother only knew how many times he had pushed people away or ran from his feelings. Hell, he was terrified he would do that to you, he just never imagined he would be facing such a role reversal.
A bit arrogant of him, if he was honest. He dropped his forehead to your door, the silence of your apartment weighing him down. He could go to your bakery. He knew he would most likely find you there, but he hated the thought of ambushing you at your place of work. It was important to you, and the last thing he wanted to do was taint it.
And really, it had only been a few days. He was being a tad dramatic. His brothers would tear him apart if they saw him now. He could practically hear Cassian’s taunts—
“Azriel?”
His head flew up, his heart leaping in his chest at the sound of your voice. You were standing there, just a few feet away from him, with your hair a bit frazzled from the day and smudges of flour streaked across your pants. Your scent wafted over to him, the same warm and sugary scent mixed with something new—cherries.
Azriel took a step closer, his eyes raking over you. “You smell like cherries.”
You blinked, a bit stunned, and Azriel wanted to shake himself for saying that of all things. You bit your bottom lip, and Azriel watched the way it curled beneath your teeth and popped back out when you said, “Yeah, I was working on something new. I thought you might like it, but…” you trailed off, seeming a bit dazed. “What are you doing here?”
Azriel ignored the twinge of hurt in his chest, knowing it was a perfectly reasonable question to ask the male who was slumped against your apartment door. “I wanted to see you.”
He saw your grip on your keys tighten, glancing warily at your apartment door. “Oh–”
“Actually,” he said hurriedly, desperate to cling to you now that he found you again, “I wanted to show you something.”
You seemed to relax a bit, your eyes lightening and a soft smile pulling at your lips. “Yeah?” you asked.
Azriel nodded, scrambling to put together this very last minute plan. “I want to take you flying.”
Your eyes widened, your body going rigid all over again. “Azriel—”
“Please,” he begged, taking another step closer. Then, softening his tone, voice pleading, he said again, “Please. I don’t know what I did wrong, but—”
“You did nothing wrong,” you hurried out, your hand wrapping around his wrist. Guilt flooded your face, and when your eyes started to glisten, Azriel didn’t hesitate before he pulled you into his chest. And when the first shudder rocked through you he only held you tighter, his hand rubbing up and down your back.
He reached for the key in his pocket, his other arm holding you to him while you cried, and he fumbled with the key in the lock before pushing your door open and guiding the two of you inside. “Honey,” he murmured into your hair, your face pressed against his neck that was now damp with your tears. He stroked the back of your head, your body only falling into him more.
“I’m sorry,” you rasped. You sniffed, your fingers clutching his shirt tighter before pulling back. You wiped at your face, your eyes swollen and red, and Azriel felt utterly helpless.
“For what?” he asked gently.
You looked at him incredulously, shimmying out of his hold and taking a step back. “For leaving you. I can’t believe I did that. I hate myself for just running away—”
“Hey,” he interrupted gently, his heart hurting for you. “It’s okay to need space.”
“But Azriel—”
“In the future,” he added on, “I would appreciate it if you told me that, though.”
You nodded, your cheeks damp and glistening from the tears that still slowly rolled down your face. “What happened?” he asked.
“I was scared,” you whispered, the words rough as they scraped your throat. “I am scared. I—” You closed your eyes, breathing in through your nose, and then back out. “I’ve never been in love.”
Oh.
Azriel was fairly certain he just felt the world shift a few degrees to the left.
“And I know it sounds ridiculous. I know I’ve been clinging to you since we met, since the mating bond snapped, but the other night, I just—I realized, I was in love with you. I am in love with you, and I think I would die if I ever lost you. And I started overthinking, worrying about everything I did, and I felt like I took advantage when that’s the last thing I wanted to do, and I just, I just spiraled, and I’m so sorry.”
“Take advantage?” Azriel knew that was not the most important thing you had just said, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t stand the thought of you feeling guilty when you did nothing wrong, and he was going to fix that immediately.
Your throat bobbed, and he could feel your nerves racing down the bond, pummeling his heart with every wave that emanated from you. “Yes,” you said, voice small. “You decided to share something vulnerable with me and I attacked you—”
“Attacked?”
“Yes,” you argued, and he could see the shame and embarrassment heavy in your eyes. It made him nauseous. You threw your arm over your eyes, and said, “Azriel, I bit your bicep, for Cauldron’s sake.”
“Trust me, I remember,” he said, reaching out to pull your arm away from your face. “I remember liking it—more than that, actually.” He cupped your face in his hands, your skin warm against him. “Sweetheart, you made me come in my pants.”
You bit your lip, your entire face going hot. Azriel brushed his thumb over your cheek, wishing he could erase the last 72 hours of pain you had endured alone. “I’m the last person who would ever judge you—for anything.”
Your eyes fell to his lips, and he waited—waited for you to make the next move, and when you pressed your lips to his, he felt himself melt a bit, his soul somehow melding with yours more than it already had. You pressed a few more gentle pecks to his mouth before pulling away, your eyes searching his for something, a flicker of uncertainty lingering.
“You did nothing wrong,” he assured gently, his hand squeezing your hip. “Mating bonds make everything more intense, it’s natural.”
You nodded. “I guess I knew that in theory, just, experiencing it—” You sighed. “I’m sorry.”
Azriel smiled gently, pushing some hair out of your face. “It’s okay. We’re okay, I promise.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then pulled you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you and his shadows brushing against your cheeks once he finally let them go. “I love you,” he murmured into your ear, and the undiluted joy that rippled down the bond made him smile wider than he had in centuries.
~ ~ ~
Azriel was, in fact, a cuddly drunk.
At least, he was with you.
His mate.
Sue him.
How could he not be?
You were just so beautiful. You were warm and soft and loving. You smelled delicious, like freshly baked cookies. You were his love. His home.
And it was his birthday. If he couldn’t be handsy with his mate—well that would be a piss poor birthday.
Most importantly, you didn’t mind, and your opinion was frankly the only one Azriel cared about. So when you giggled as he tugged you into his lap, your eyes wide and bright as you pressed a kiss to his lips in greeting, Azriel did not give a damn about his brothers’ teasing quips from across the table.
He pressed a kiss to your jaw, and then the corner of your mouth, smiling once his lips finally pressed to yours again. “Az,” you giggled, “I knew you would be a touchy drunk.”
Azriel hummed, his arms circling around your waist as he pressed your back to his chest, his nose nuzzling against your neck. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder where the strap of your dress had fallen down, then fixed it for you. “Just with you,” he murmured. Though, that wasn’t entirely true, given the way he had his arms thrown around Rhys and Cas earlier in the night. He kissed the pointed tip of your ear, smiling into your hair when you sucked in a sharp breath. “It’s okay, right?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t bothering you.
You turned your head to face him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Yeah, baby,” you said softly. “It’s okay.”
Azriel felt fuzzy—floaty in a way he almost never was from drinking. So maybe the alcohol coursing through his blood had dropped some of his usual inhibitions, but he knew that the buzzy and giddy warmth that was unfurling in his chest was entirely because of you.
“I think I want to go home,” he said to you, voice low in your ear.
“Are you sure?” you asked.
He nodded, his arms squeezing you once before letting you go, tapping your ass twice to coax you up and off his lap. He grinned when he watched you grow flustered, your eyes glaring at him playfully as you slid off his lap.
“Heading home already?” Rhys asked as Azriel stood up, swaying a bit on his feet before your arm circled his waist. “Leave it to Az to be the first one to leave his own party,” Rhys taunted, mischief glowing behind his purple irises.
“Leave him be, Rhys,” Cassian said, leaning on the table as his eyes gleamed with anything but innocence. “He’s surely eager for Y/N’s gift to him.”
Azriel snarled at Cassian, pushing you behind him as his wings flared. Apparently, he was also a territorial drunk.
“Knock it off, Cassian,” Nesta growled, swatting his arm.
Your hand laced with his, his eyes snapping to you, who was watching his display with amusement. “Come on, birthday boy,” you said, tugging on his arm. “You can fight your brother another day.”
He cast another glare at a smirking Cassian, then let you lead him by the hand out onto the street. His steps were a little more stumbly than he would have liked, and he was certainly in no state to fly either of you anywhere, but you didn’t seem to mind as you held his hand in yours and walked toward your apartment a few streets over.
“I love you,” Azriel blurted.
You smiled, the moonlight washing your face in a pretty glow that made you look ethereal. “I love you too, Az.” You squeezed his hand, swinging your arms a bit. “I hope you’ve had a good birthday.”
Azriel nodded, a little too eagerly if your widening grin was anything to go by. “The best I’ve ever had.”
You laughed, leaning into his side, the two of your stumbling together before regaining your balance. “I doubt that. I have over five centuries of birthdays to compete with.”
Azriel shook his head, then brought your hand up to his lips to press a gentle kiss to your skin. “There’s no competition. None of them had you.”
He was a sappy drunk too, it seemed.
“You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me,” he went on, his words only slightly smushed together. “I love you. I love you so much I can hardly breathe. I cannot wait for the day you decide you want to accept the bond—at least, I hope you do. I want you for an eternity, my love.” The two of you were still walking hand in hand along the Sidra, your apartment building now visible in the distance, but Azriel kept rambling, “We can have whatever kind of mating ceremony you want. However big or small, I just want our friends and family there with us—if you even want a ceremony.”
“I do,” you told him, looking up at him with a smile on your face. “I definitely do.”
Azriel’s stomach fluttered, and he leaned a little more into you, his body relaxing into your touch as you neared your home. “Okay,” he sighed, relief and love and joy making him feel like he was floating. “I do too.”
~ ~ ~
It was entirely too bright, and this bed was entirely too empty. Azriel groaned as he turned his face into your pillows, the silk sheet set he bought you blocking out the sun for a brief moment.
Then he smelled food.
He pushed himself upright, his head throbbing a bit from the movement, and his eyes taking a moment to adjust. He was bare aside from his underwear, but he was still too warm in the morning sun. He shoved the covers from his body, his feet landing on the plush rug beside your bed as he stood up.
He followed the smell of bacon and cinnamon, the sound of pots and pans clattering growing louder as he opened your bedroom door and moved toward the kitchen. You were moving around in a flurry, your feet bare on the kitchen tile—your legs bare, aside from his far too large shirt that draped over your body.
Your knee lifted the oven door after pulling a pan out, your hip pushing it the rest of the way shut as you sat the pan on top of the stove with a clang. You slide the oven mitts from your hands, brushing some hair out of your face as you let out a heavy breath.
“Smells good.”
Your head whipped toward Azriel, your eyes going wide as he walked closer. Azriel’s heart pounded in his chest as he took in the spread of food across your kitchen counters. You were clearly in your element, and Azriel loved seeing you like this—but you had never cooked or baked for him before, for obvious reasons.
“What’s all this?” he asked as he peered at the pan of fresh-baked cinnamon rolls.
Your lips parted, your hands ringing together as you rocked back on your heels once. “Breakfast,” you said. A nervous smile pulling at your lips that made Azriel’s heart stall. “For you.”
“For me?” he rasped. “Y/N—”
“Only if you’re ready,” you hurried out, “but I know I am, and, after last night…”
Azriel’s cheeks went hot as last night replayed in his head, the way he clung to you and gushed about his love for you. He moved closer, crowding your space. “I’m ready,” he murmured.
Your face lit up, and Azriel’s hangover was long forgotten as you reached for the fork on the counter behind him. You scooped a piece of a cinnamon roll right out of the still steaming pan, and when you blew on the hot and doughy piece Azriel’s heart flipped. You were still smiling as you offered it to him, the fork slightly shaking from the nerves he knew were coursing through you.
His hand folded over yours and the fork, helping guide it into his mouth so he could take the first bite of the first meal his mate had made for him. He pulled the fork away from his lips, tossing it on the counter as he pulled you flush to him. “I love you,” he said, the words gravelly and choked with more emotion than he really knew what to do with.
You pulled back to cup his face, pushing up on your toes to kiss his lips. “I love you, Azriel.”
Summary: You and Azriel have been seeing each other for a few months now and it's time to introduce you to his family, which doesn't exactly go… well.
A/N: Oh, wow! Hello again, everyone! I don't know what I was expecting when I posted part 1, but 500 likes in 3 days was not it, and only continuing to grow. And over 130 followers! Thank you all so much. You have been amazing. I tried to get this out as soon as I could, but I don't write fast and the dinner scene was fighting me on this one. I'm not entirely happy with how it turned out, but I'm tired of wrestling with it and I love the ending so... here you go! There will definitely be at least 4 parts (maybe a part 5, or at least an epilogue, we'll see).
This is my first time using links, so if they don't work, please let me know. Also, I'm trying out the taglist thing, so, we'll see how that goes.
Word Count: a little less than 9K
Warnings: Reader has chronic pain (I'm trying to keep it accurate, but just in case: any medical inaccuracies are due to the fact that Reader is fae and not human and should be attributed to the biological differences between the two species), semi-unreliable narrator, feeling insecure, more angst (my fav!), talk of pregnancies and complications during pregnancies (see previous note about medical inaccuracies, but with more fae and magic nonsense 😊), Rhysand means well, sort of, but… well, you'll see 😉
Part 1 | Part 3
————
Azriel stares at the empty hearth in the main sitting room at the River House, seemingly unaware of his knee bouncing. Shadows swirl around him restlessly, his thoughts drifting back to you, as they often had these past eight months. The time flew by, feeling like only yesterday he had first met you in the waiting room of Madja's clinic, yet, at the same time, he felt like he has known you his entire life.
He spent every available moment with you, taking you out to dinner or coffee if your schedules allowed, but mostly just… being with you, whether in his apartment or yours, it didn't matter. Just being around you lifted something inside him, eased an ache he never knew existed before, and he couldn't get enough. Your quiet presence is a balm he didn't know he needed, your voice a melody he longed to hear.
Still, it wasn't always blissful; your silence often speaking more than your words ever could. The shock on your face when he would arrive at your place with dinner, at the small gestures that came second nature to him, spelled out a rocky romantic history, with those who, Az had concluded, did not treat you like you deserve. The subtle shifts of your body, a flash of… something across your face as you moved, told him you were uncomfortable most of the time. Why, you had yet to tell him, but Azriel wasn't going to push, as much as he longed to. Your trepidations about this relationship was clear with each shift of your eyes to him for approval and your hesitance over simple decisions. He was taking this at your pace, determining that you would tell him when you were ready.
Azriel smiles faintly at the hearth; he was happy, happier than he's been in his long life, and in love. He knew from the moment he laid eyes on you that there was something different. He knew when you first walked into his apartment that you would have him wrapped around your finger in no time, even if that wasn't your intention. It wasn't until three months after you met, he realized he loves you. But it is different from the love he felt for Mor or Elain; it grows somewhere deep within him, fast and unyielding until it consumed him whole. It took root with a fierceness that could never be destroyed, not fully, even if he didn't fully understand.
His family noticed, of course they did, how smiles grace his face easier, how much looser he carried himself, how he sneaks away early to head into the city. They made comments of the female that had stollen the stoic Shadowsinger's heart, joking about it often the past few months, but they let it be, knowing Azriel would bring the mysterious female around when they were ready.
But, that didn't stop Rhys from extending an invitation to bring you to family dinner, and he did a double take when Az said he would ask. Azriel was just as surprised the night before when you had agreed, quietly, hesitantly, but seemed to gain some confidence when you reaffirmed. You had an appointment with a patient that afternoon, the same couple you had interviewed with the day you met Azriel for a drink, now in the final few weeks of getting ready to greet their babe, so you agreed to meet him at the River House.
Dinner is still a few hours away, but the excitement in the house is palpable ever since Az announced that you are coming. Azriel's heart beat erratically in his chest, one leg still bouncing, staring intensely at the masonry around the unlit fireplace. Feyre sat across from Az, with sixteen month Nyx sitting on her lap, staring intently at his mother's necklace, chain now dangling from his palm.
"I don't think I've ever seen you like this," Feyre comments, amusement filling her voice.
It takes a conscious effort for Azriel to still his leg, turning to look at his High Lady, at his friend. Sighing, Az leans back in the armchair slightly. "Don't tell Rhys," he mumbles dryly, "or Cass."
"I'm pretty sure they already know," Feyre says, shifting Nyx on her legs. "You don't need to be nervous, Az. She's important to you, so she's important to us."
Az nods, he knows that, he really does, but it doesn't stop his heart thundering, or the pins prickling beneath his skin. There are just so many things that could go wrong, and he wants so desperately for his family to like you and for you to like them. You who are so much like him, preferring the quiet, the shadows, to blend in with the background, and his family who are loud and boisterous and will certainly make you the center of their attention. He's not sure how the two will mix.
"I know," Az says instead of voicing his concerns, looking back at the hearth.
Feyre sighs, recognizing she's not going to get much more from the Spymaster. Az watches her stand out of the corner of his eye, gently pulling the necklace from Nyx's grasp as she walks over to him. "Here," she says, plopping Nyx in Azriel's lap before he starts whining about losing the necklace. The shadows instantly surround Nyx, his little eyes widening, watching them swirl up his arms. "Play with your nephew, you need the distraction," the High Lady orders leaving the room.
The hours pass only slightly faster with Nyx scrambling after the shadows, his laughter filling the sitting room.
—
The knock is gentle, barely heard outside of the empty foyer, but the shadows hear and Azriel is at the door a few seconds later. The tension in his shoulders melts slightly when the door opens revealing you shifting on your feet in a simple blue dress, your work bag clutched tightly in your hands. "You made it," Azriel breathes, stepping aside to let you in.
Your eyes flicker around the entry way, a hesitant smile gracing your lips. "You sound surprised," you remark softly, slowly handing over your bag when Az offers.
A light chuckle escapes him, placing your bag on a nearby hook. "Just glad you're here," he admits, resting a hand on the small of your back, drawing your attention to him. You flush lightly as he leans down, placing a faint kiss on the top of your head, his smile growing at the sight. "Everything go okay?"
"Um… yeah," you answer, absentmindedly picking at one of your fingernails as you look around again. "As well as can be expected." You pull away from him slightly, the blush still gracing your neck and cheeks. A small flash of hurt washes over Azriel, his brows furrowing for a moment before he wipes it away. Even now, without his family present, your discomfort is evident, and the last thing he wants is to make it worse.
"That doesn't sound very promising," he comments, shifting subtly drawing your eyes back to him.
Your tight smile falters for a second, eyes catching his. "You- you know that's all I can tell you," you remind him quietly. He nods, having figured out early on you take your patients privacy very seriously.
"I know, love," he assures gently, a small sigh of relief escaping you at that. "It just doesn't sound like a good thing, when you say it like that," he explains.
Tilting your head slightly, your brows furrow. "Well, I-"
"Azriel!" Cassian's voice echoes down the hall cutting you off. Az forces himself to take a slow breath, watching your eyes widen like you were caught doing something wrong. "I swear, if you snuck off again…" his voice trails off once he rounds the corner, his eyes wide and locked on you.
You take a step closer to Azriel, one hand reaching for his, your body stiffening. A part of Az is ecstatic that he is the one you go to for comfort, for safety, while the other part of him desperately wants to throttle his brother. "Cassian," he says, throwing the general a glare, "this is Y/N." His voice softens when he says your name and Cassian's eyes darts between the two of you.
Cassian breaks out into a grin. "So you are real," he says, walking towards you. Azriel can hear your heart thundering in your chest and you struggling to keep your breaths even. He extends a wing behind you, barely unfurling it, just enough to provide another form of comfort, enough for Cassian to catch. He stops in his tracks, his smile never faltering even as his eyes widen slightly. "We were starting to think he made you up," he quips.
"Hello," you say quietly. Azriel squeezes your hand, adding just enough pressure to ground you, to remind you he is there. Your breathing begins to even out slowly as you continue to shift on your feet.
"Cassian, you better not be terrorizing the poor girl already. We want to make a good impression," Nesta snips, pushing past her mate with ease. "Feel free to ignore him."
"This is Nesta," Azriel introduces quietly. You nod slowly, eyes tracking the eldest Archeron who seems to not notice the exaggerated offended look Cassian gives her.
Taking a deep breath, you force a small smile toward the Lady of Death. "Nice to meet you," you say, removing your hand from Azriel's to offer to Nesta.
The grin that spreads across Nesta's face is just shy of predatory. She loops an arm around yours rather than shaking your hand. "It is so nice that Azriel is finally comfortable enough to bring you around," she starts, leading you to the dining room.
You quickly glance over your shoulder, wide eyes catching with Azriel. He sends you a reassuring smile, following a few paces behind while Nesta continues to talk, Cassian coming up to him. "You really love her."
It wasn't a question, even with Cassian's brows furrowing. "Yes," Azriel answers anyway.
Nodding, Cass looks back in the direction his mate disappeared. "You deserve a little peace, Az. Cauldron knows you don't get enough of that around here." Looking over at his brother, Azriel just nods.
The two males approach the entrance of the dining room, where you and Nesta stand facing each other. Nesta's brows furrow while your eyes are fixed to a point on the floor, face flushed as you once again pick at your nails. "Hmm," Nesta hums, eyes flickering to Azriel. "Well, we would love to see you there one of these days."
"See her where?" Cassian asks, moving to stand beside his mate. You jump slightly at the sound of his voice, eyes snapping up to Cass.
Azriel's eyes furrows, stepping up to your side, gently resting his hand in the small of your back once more. He feels the tension in your muscles loosen the smallest amount as you lean back into his hand. His shadows swirl around your feet, dancing up your legs and torso to play in your hair. They congregate at specific points along your legs and spine, subtle enough that no one other than Azriel notices, he's not even sure if you notice, and it almost looks like they are supporting your weight. They had started doing it on the third time the two of you met, and when he asked why they do that the shadows just replied: Beloved likes it. It helps her. Although Azriel has the suspicion they know as little has he does as to how it helps.
Nesta angles her body to Cass, but keeps her eyes on you. "I invited her to Valkyrie training," Nesta says simply. Your shoulders creep up a bit, eyes refocusing on a spot on the floor. "She says that it's not for her," she continues, shrugging.
Cassian eyes widen, looking over you again. "Oh, you should definitely come. We always welcome those who want to better themselves and become stronger."
Azriel glares at Cassian, your body tensing beneath his hand, his shadows redoubling their efforts around your body. Even Nesta turns her steely gaze on her mate, eyes narrow. Slowly, Azriel leans down, whispering in her ear. "Ignore him, love. You do not need to join." You shift, just enough to look over at him. He can almost feel your embarrassment and shame over his brother's words, tears beginning to line your eyes. "Or, you can come and just watch. See what the fuss is about," he offers instead, giving you a small, reassuring smile, "but you don't have to."
"Just watch?" you repeat, the question barely a breath.
Slowly, Azriel nods, forcing his face to remain neutral. A small knot begins to form in his stomach at the look of dread and guilt shining behind your eyes. "Only if you want to," he stresses softly, only vaguely aware of Cassian flinching at something Nesta says.
Taking a shaky breath, your gaze drops to somewhere along his chest, blinking rapidly, nodding slightly. "Okay," you agree, resignation filling your tone, "but just to watch."
"If you're sure," Azriel reiterates, letting out a long breath, the knot in his stomach quickly souring to disappointment. Not disappointment towards you, of course; it had been obvious from the start that your previous relationships had not been the most healthy ones. The need for his approval was painfully obvious at times, so he is not surprised that you agreed to come, he already knew you would agree after Cassian made his comment. But still, a part of him hoped you would say no when you clearly were uncomfortable with the prospect. You were already stepping out of your comfort zone to come to this dinner, it wasn't fair for any of them to pressure you to do anything else.
Still, you nod slowly, refusing to look up at him. Cassian clears his throat weakly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it… like that," he says sheepishly. You nod again, remaining still, while Azriel's gaze snaps to Cassian, glaring at him.
"And this is why you can ignore him," Nesta mutters, walking into the dining room, dragging Cassian behind her.
Neither you nor Azriel move for a long moment, his eyes scanning your body like checking for wounds. Eventually, he lifts one hand to rest on your cheek, gently guiding you to look at him, your head leans into him on instinct and you blink back something that Azriel can't quite catch. "We can leave," he whispers, "whenever you want. Just say the word."
"Wouldn't that be rude?" you ask, eyes widening.
Azriel shrugs, running his thumb across your cheek. "I don't care about that," he admits, taking a half step closer. "If you want to leave, we leave."
Your brows furrow, lips pursing, but you nod. "O-okay."
Slowly, he leans forward, placing a soft kiss on your forehead, lingering for a bit longer than necessary. "I love you," he breaths against your skin.
Your face flushes, a small gasp escaping you at those words. They were still new; while Az knew he loved you only a few months in it has still taken him some time to actually say it, only starting a few weeks ago and only in soft, quiet moments of them alone. He knows you don't believe them yet, not fully, but he is determined to remind you.
"I-I love you," you whisper back, the words more shaky, trailing off at the end. Azriel smiles against your heated skin, the words sending a rush through his body, and he places another kiss to your temple.
———
The High Lord's table is covered with meats, salads, fruits, and dishes you don't know how to describe. You're not sure you have ever seen so much food in one place, except maybe at the markets. Around you, Azriel's family talks amongst themselves, piling their plates high from the assortment, while you sit quietly, back straight, a small polite smile gracing your lips. They had all paused when you walked in, Azriel gracefully guiding you to a seat, effortlessly introducing you to his family.
Once they joined you at the table, they easily slipped into their normal casual conversations, giving you a moment to acclimate, not paying you any mind yet. Still, you could feel their eyes flicker to you every so often, curiosity lingering in the air.
Pursing your lips, you lift a hand to fill your plate, a sharp twinge in your back protesting the movement, your hand shaking slightly. Azriel gently reaches, bringing you hand back down with a smile beginning to fill your plate for you.
You haven't told him of your condition. You are sure he already suspects something, with his sharp eyes and his shadows constantly observing and swirling around you, but you haven't brought yourself to tell him. Each time you consider it, fear grips your heart, memories of past relationships, some romantic others not, flood your mind. People don't tend to stick around long after finding out.
You haven't burdened him with the knowledge of the mating bond either, not willing to trap him in a relationship he would not want. He claims to loves you, and a part of you believes he means it, but you had heard those words before from people who left. And there is a part of you that thinks you could not live with his rejection, especially not after having him these past months. So, you don't tell him, letting the bond fester angerly in your chest, begging to make itself known
After a moment, Azriel angles the plate towards you slightly. "Anything else you want?" he asks softly, unheard by the rest of the table. The plate is filled with your favorite dishes, a small flush creeping up your neck at the thought of him making sure they would be served for you.
Slowly, you shake your head, offering a small smile, careful not to further aggravate your already flaring muscles along your spine. Today had been hard; the patient you were seeing had developed a heart condition during her pregnancy and required more frequent check-ins with both you and a healer. It was a rare condition, but not unheard of. One that the healer you are working with from the Dawn Court, Sira, had delt with a few times and believed the mother would make a full recovery in the years following the birth. But, it meant you were running around more than normal on the days of your check-ins to escort the healer through the city, and your body was rebelling against you as a result.
Azriel puts the plate back in front of you before filling his own and pouring a glass of water for each of you. "No wine tonight, Az?" Morrigan teases, taking a sip of hers. Your flush grows, eyes dropping to your plate. Whether it's because he wants to keep his wits about him or because he doesn't want you to feel alone not drinking, he wasn't drinking wine, or any alcohol, because of you. You never asked him to, and you would be fine if he does, but the guilt over his decision worms its way inside your heart anyway.
The male in question doesn't dignify the ask with a response, just raises his eyebrows and taking a pointed drink of his water. Nesta scoffs across the table, taking a drink of her own glass, while the High Lady chuckles lightly, placing a torn up piece of bread in front of the princeling.
"So," Amren speaks up, swirling the red liquid in her glass, her silver eyes locked on you and you fought to withhold a shiver, "how did you two meet?"
The discussions around the table tapper off as everyone turns to watch you and Azriel. Looking to the male out of the corner of your eye, you gently place the still clean silverware back in their places, hands clasping together in your lap. Azriel glances your way, a gently smile pulling on his lips and one of his hands reaches out to grab yours. "We took over her appointment in Madja's clinic," he explains simply, gesturing vaguely towards the High Lord and the General, but his eyes remain on you. "I offered to buy her a drink to make up for it." His voice softens as a small smile pulls at your lips, your eyes dropping to your untouched plate.
A hum echoes through the room, the High Lord's head tilting slightly. "How long have you lived in Velaris?"
You swallow thickly, trying to keep your heart steady and your focus on Azriel's thumb moving absentmindedly against the back of your hand. "Sin- since I was a child, High Lord," you answer softly.
"Oh, you can call him Rhys," the High Lady says gently. "No need to be so formal and he certainly doesn't need the ego boost." You look up hesitantly to see Feyre gently elbow her mate, who smiles fondly back at her. There's a shift in his eyes, when he turns back to you, a hardness creping in that makes your skin crawl.
Smiling weakly, you just nod, opting to look back down at your plate. Carefully, you squeeze Azriel's hand, the rough texture grounding you and the shadows immediately swarm up your legs and into your lap, twirling around your hands, offering their quiet support. A few wrapping around to your back, placing gentle pressure on a particularly sore part of your lower spine, and you extend the fingers of your freehand, twining with them in gratitude.
"You're a healer too, right?" Nesta asks, pushing the food around her plate. Your brows furrow, eyes flickering to hers. "Az mentioned you were seeing one of your patients today," she explains quickly, offering a reassuring smile.
"Oh," you breathe, glancing to Azriel, who nods. "No, not exactly. I, um… I'm a midwife."
The table stills, an uneasy silence falling over the room, broken only by the prince's giggling, throwing some of his bread and cooked carrots onto the floor. Your heart thunders and you force yourself to not shift in your seat, the ache in your back already starting to build. Azriel squeezes your hand, leaning just fraction closer to you. Amren hums, taking another up of her wine.
You are aware that the High Lady had… complications during her pregnancy. Almost all of Velaris had heard of how she died, or nearly died, giving birth to her son, only to be saved by her eldest sister negotiating with the Cauldron itself to save her life and that of the young price.
"A midwife?" the High Lord asks, voice dropping slightly.
You couldn't stop yourself from shifting this time, your eyes closing at the sharp pain shooting up your spine. "Yes," you confirm in a whisper.
Rhysand's eyes narrow, looking you over. "And you have been in Velaris since you were a child?" he clarifies, not impolitely, but there was an edge to his voice. A lump catches in your throat, eyes once again locked on your plate as you nod. The High Lord hums thoughtfully. "I don't remember speaking with any midwives in Velaris during Feyre's pregnancy."
"Oh, um…" you start, gaze flickering to Azriel and he nods again, eyes staying on you as Feyre shifts uncomfortably in the corner of your eye. "We- we weren't consulted," you admit softly, eyes lowering again. "I offered my services to Madja when I heard she was researching for the High Lady's pregnancy, but she refused my assistance."
Morrigan leans forward. "Why would she do that?"
Pursing your lips, you straighten in your seat, hoping to ease the sharp ache in your lower spine that continues to grow despite the shadows gentle massage. "I- uh, I don't know," you answer softly. You weren't lying, not really, but there was a reason you no longer consulted the old healer for your patients, even if you were stuck seeing her for your condition. "She just said that she had it handled and refused to hear of it again." Her angry words still echo in your head somedays.
Leaning back in his chair, the High Lord studies you, wine in hand. "And what would you have done?"
"W-what?" you ask, brows furrowing, slowly looking towards him, while keeping your eyes respectfully low.
"Rhys," Feyre murmurs gently, a warning in her voice.
"You claim you offered to help," the High Lord says, not taking his eyes off you. "You obviously heard something about the pregnancy, so what would you have done differently if we had hired you?"
An uncomfortable silence blankets the space, even Nyx quiets, his big blue eyes looking around the room confused. "I- I wasn't there," you attempt to reason, eyes flickering between the High Lord, High Lady, and Azriel. "I don't know all of the… uh, the details. I won't be able to say with any certainty."
The High Lord simply shrugs. "To the best of your knowledge," he prompts.
Azriel leans closer to you, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of your hand, the shadows swirling up and down your back lightly. You look to him, eyes wide, heart pounding. "You don't have to answer," he says gently, but loud enough for the table to hear. Your mouth opens, drawing a shaky breath while Azriel's gaze flickers to the High Lord and hardens. His hazel eyes are soft when they meet yours again and you can see the sincerity behind them, but also his curiosity. And, honestly, you are a bit surprised he hasn't asked sooner.
"Okay," you breathe shakily, licking your lips. Eyes falling back to your place, but you barely see it as your mind combs through all the information you heard about the High Lady's pregnancy, separating facts from fiction from rumors, most of it rumors. Your eyes close, a wave of pain emanating from your lower back rolls through your body. "Okay," you repeat slightly louder, eyes opening again, trying to ignore the scrutinizing gazes surrounding you.
Taking a slow, deep breath, you let yourself fall back on your decades of training. "From what I heard, it sounds like the majority of the complications were from… um, from the wings, is that correct?"
"Yes," Rhysand answers taking a sip of his wine.
"Okay, um…" you take a second, recalling your mentor's teachings on Illyrian pregnancies and anatomy. "How far along did you find out about the wings? If you don't mind me asking?"
"About two months," Feyre says, voice almost as soft as yours.
Nodding, you lick your lips. "And, uh, I also heard you have the ability to shapeshift in a way similar to the noble fae of the Spring Court, is that right?"
"Yes," Feyre replies slowly.
"No," Rhysand snaps loudly. You flinch, eyes closing again as another wave crashes over you your empty stomach roiling with nausea. Azriel's shadows rise around you and his grip on your hand tightens, your freehand moving to cover his, keeping him from pulling away. "Madja said any alterations to Feyre's body could've put Nyx at risk."
Your mouth parts slightly, shoulders dropping barely an inch from where they had curled into your ears. Brows furrowing, your eyes open, moving over the table, thoughts racing through your head. "Madja has experience with the pregnancies of shapeshifting fae?" you whisper, more to yourself. There aren't many shapeshifting fae in Velaris and, to your knowledge, they all come to either you or Eda for their pregnancies, or to Priya before her death.
You are only vaguely aware of the looks being shared around the table before the attention returns to you. "Do you?" Nesta asks.
Slowly, you nod. "There are many species of fae who can shapeshift to some degree, with the way the magic changes the body different for each. If Madja is unfamiliar with any shapeshifting pregnancies, or only has experience with some of the more… well, violet shapeshifting magic that's native to the Night Court, I can understand her concern. But, if the High Lady's is more similar to those High Fae in Spring…" you trail off, pursing your lips.
"All magic has its risks, shapeshifting is no different," you conceded with a small nod to the High Lord, but you barely register the action. "Even under the best circumstances, there's always a risk, however small. That early on in the pregnancy though, with the more fluid change of the Spring Court's magic, especially changing into a similar form, the additional risk would have been minimal to both mother and child," you admit, voice barely above a whisper.
Several sharp intakes of breath echo around the room. You glance over to Azriel who's watching you, eyes wide in awe. "I- uh," you stammer, a flush rising on your cheeks. "I would have consulted with a midwife native to Spring, since they deal with this type of magic more often," you continue, eyes returning forward. "After confirming with them, assuming they agreed, I would have had the High Lady shift as early in the pregnancy as possible, in a controlled environment, with both myself and a healer present in the unlikely event of a complication."
"And," Feyre begins quietly, "you're sure it wouldn't have harmed him?" she asks, a hand resting on the princeling's back.
"Um," you purse your lips again, eyes dropping to your lap, brows furrowing as possibilities race through your mind. "Sin-since you would have been shifting from High Fae to Illyrian, that in and of itself lowers many of the risks of the shift. The same magic that keeps your heart, brain, and other organs functioning through a shift would have been employed to protect the child, even without conscious effort. And the shift would have resulted in more room for the child to develop. So, if my understanding of the Spring Court's shifting magic is correct, then the likelihood of any harm coming to you or him, my lady, would have been very low."
Azriel squeezes your hand lightly, an uneasy silence filling the dining room. Slowly, you turn back to him, your eyes wide. His lips twitch into a soft smile, even as you watch a war of emotions behind his eyes. Anger, confusion, and grief all seem to try to make a home there, but all outshone by a look of awe, wonder, and price as he looks at you. Your flush deepens, head ducking to look back at your lap, your own smile pulling at your lips.
"If that is the case," the General asks slowly, breaking you out of the quiet moment, "what do you think caused the early labor?"
Your gaze flicks up to him, your smile fading. "Oh… um. There are three main differences between the reproductive systems of a female High Fae and a female Illyrian," you recite. "The pelvis is larger to accommodate the wide birth canal. The womb itself is larger as well, for the wings, and…" you trail off, looking around the table. "Um, as the wings develop, the bones, including the talons, are some of the first parts of the appendage to form, and the talons form… sharp. Illyrian females have multiple additional protective inner linings along their wombs and birth canal to protect against them."
Your eyes landed back on your plate, fingers tangling in the opposite sleeves. Azriel's finger flex in your hand, and the small amount of magic you have rises without prompting. There is no glow to your healing magic, it's not strong enough for that, but it is enough to ease the stiffness in his muscles, to soothe the tender nerves. His fingers relax in your grip, his thumb beginning its soothing circles again. The shadows curl around you in gratitude.
"If I had to guess," you continue softly, "the High Lady's womb was not large enough to hold the wings and with the lack of the protective linings the talons would have been rubbing against the walls of the womb, likely causing no small amount of tears. The body would have known something was wrong and did what it could to get whatever was harming it out, triggering the early labor. Then the wings got stuck in the birth canal and it just made the problem worse."
"So," Morrigan starts, voice low, a dangerous edge lurking in it, "theoretically, if Feyre had shifted when we first learned about the wings…" she trails off, eyes locked on you.
Taking a deep breath, you nod. "Theoretically," you say so quietly it's almost a whisper, "she would have had a normal pregnancy."
The air in the room stilled at the pronouncement. The only movement comes from Nyx twisting in his chair and the shadows. Your lips purse, hands tightening around Azriel's. A part of you wishes you hadn't said anything, had let them believe that what happened was the inevitable. To forget the conversations whispered between you and Eda after one of the few times you worked together to help with a delivery. But, at the same time, you know lying wouldn't help, it would have only made whatever this meal is becoming something far worse.
Your heart beats wildly in your chest, your body begging you to shift in your seat, to find a position to ease the pain licking its way up your spine. You stay still, years of experience teaching you that moving won't help much, if at all, instead possibly making it worse. The shadows rush along your back, placing gentle pressure along the worst of the pain, while others tangle themselves with your legs and finger, a few running up your arms to play with your hair.
Azriel shifts closer to you, the warmth of his body, from a wing partially extending behind you, is grounding, comforting. His body is stiff, tension spilling from him, and everyone else in the room.
You can see them all in your periphery, but you don't dare to look. Amren regards you thoughtfully, her glass of wine resting against one of her cheeks. Morrigan purses her lips, eyes focused on you, taking long slow breaths. Nesta grips Cassian's hand tightly, her knuckles white, but her mate doesn't seem to notice. Feyre reaches for Nyx, hugging him gently in her lap. And Rhysand…
The High Lord glares at you, a quiet fury burning in his violet eyes. "Liar," he hisses, putting his glass down with a deafening thud. You flinch, forcing your eyes shut, your back flaring as your muscles tense. "You're lying. If the solution was really so simple we would have known."
The High Lord's anger fills the room, the glasses and plates shaking. Your breath comes in short shallow breaths, shoulders coming up to your ears as you curl in on yourself. Azriel moves closer to you as the High Lady says softly: "Rhys." Her voice hard, condemnation echoing in her single word. Gently, Azriel pulls his hand from yours wrapping his arm around you, the shadows moving frantically over you.
"I don't think she is," Morrigan says quietly, the words ringing through the room.
The High Lord stiffens, gaze flickering between his cousin and you. His chair creaks as he leans back. "Fine, you believe you're telling the truth," he concedes, words clipped. "But, what of your relationship with the Dawn Court?"
The tension in the room eases, slightly, your eyes opening, brows furrow along with everyone else. Amrem scoffs, rolling her eyes. "All healers have a 'relationship' with Dawn," she drawls into her wine. "An occupational hazard. It shouldn't be surprising if a midwife does too."
"Not all healers have private meetings with the High Lord of Dawn, and certainly not all midwives," Rhysand pauses, watching the blood drain from your face, eyes widening. "Did you think I wouldn't remember, or just wouldn't realize?" he taunts.
Pain rushes through you, your body shifting before you could think and gods everything hurts. Your shake your head, hands coming to pick at your fingernails again. Azriel tenses next to you, adjusting in his seat to face the High Lord. "Rhysand," he warns lowly.
"What are you talking about?" Cassian asks at the same time.
Rhysand smirks. "Was it three weeks ago, when I went to Dawn to renegotiate the trade deal for copper? They had me wait because Thesan was already in a meeting—"
"Gods forbid," Nesta mutters, taking a sip of her water, hand still clutching her mate's.
Rhysand continues like he didn't hear her. "—and when he was done, he was accompanied out of his office by you. Looking like you were having a very serious discussion."
Your heart pounds in your ears, gaze flickering to Azriel. You remember that meeting, of course you do. You had gone to Dawn for only a few hours to speak with Sira, wanting to get more information about a specific side effect plaguing your patient. And while you were there, you asked if they had any information on your condition. Word spread fast in the archives of Dawn and before you really understood what was happening, High Lord Thesan had come to speak with you, taking you back to his office to have a more private discussion.
"I- I was in Dawn seeking advice on a condition for one of my patients," you manage to say, voice barely above a whisper, eyes focusing on where you are picking at your nail beds.
"And that got the attention of the High Lord?" Morrigan asks, doubtfully.
"It- um, I," you stammer, glancing at Azriel who is staring daggers at Rhysand. "The condition I was looking into is very rare. Only six recorded cases… or, um, seven now. It caught the High Lord's—"your eyes flicker to Rhysand, his body tense"—I- I mean the Lord Thesan's attention."
A careful hum echoes through the room. "And what condition is that?" the High Lord asks.
You take a shaky breath. "I- I can't… I'm not supposed to say," you whisper, glancing at Azriel again. Gods, this is going to be how he finds out, isn't it? Then, of course he'll leave; to have a parter perpetually broken was bad enough, but to find out about it in this humiliating way? He will never want to see your face again and a part of you wouldn't blame him.
"Because Thesan told you not to," Rhysand concludes, his tone final.
"What? N-no!" you breathe. A painful shiver begins in your stomach, your breathing shallow as it spreads through your body.
"Rhys," Azriel interjects with a growl, voice hard. "That's enough."
"If she's having secret meetings with a foreign High Lord I have every right to question her," Rhysand declares.
Azriel's wings flare, one wrapping protectively around you. The shadows flicker, rising to encompass you, to protect you, but you barely feel them with your pain-filled shivers. "Why? Because you think she's a spy?"
"Maybe," Rhys responds with a shrug.
Your vision blurs, the edges darkening as you gasp for breath. "But- but I'm not. I- I would never- I just went to research–"
"Why should we believe you?" Morrigan asks, her voice gentle, but aloof. "If you can't tell us what you were researching."
Your shaking hands come up to your neck, applying a slight pressure you are barely aware of. "I'm sorry," you whisper. "I- I can't…"
"Rhys, stop," Feyre orders shakily.
Hot tears spill over your eye line, burning your cheeks where they fall. "I'm sorry," you repeat, looking over to Azriel who was still staring down Rhysand. "I-I don't understand. What did I do wrong?" you breathe, because you had to have done something wrong; why else would the High Lord be after you like this? The only things you can think of is not telling them about your condition or the mating bond, but it wasn't wrong to keep those to yourself, was it? No, no they were right; you should have told Azriel right away so he wouldn't have wasted his time on you. It was stupid and selfish and wrong, wrong, wrong–
Azriel's head jerks to you, your body curling forward, sobs wracking your frame. "No, no. Y/N," Az breaths, quickly getting out of his seat and kicking it away so he can kneel next to you. Pulling your chair out, the shadows bracing you so you don't fall, he turns the chair to face him and he gently grabs your hands. "You didn't do anything wrong," he whispers softly.
You shake your head, your whole body screaming, the pain only making the tears come faster. "I'm s-so-sorry. I'm sorry," you continue to breathe.
Gently, oh so gently, arms wrap around you, gathering you into his firm chest, the scent of mist and cedar filling your lungs. The feel of your mate's arms and his scent around you instantly calms your tears, even as you continue to shake in his hold. "You didn't do anything wrong," he repeats, voice thick. Slowly, he stands, his shadows swirling restlessly about him, itching to get you out. "We're leaving," he says simply, walking towards the door.
"Az, you can't shield her from this," Rhysand calls, his chair screeching against the floor as he stands. "She needs to answer–"
A low growl thunders through the room, cutting off the High Lord. Azriel turns to face his brother, baring his teeth. You whimper softly, some residual anger flowing down the mostly dormant bond. Azriel stops at once, dropping his nose to the top of your head, shushing you gently and leaving tender kisses against your hair, continuing through the River House.
He stops only once to grab your work bag before walking into the night-chilled spring air, letting the shadows surround you both.
You are only somewhat aware when the shadows deposit you and Azriel outside of your apartment building. A small, run down place, one of the units has a hole in the wall from when the attors attacked the city that was never fixed. It was a miracle the building was still standing, much less has people living in it, but it was the cheapest place to rent in the city and all you could afford.
Shame washes over you as Azriel enters the building, keeping his steps light, as it always does when Azriel visits your apartment. You knew Azriel hates this place, that you live here, but he never mentioned it to you, not directly. Just another reason the bond had to be a mistake; how could the Spymaster's mate live in such a place?
Climbing the stairs, Azriel whispers soft words into your hair, but you can't make out the words. Hot tears burn your cheeks even through your sobs have subsided. Azriel's arms tighten around you when one step creaks dangerously beneath him.
It does not take long for him to reach your door, gently setting you down, his hands remain, one on your waist the other your arm, to steady you on your wobbling legs. Clasping your work bag in shaky hands, you slowly move back a few steps, out of his grasp, fixing your eyes on the floor in front of him. Still, you don't miss the hurt and panic flashing across his face.
"I am so sorry, my love," Azriel whispers. Your arms wrap around your middle, Azriel's shadows slowly approaching you. "I'll talk with them."
"It's okay," you respond shakily. Your body tense to keep the pain-filled shivers at bay, which just aggravates your muscles in a different, but more familiar way.
The shadows lunge for you as Azriel's face crumbles. "No," he says fiercely, taking a step towards you. "No, it's not." You take a step back, against every instinct in your body begging you to go to him, you keep your distance. Azriel stops immediately, wings twitching at his back. "Y/N, look at me," he pleads, voice breaking, "please."
You take a shuddering breath, your mind at war with itself. You have no right to, you know that. Why should he want you to, a pour, barely educated female who can barely afford one of the worst apartments in the city. Weak, both physically and magically; how could you possibly be his mate, his equal? He should want nothing to do with you, even before knowing about your condition. You barely deserve being in the same room as him. But, at the same time, he was your mate and there have been a few occasions after a bad day that just seeing him made you feel better. And he was asking, that has to count for something, right?
Slowly, you look up, forcing your eyes to meet his, blurry through your tears, breathing sharp. "You didn't do anything wrong," he assures you, voice so gentle. "I promise. Not today, not in Dawn." you nod jerkily, wincing at the sharp pain shooting down your spine, a constant reminder of your unworthiness.
"I- I love you," he breathes, conviction filling the words, his hands flexing at his sides, one almost reaching out. The shadows curl around you, whispering in a language you will never know.
Your eyes shut tight, forcing fresh tears to stain your cheeks, lips pursing as your head falls forward. Stifling a sob, you force yourself to nod again. There was no way he meant it, not truly. How could he after the way his family, his brothers, reacted to you.
The lump in your throat kept you from saying anything for a long moment and you slowly fish you key from your bag. "You- you should go back," you breathe, fiddling with the key in your hand, turning to unlock the door, "be with your family."
"What? No. And leave you alone?" Azriel asks, brows furrowing, wings twitching as he glances around the hallway.
Your door opens with a loud creak, heat rushing to your face as it sticks at several points until the opening is large enough for you to slide through. "Yo-you will have a better time with them than with me," you insist, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. It had to be true, you were just going to down one of Madja's potions that do next to nothing and lay in bed, ignoring your hunger, and praying for sleep to take you away. His family would be much better company, even on your best day, especially without you there to ruin it.
"Y/N," he breathes, taking a single step forwards before stopping himself. "I want to be with you," he argues. "If… if you don't want me here, I'll leave, but," he swallows thickly, "but, I don't want to go."
You shake your head, turning towards him through the opening of the door, keeping your eyes on the floor. "Please," you beg, voice tick with tears, "don't lie to me."
"I'm not," he says quickly, panic setting in and you can see tears lining his eyes in your periphery. "I swear on my shadows, on my life, I'm not lying. Please."
Biting the inside of your cheek, more tears fill your eyes. Slowly, you inch the door closed. "I'll, um… I'll see you in the morning for the Valkyrie training," you say softly. Best to get it over with, not that you will be welcomed there anymore, not after the dinner. "Good night, Az."
It takes a few seconds for you to close the door all the way and slide the lock into place. Leaning your head against the door, a sob escapes your lips. Your body finally giving out, it was all you could do to control your fall to your knees, the landing jarring every bit of pain in your body. You bring a hand to your mouth, smothering the sobs.
Through the door, you can hear Azriel, his breath stuttering. "Good night, beloved."
———
Azriel always prided himself on control; over his body, mind, magic, shadows, especially over his emotions. After spending the beginning of his life with no control over anything, it is not something he takes for granted. After five hundred years, Azriel considers himself a master. But, hearing you fall to the ground, sobbing on the other side of that door, his control snaps.
Leaving a few shadows to watch over you, he recalls the rest, wrapping them around himself to step through and back to the front door of the River House. He marches inside, anger boiling beneath his skin, his shadows screaming at him to make the people who hurt you pay.
He enters the sitting room in a storm of shadows, the same one he had spent hours in earlier, anxiously waiting for your arrival. Now, it’s the room his family had moved to, their conversations ceasing when he enters, not that he'd be able to hear any of it over the roaring in his ears.
They watching him carefully as he takes them in. Nesta sitting on Cassian's lap in an arm chair, his arms wrapped around her. Amren sitting across from them, wine still in hand. Mor sits perched on the armrest of the couch while Rhys and Feyre stand closest to the doorway, Nyx sat on Feyre's hip. Azriel is just barely able to keep his shadows from strangling the High Lord, barely.
"Az–" Rhys starts.
"Tell me, Rhysand," Azriel interrupts, voice low and deceptively calm, "do you think me incompetent?"
Rhys' brows furrow, inhaling sharply. "What? No, of course not."
Azriel takes a careful step forward, hands clenching into fists at his side. "Then did you think that I was not aware of her visit to the Dawn Court? Or of her meeting with Thesan?" Rhys opens his mouth to respond, but Azriel cuts him off with a snarl. "Did you not think that there was a shadow with her the entire time?" His shadows grow around him, swirling frantically, the faelights seeming to dim in response.
Rhys freezes, eyes widening, bringing his hands up in a placating gesture. Everyone stares at Azriel, eyeing the shadows carefully. They have only rarely seen this side of their Spymaster, he knows, and never directed at them.
"She told me about her trip to Dawn days before it happened. She told me she met with Thesan when I first saw her after she returned. And my shadow confirmed their conversation," he growls looking around the room. It is a slight exaggeration; while the shadows did confirm the reason Thesan sought you out was in regards to a condition you were researching, they kept the confidentiality that you always stressed, keeping both the specific condition and the patient's identity from him, but Azriel didn't mind. He trusts his shadows will tell him any information that could affect or jeopardize the court, and he trusts you implicitly.
"Do you think I don't know about Thesan's spies in this court? In this city?" he continues, voice dropping, taking another step towards his brother, wings flaring wide. "I know their names, their aliases, their movements, what they ate for dinner, what they are doing this very moment. Did you think I would bring one to the very heart of this court?" The room is silent, no one dares to draw a breath, save for Nyx, watching his uncle with tear filled eyes, burrowing into his mother's chest. "I'll ask again, High Lord. Do you think I am unfit for my job?"
Azriel's heart pounds in his chest, his skin tight. Eyes locked with Rhysand's, he forces himself to take few deep breaths through his nose. His wings twitch where they are extended, jaw clenched. Rhysand doesn't move, blinking slowly, licking his lips, looking as calm and composed as normal. But, Azriel knows his brother better, he can hear Rhys' thundering heart, can see the small bead of sweat forming on his brow.
"She didn't tell the truth though, Az," Mor says quietly, as if speaking to a dangerous animal.
Azriel's gaze snaps to where she's perched, his lips pull back in a snarl. "But she did, she just didn't tell you everything, which is her right," he spits, hands clenching and unclenching at his side. "She agreed to come to a nice cordial dinner. She did not agree to be questioned about her work, her expertise, and certainly did not agree to be interrogated about a research trip she took, one I had full knowledge of! Why should she have told you anything?"
"Az–" Rhys tries.
"I have spent the better part of this past year trying to convince Y/N she's worth my time. That she deserves love and attention, and something good. And now… now she won't even look me in the eye because she doesn't think she has the right to." Azriel's voice cracks, the worst of his anger bleeding out as he speaks, wings sagging. The shadows slow, returning to dance around him in an attempt at comfort. "Now, she won't let me stay and comfort her because she doesn't feel worthy of my presence." He whispers the last bit, a part of him can still feel her insecurity, her self-deprecation, like it is his own.
No one responds as he looks around the room, meeting each of their eyes. "I trusted you, all of you." The words are whispers, but they land hard. Rhysand stumbles back a step. Feyre takes a shaky breath, tears lining her cheeks. Cassian and Nesta hold each other tighter.
Scoffing, Azriel turns to the door, to head back to you. You might not want him there, might not feel worthy, but something in him needs to be near you, to know you are safe. Even if that means keeping quiet vigil outside through the night.
He pauses at the threshold, turning his head slightly, enough so his words will carry through the room. "If I lose her because of this," he says softly, raising his eyes to Rhysand's, the promise echoing through his words, "I will kill you."
i just discovered this account and i am OBSESSED with your writing!! if you’re feeling crazy im craving an azriel one shot where the reader is fae (bonus points if she’s an archeron sister and his mate but they don’t know it yet) and she gets kidnapped by an enemy to try and lure azriel out, but of course he saves the day and they figure out they’re mates :) and extra bonus points if there’s just enough angst to make us nervous he won’t get there in time and then they accept and celebrate the mating bond at the end accordingly 🙂↕️
Straight to you- Azriel x fem!reader
Summary: Kidnapped and alone, she didn’t know he was already hers.
Warnings: angst, violence, mentions injuries, blood, happy end
A/N: wow! what an emotional yet beautiful ride this was. Thank you anon for the request, I hope it's to your liking🫶
See masterlist
The first blow stole the air from her lungs.
Before she could scream, a rough hand clamped over her mouth, the tang of dirt and sweat filling her senses. The world tilted--boots skidding across cobblestones, her shoulder slamming into a wall hard enough to spark white behind her eyes. She kicked, twisted, but there were too many hands, too much strength.
A strip of coarse cloth yanked over her eyes, knot biting at her skull. Darkness swallowed her whole.
Her wrists were bound before she could form a coherent thought, rope scratching the skin raw. The only sounds were her ragged breaths and the heavy boots dragging her forward, etc step echoing off stone as if the walls themselves were closing in.
Cold. Gods, it was cold. The damp air smelled of mold and rust--of places no one came back from.
She fought to keep track of turns, to memorise the path, but every jolt and shove blurred together until time itself seemed to vanish.
A door groaned open. She was pushed inside, the floor beneath her knees wet and sticky. The blindfold didn't come off.
A voice slithered out of the dark, low and grating. "We need to get to the Shadowsinger," it said, and she could hear the rotting smirk in the words. "Seems capturing one of the Archeron sisters will do just fine."
The pieces clicked with sickening ease.
Of course. She wasn't the prize--she was the bait.
But the revelation didn't stop there--it pulled her backward, years and years, to where this all began.
Azriel had been the only one she could truly call a close friend.
From the moment the Cauldron had dragged her under, lungs burning, bones stretching, senses sharpening into something new, she’d been reborn alongside her two sisters. Elain’s sobs had been soft, Nesta’s silence sharp, but Y/N… she’d stared at her hands, her reflection, her glowing, strange eyes, and felt a thrill deep in her chest. She was immortal now. She had centuries ahead of her to do, see, and be everything she’d once thought impossible.
Being reunited with Feyre, her high lady older sister, had only added to the joy. There had been so much to catch up on, so many moments stolen by months of separation. And after the war--their war--there’d been peace. There had been laughter and dinners in Velaris, quiet mornings watching the city stir awake.
It was in those months after the fighting that she and Azriel had found friendship in each other--not in some grand moment, but through small, consistent ones. A nod across the River House dining room. A conversation on a balcony that stretched until dawn. Training sessions where he corrected her stance with the faintest touch, shadows curling lazily around her. Somewhere between the first sparring match and the first time she made him laugh--really laugh--he’d become her confidant.
For a while, she'd been happy. Truly, blindingly happy. Until her two sisters also found their mates.
It had started subtly: Nesta canceling their weekly sister sleepovers, Elain showing up late and distracted. Then came the excuses, the absences, the drifting away until those nights vanished altogether. No one suggested reinstating them Not even Feyre. No one seemed to notice their absence but her.
Y/N wouldn't lie...it hurt.
One night, she’d confided in Azriel, words spilling out in the quiet of his private balcony. She told him about her fear of never finding her mate, of always being the odd one out. That she felt invisible in her own family, the forgotten sister standing in the shadow of brighter flames.
Azriel had tried to make her laugh--murmuring something about how she was hardly alone, seeing as poor old him had gone 538 years without a mate. But when her voice broke on the next joke, he’d simply sat there with her, shadows curling close, listening as the night turned into morning.
They'd become closer after that.
That was, up until now.
Because now, all she felt was like a burden.
Because of her, her family--and especially Azriel--would be in danger. Or maybe...maybe no one would come for her at all. She was the overlooked one, the forgotten Archeron sister. The one whose absence barely made a ripple.
Y/N smiled sadly beneath the blindfold. At least being an outcast would work in her favor for once.
Azriel rolled the stiffness from his shoulders as he made his way toward the River House dining room. Another long day of hunting down leads and extracting information had left him with the familiar ache in his muscles, the metallic tang of blood still faint on his gloves. Dinner with the others wasn't exactly his idea of unwinding, but Rhys and Feyre insisted on having everyone together tonight.
He slowed without meaning to as he reached the last bend in the hallway. The sound of raised voices spilled toward him--urgent, sharp. The loudest was Feyre's. "...it's not like her- "
Then her name.
Y/N.
Azriel's pulse jumped.
He was moving before the thought fully formed, shadows coiling tighter around him as he burst into the room. Chaos met him on the other side. Feyre stood at the head of the table, eyes bright with worry, Rhys at her shoulder with a hand on her arm as if to keep her steady. Elain's voice broke from where she sat, fingers wringing in her lap.
"She promised she'd be back by the afternoon," Elain said, looking from face to face as though someone might have an answer. "It's well past sunset now--hours past--and she's still not here."
Nesta was pacing near the hearth, arms crossed, her jaw tight. Mor leaned against the wall, uncharacteristically silent, while Amren's sharp gaze cut between them all. Cassian sat forward on his chair, elbows on his knees, tension rolling off him.
"You're certain she went to the market?" Feyre pressed.
"Yes," Elain said, nodding quickly. "She told me this morning. Just to pick up a few things."
"Maybe she got lost on the way back," Rhys said, though his tone hel little conviction. "We should send someone to check- "
Azriel's voice through, cut steel-edged. "Where exactly did she say she'd be in the market?"
The room stilled. Nesta stopped pacing, turning to face him. "Near the fountain. At the far end by the spice vendors. That's her favourite place to visit."
Azriel's eyes went to Rhys. The High Lord's answering nod was all the permission he needed.
He was moving before anyone could say another word, shadows streaming after him, wings flaring in the tight hall. His mind was already spiralling into places he didn't want it to go--every sick, twisted possibility clawing to the surface.
Please be fine, Y/N. Please be fine.
he streets near the fountain were nearly empty now, lamplight spilling in golden puddles across the cobblestones. Azriel's shadows slithered ahead, searching every dark corner, every rooftop. His gaze swept over the crowd, sharp and searching--until a faint thread of scent brushed past him.
Y/N.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears as he followed it, the shadows pulling him down a narrower street. The scent grew stronger--until it stopped.
There, in the middle of the cold, damp road, lay a basket.
Her basket.
He recognized it instantly--woven with pale wood and lined with soft cream cloth, the one Elain had given her last Winter Solstice. Its contents were scattered across the stones as though dropped mid-step: a loaf of crusty bread, two small jars of honey, and a folded length of deep-blue silk that caught faint moonlight.
People had walked past it without pause, stepping over the mess. To them, it was nothing.
But to Azriel, it was everything.
He knelt beside it, the world narrowing to the sight of those familiar items strewn where she must've stood. His shadows darted out, seeking more of her trail, but came back empty. No scents but hers lingered--not a whiff of the ones who had taken her.
His stomach turned cold. They'd masked their scents. Professional. Deliberate.
Azriel's vision blurred for a moment as his jaw clenched. Slowly, carefully, he gathered the items and set them back into the basket, fingers brushing over the worn handle. His hands were steady only because he forced them to be.
In his mind, the faces of her captors--whoever they were--were already being built from shadows and rage. He would find them. He would destroy them Piece by piece.
It was certain now. She'd been taken.
Azriel straightened, the basket in his hand, and let the rage settle into something colder. Sharper.
Hold strong, Y/N.
Because he would find her.
No matter what.
She had no idea how long it had been.
Minutes, hours--it all bled together in the suffocating dark. Every second felt like an eternity, yet Y/N guessed it had only been a few hours since they'd dragged her here.
The blindfold had stayed on.
They hadn't wasted any time before the pain had began.
A blow to her ribs that stole her breath. The sharp sting of something--metal?--raking across her arm. A boot pressed cruelly into her back when she fell to her knees. Questions hurled at her in voices dripping with malice, each one sharper than the last.
“Tell us about Rhysand.”
“I don’t know anything- ”
A fist to her jaw.
“Where is the Illyrian commander? Where is Cassian?”
“I- please, I don’t- ”
A sharp twist of her hair, forcing her head back.
“What about the Shadowsinger?” A pause, a hiss in her ear. “We know you’re close. Tell us where he is.”
She bit down on her lip hard enough to taste blood. "I don't know anything!"
The blows kept coming, punctuated by jeers that cut deeper than any strike. "Not so high and mighty now, are you?"
"You think you're important, little Archeron? You're nothing but a pretty face playing at power."
"You're right, I'm not the High Lady. Not the Lady of Death. Not even the Seer. So please, let me go!"
She begged. Gods, she begged. Tried to make them see she wasn't what they thought she was. She wasn't Feyre, the High Lady with raw, untamed power. She wasn't Nesta, forged from fire and steel, death in a woman's skin. She wasn't Elain, with visions that could alter the course of war.
She didn't even know what she was.
Whatever 'gift' the Cauldron had given her, if any, had remained silent all this time. And yet they didn't care.
"Your sisters would've fought by now," one sneered. "You? You'll break like glass."
"Maybe we should start taking pieces of you. Send them to Rhysand or Azriel one by one until they answer."
Her chest heaved under the weight of their words, the pain thrumming through every inch of her body. For the first time, she truly began to wonder if she'd make it out alive.
"They want to lure us in," Rhysand said, voice cold enough to frost the air.
Azriel set the basket down on the table. The cream lining was smudged with dirt, the blue silk stained from where it had fallen to the road. “This was hers. I found it near the market fountain. Her trail stops there—no scents but hers.” His jaw tightened. “Whoever took her masked themselves. They knew what they were doing.”
Elain’s hands flew to her mouth, a choked sob breaking loose. She shook her head over and over, whispering, “No, no, not Y/N…” The sound cut through the room like a blade. Mor was at her side in an instant, guiding her toward the door as Elain’s sobs grew ragged, the sound fading only when the door shut behind them.
Nesta’s eyes were sharp and burning, her fists clenching at her sides. Feyre stood stiff, eyes twitching in restrained fury, while Cassian cursed low and vicious under his breath. Amren leaned back in her chair, silver eyes glittering like sharpened steel.
"We don't know who has her, or where," Rhys said, scanning the room. "But if they took her in broad daylight and masked their scents, it's calculated. And if they've gone after her specifically..." His gaze flicked to Feyre.
Feyre's voice trembled, just slightly. "Poor Y/N. The Mother knows what they're doing to her right now."
Azriel's hands curled into fists before he could stop himself. The thought alone--the idea of her in pain, in fear--sent a hot, slicing fury through his chest. His shadows rippled sharply, betraying what he didn't say aloud.
"We can't waste time," he said, each word clipped. "Every second we sit here, they get further."
Rhys gave a single nod. "Agreed. Azriel, Cassian--you'll take the skies. Amren and Nesta, start running the perimeter with anyone available. Also inform Mor. Feyre and I will reach out to our contacts in the city."
Cassian was already halfway to the door. Nesta moved toward him, but her gaze lingered on Azriel. "Find her," she said. It wasn't a request.
"I will," Azriel promised, the vow low and lethal.
As the others moved into motion, his mind was already a map of possibilities--every dark corner, every smuggler's route, every enemy who might dare to try this. But under it all was one clear, unwavering thought:
Hold on, Y/N. I'm coming.
If only he'd known how hard it would be to track her.
Two whole days had passed since Y/N vanished without a trace. In all his long centuries, Azriel had never faced such a challenge as finding her. The bastards who'd taken her were professionals--silent, careful, leaving not so much as a footprint to follow.
His shadows were gone, every last one, under his orders. They were scattered across the Night Court and beyond, creeping through the other courts, combing alleys, forests, docks, tunnels.
And still, nothing.
Azriel hadn’t slept. Not truly. Every hour was spent searching--questioning informants in the slums, scouring every black market and smuggler’s den, slipping through enemy borders without permission. His patience, honed over centuries, frayed more with each dead end. Fury ate at him from the inside out, each passing moment sharpening into the same relentless thought: what if he was too late?
The others were no better. Feyre spent her hours in council and in the skies, her expression hardening more each day. Rhysand was gaunt from exhaustion, spending countless hours raking through the minds of anyone even remotely suspicious...only to find walls or emptiness.
Elain sat for hours in her garden or the quietest corners of the River House, clutching Y/N’s scarf as though it could tether her to a vision. But whatever she tried, the threads remained dark, unspooling into nothing.
Nesta had taken to constant movement: searching the city, flying with Cassian, stalking into every place that might offer a whisper of information. Cassian rarely left her side, his own worry showing in the way he watched her when she wasn’t looking.
Mor and Amren hunted leads in their own ways--Mor slipping into dangerous places where her name still carried weight, Amren leaning over maps and sending out messages through her own web of contacts.
The River House had become a place of hushed voices and quick glances, everyone bracing for news that never came.
Azriel was in Rhysand’s office with Cassian when the door slammed open hard enough to rattle the shelves. Nesta stalked in, eyes bright and dangerous.
“I think I have a plan,” she said, voice low but sharp. “One that might work.”
Time had become a cruel, shapeless thing.
The interrogations didn't stop. Not once. Every few hours--though it could've been minutes or days--they came for her again. Always the same questions.
About Azriel's job.
His secrets that they were so sure he'd shared with her.
"We've been tracking you for a long time, little mouse," one whispered in her ear, the smell of alcohol and something else--something disgusting--blocking her nose. "So we know how close you've been with him. Close enough for him to share his secrets with you."
Then came other types of questions:
His missions.
Where he went when the rest of the Inner Circle didn't see him.
His every move.
She told them the truth. Over and over. I don't know. But the answer never changed their methods.
With each passing minute, the fragile thread of hope she’d been clinging to frayed thinner. At first, she’d tried to hold on--imagining Feyre’s wings blotting out the sun as she landed, Nesta’s steel gaze cutting through chains, Azriel’s shadows spilling into the room before he cut down her captors. But those images came less and less.
Now her mind wandered into darker places.
What if no one was coming?
What if they couldn’t find her?
What if she simply… disappeared?
At some point, they’d torn the blindfold from her eyes. The light in the room had been dim, but it still burned after so long in darkness. And then she’d seen them.
Three faces--if they could be called that. All warped, ugly, monstrous. Their skin looked stretched too tight, their eyes too small for their skulls. She didn’t know them, didn’t recognize anything in them except hunger.
The questions had kept coming. Her begging had stopped.
"I do not know," she murmured again, her voice a rasp. She barely flinched when the slap came, her head snapping to the side.
Her wrists and ankles were bound in heavy chains that dug into her skin, the weight pulling at her shoulders and hips. Every breath was a reminder of the bruises painting her ribs. One shoulder hung at an odd angle, dislocated from when they’d slammed her into the wall earlier.
The pain had dulled to something constant, almost background noise.
It was the anger that burned brighter.
At herself--for being careless.
At her captors--for thinking they could break her.
At life--for making her the one who always seemed easiest to take.
She swallowed, straightened as much as the chains allowed. If this was the end, they would not see her beg again.
Not now. Not ever.
"No."
"No!"
Azriel blinked, and Nesta's shocked, furious glare was met with identical expressions from Rhysand and Cassian.
"What?!" Nesta barked. "But- "
Rhys cut her off, his voice sharp. "You cannot just use the Mask to call the dead to you and command them to search for Y/N!"
"Well, why the hell not?" Nesta snapped. "The Dread Trove is mine! I can do whatever I fucking please with it, can't I?"
Rhysand let out a long, frustrated sigh. "Look...I know you're desperate to find Y/N before it's too late- "
"Watch it, Rhysand," Nesta shot back, eyes flashing.
He didn’t stop. “-we all are. But summoning the dead is extremely dangerous. I understood it during the war, but now? You can’t just summon thousands, if not millions, of dead skeletons, to one place. It’s not just about control. You’d risk catastrophic collateral damage. The dead might not stay contained. The laws of life and death aren’t forgiving.”
Cassian crossed his arms, voice low and steady, though edged with worry. “He’s right, Nesta. It’s too dangerous. The risk to everyone--even to the Night Court--is enormous.”
Azriel’s fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened. Heat pooled in his chest, sharp and relentless.
“Are you two even hearing yourselves?!” he barked, voice booming over the office. Both Nesta and the others froze mid-gesture. “Y/N IS LOST! GONE! And yet here you are, rejecting a perfectly logical plan because of what? Too many dead roaming our court?!”
He stepped forward, the shadows around him pulsing like living things. “We should be doing EVERYTHING we can to find her. Every possible path, every option! And you’re sitting here squabbling over what could happen if we take a chance? Do you even understand what’s at stake? She’s not just missing--she’s in the hands of monsters who are professionals at keeping her hidden, and we are running out of time!”
His voice dropped to a low, trembling growl, fury mingling with fear. “Do you even hear me? Do you even hear what I’m saying?!”
Cassian opened his mouth, but Azriel didn’t wait. He spun on his heel, shadows curling tight around him as he stormed toward the balcony.
“You can argue all you want!” he snarled over his shoulder. “I don’t care about ‘too dangerous’! She’s all that matters right now!”
With a powerful leap, he vaulted over the balcony railing, wings unfurling and catching the wind in a rush of motion. In an instant, he was gone, streaking into the night, the city lights blurring beneath him as every ounce of his being focused on one truth: he would find her. No matter what.
The nights were endless, the city below him a blur of streets and rooftops, shadows stretching and curling with every step. He hunted tirelessly, gliding from court to court, village to village, through forests and along cliffs where smugglers and thieves might hide. The wind tore at his cloak, the stars offering no comfort. Each street corner, each dark alley, was a potential lead, and yet, every time he followed one, it dissolved into nothing.
Sleep had abandoned him. Food, water--he barely noticed. The only thing that mattered was finding her.
And with every failed attempt, every lead that came to a dead end, the anger at himself grew. He should have seen it coming. He should have been faster. How could I have let this happen? The questions clawed at him relentlessly.
Her face came unbidden to his mind--the tilt of her head when she laughed, that spark in her eyes when she’d figured something out before anyone else. The way she’d lean slightly into him during training, a silent trust he hadn’t been sure he deserved. The quiet moments at the River House, the way she had confided in him, sharing her fears and her hopes.
He remembered one night after the war, sitting on a balcony with her, her voice barely above a whisper as she told him she felt forgotten. He had laughed softly then, hiding the weight of his own solitude behind teasing words, shadows coiling around them like silent guardians. That had been a simpler time.
Now, those memories were knives in his chest, reminders of everything at stake--and everything he might fail to save.
Every whisper of movement, every trace of scent, every shadow that shifted in the corner of his vision became a possibility. He followed them all, tortured by the thought that maybe, just maybe, he was too late.
Yet he refused to stop. He couldn’t. She was out there somewhere, and he would not rest until he had her safe, until he had torn her from whatever hell she had been thrown into.
Azriel’s wings beat the cold night air, and his shadow stretched long and furious across the land. Every heartbeat, every pulse, every whispered memory of Y/N drove him onward.
No matter how long it took.
No matter what it cost.
Time blurred. Hours felt like days. She had no sense of the sun, no clue whether it was night or morning. The only constants were the pain and the voices.
The interrogations never stopped. Questions spat at her again and again--about Rhysand’s power, about Cassian’s defenses, about Azriel’s missions. What does he do when he disappears? Where does he go? Who does he kill?
Every time her answer was the same, low and rasped from exhaustion: "I don't know."
The slap would come before she could even draw her next breath. Or the punch. Or the boot to her ribs. Her body was already a map of bruises and bleeding welts. She wanted to cry, but even her tears had run dry. Instead, her silence only made them crueler.
One of them leaned close, his breath rancid as he snarled, "Useless little sister. No wonder your family barely remembers you exist." Then he turned toward his companions and sighed frustratedly. "We should've taken a more useful sister. It's been four fucking days and Azriel still isn't within our reach. Nor do we have any intel on them."
Another male, the one without his left eye, looked at Y/N in disgust and then back at him. "So...what should we do with her?"
All four heads turned towards her as their 'leader' spoke with a smirk. "We kill her and send her body back in pieces."
Her chains rattled as she shifted, her body aching from the cold stone beneath her. Every inhale was a battle, every exhale a reminder of how fragile she felt. Hope had begun to slip through her fingers like sand.
Her lips trembled, but she forced the corners upward into a bitter smile. Maybe being forgotten would work in her favor, just this once. If her family wasn’t dragged into this because of her--if Azriel wasn’t dragged into this--then perhaps it wouldn’t be so terrible to simply… fade away.
The thought twisted like a knife in her chest. And still, she sat there in the dark, body broken, voice hoarse, bracing herself for her death. The next reminder that she was prey, caught and waiting.
The war room was drowning in silence. Four days. Four days without a trace, without a whisper of her, and every passing hour scraped Azriel raw. His shadows hissed and clawed, restless, angry, unable to find what he needed most. He stood by the window, fists clenched so tight his knuckles burned, his gaze fixed on nothing.
And then-
A choked sound tore through the room.
"Elain?" Feyre's voice was sharp, alarmed.
Azriel turned just in time to see her collapse to her knees, a strangled cry ripping from her throat as her hands clutched at her chest. Her eyes glazed--gone white, pupils swallowed by a light that was not of this world.
"Elain!" Nesta was already there, gripping her sister's shoulders. Cassian crouched low beside her, panic flashing in his eyes.
But Rhys's face went deadly still. "No one touch her."
"She's- she's- " Feyre's words faltered as she looked at her sister.
Azriel's heart slammed against his ribs. His shadows went utterly silent, curling tight against him like they knew. A vision.
Elain's body trembled, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She muttered something no one could understand--fragmented words, broken syllables. Then her head snapped back, a cry ripping from her lips that sounded like pure agony.
Nesta shook her again, desperate. "Elain, damn it, tell us what you see!"
Azriel's chest was a cage, every inhale sharp and shallow. He forced the words out, steel and prayer entwined. "Please...let it be about Y/N."
Rhys' eyes narrowed, already reaching out with his power, steady but tense. "It has to be."
And then Elain's voice broke through the storm of fear--ragged, trembling, but clear enough to freeze the blood in Azriel's veins.
"I see her."
The room erupted, voices overlapping--Nesta demanding where, Feyre begging how, Cassian and Mor swearing--but Azriel’s vision tunneled. His heart thundered as he moved closer, every muscle taut.
“Where is she, Elain?” His voice was low, lethal, but underneath--pleading. Tell me. Give me something. Save her.
Elain’s eyes flicked toward him, though she couldn’t possibly see him. Tears streamed down her pale cheeks as her lips trembled, shaping words that would seal their path.
"They're going to kill her."
Her mind was slipping. Threads of memory and hallucination weaving together until she could no longer tell which was which. Her mother’s soft humming. The way sunlight used to filter through the trees when she was small. Azriel’s unreadable hazel eyes watching her too closely. Cassian’s booming laugh. Elain’s gentle hands brushing flour from her cheek.
It all bled together, comforting and cruel, reminders of a world she wasn’t sure she belonged to anymore.
Her body had long since given up screaming at her--numbness had taken over, the ache buried so deep it was almost easier than fighting. It was a miracle she had lasted this long without food, without water. Another cruel gift of being High Fae. Endurance meant only a longer stretch of torment.
Her head lolled to the side, breath shallow, vision blurred with shadows and stars she couldn’t quite blink away. Maybe--maybe if she closed her eyes, she would see her mother again. Maybe she would be waiting. Y/N had always been her mother’s shadow, her little echo. Out of all three sisters, she was the one who had clung to her mother’s warmth the most.
At least think of nice things before it ends.
Her thoughts were severed by the cold bite of iron, the sound of chains scraping against stone as they fastened her to something solid--a boulder, jagged against her spine.
Through the haze she caught the sight of them. The males. Her captors. Standing before her now, blades glinting in the dim light. Predators circling the inevitable end.
Her chest rose once, twice, on a deep inhale that tasted like blood and metal. Slowly, she let her eyes fall shut, surrendering to the darkness. If this was her last moment, she would meet it with calm, not tears.
The scrape of boots drew nearer. The hiss of steel raised.
And then-
The first blow came. A sharp, tearing agony as the sword plunged into her lower stomach.
Her body arched against the stone with the impact, a choked sound strangled in her throat. The pain was fire, white-hot, merciless.
But she did not scream.
Not this time.
The cave was filled with screams before the soldiers even realized what had descended upon them. Shadows erupted like a living storm, snuffing out light, searing fear into every corner. And at the center of it--Azriel. His siphons flared blue, his wings slicing the air, each movement a promise of death.
He had thought, in those endless nights searching, that maybe he’d hold back when he found them. That maybe he’d just incapacitate the bastards so he could take his time later, wring every secret out of them with a blade. But then… he saw her.
Y/N.
Chained, bleeding, body too still. A sword protruding from her lower stomach, crimson staining the stone. Her eyes were half-lidded as if she had already started to drift away.
And Azriel snapped.
He didn’t fight. He slaughtered. Silent, efficient, merciless. Every male who had laid a hand on her was cut down before they could even lift a weapon. Shadows pinned one against the wall as Azriel drove Truth-Teller through his chest. Another tried to flee--his wings were torn from his body before Azriel slit his throat. Not even screams had time to form
Nesta’s fire flared cold and deadly as she ripped through two more, her blade singing with death. Cassian was a whirlwind of brute force, slamming one into the rock hard enough that bones cracked like twigs.
And then--silence.
The three of them stood amidst the carnage, blood dripping, shadows hissing low and restless around Azriel. His siphons pulsed like a heartbeat gone wild. But none of it mattered. None of it compared to the sight of Y/N, broken and barely breathing.
“Cauldron damn them,” Nesta breathed, her voice shaking with rage as she dropped to her knees beside her sister. Her hands hovered uselessly, trembling as she whispered, “What did they do to you, Y/N…”
Cassian’s eyes were burning, fists clenched, chest heaving with fury. “Monsters,” he spat. “Fucking monsters. They’ll never touch you again, I swear- ” His voice cracked.
Azriel didn’t hear the rest. He was already moving, already kneeling, already sliding trembling hands beneath Y/N’s limp body. Blood--her blood--soaked his leathers instantly, hot and suffocating, and he thought he might vomit from the sheer terror choking him.
“Stay with me,” he whispered harshly, pulling her against his chest as carefully as he could. His shadows curled around her, frantic and protective, as if they could hold her soul tethered to her body. “Y/N. Please. Stay with me.”
Her lashes fluttered weakly, her lips parting. A broken breath escaped before she whispered, barely audible, "Azriel...is that you?"
His heart stopped.
And then-
The snap.
It ripped through him like lightning, a tether locking tight around his very core. A bond. A truth. His mate.
Azriel froze, staring down at her in shock, even as her faint, disbelieving gasp echoed the same realization. His mate. His mate.
A thousand emotions warred in him a once: fury at fate for making this moment their beginning, guilt so sharp it could tear him apart, and desperate, desperate hope that she would not leave him now. Not when he had just found her.
He had never had a mate. Had never thought he would. And now--now the Cauldron had given him Y/N, only to try to rip her away on the very same day.
Her trembling hand rose weakly, brushing his chest before her lips moved again, shaping two soft, broken words.
"My mate."
And then her body went limp in his arms.
Two days.
Two entire days since they had dragged her broken, bleeding body back through the wards of Velaris. Two days since she had slipped into a deep, unmoving unconsciousness. Two days that had stretched longer than any of the centuries Azriel had endured before them.
The memory of that return still clawed at him. Feyre’s scream as she caught sight of Y/N in his arms, raw and keening, enough to shake the walls. Rhysand’s immediate roar of command, summoning every healer in the city. Elain stumbling ahead of them, pale and trembling, whispering prayers under her breath as she guided them through rooms. Mor’s sobs, her hands slick with Y/N’s blood as she tried to help stanch wounds that would not stop bleeding. Amren, uncharacteristically silent, her ancient eyes glittering like steel as she barked orders no one dared disobey.
And him, Azriel, who had refused to let anyone pry her from his arms until the healers forced him to. Who had not left her side since. Not once.
He’d braced himself for it, the words he dreaded most. Too late. Nothing we can do. She won’t wake. Every time the healers stepped out of her chamber, he expected it. Every time they sighed, every time they whispered, his heart split further, until he was sure there was nothing left to shatter.
But the words never came.
Still, the silence was its own torment. Her breathing shallow but steady. Her pulse faint but there. He should have felt hope. Instead, Azriel felt only self-loathing.
He had failed her. He had let them take her. He had spent days chasing shadows while she had been chained, beaten, stabbed. He had let himself believe that she would be safe, that he had time. Stupid. Blind. Weak. He had promised himself long ago he would never let someone in only to fail them. And now, the Cauldron had cursed him with a mate he did not deserve.
Maybe he never should have had one at all.
Azriel sat in the dim chamber, shadows curling around him like mourning veils, head in his hands. The scent of her blood still clung to his leathers, even after scrubbing until his skin was raw. It lived in his lungs, choking him, each inhale a reminder of how easily he could lose her.
And if she never woke? If she slipped away before he could ever tell her--before she could even truly know--what she was to him? His chest caved with the thought. He wouldn’t survive it. Not this.
The door burst open.
He shot to his feet instantly, siphons flaring, shadows hissing.
Mor stood in the doorway, breathless, wide-eyed. “She’s awake,” she blurted, not sparing another word before she spun and dashed down the hall.
For a heartbeat, Azriel just stared, the words refusing to register. Awake. Alive. Moving.
Then it hit.
His shadows shrieked with a sound like wind snapping through trees, and he was already moving, heart hammering so hard it hurt, thoughts a blur. Awake. She’s awake. Please, Cauldron, let it be true. Please let me not be too late. Please-
He ran, faster than he’d ever run without flight, hope so sharp it was painful, tearing through the fog of despair that had bound him for two endless days.
The room was packed. The entire Inner Circle crowded around the bed, voices hushed, faces taut with relief and fear alike. Feyre sat perched on the edge, both of Y/N's hands held tightly in hers, her High Lady composure cracked by the tears streaming freely down her face.
Azriel barely saw them. He pushed past bodies, ignoring Cassian’s hand on his shoulder, ignoring Amren’s sharp look, ignoring Elain’s soft sob. His entire world narrowed to the small, fragile figure lying beneath layers of blankets.
Her.
Y/N’s eyes were half-lidded, her skin far too thin, but they were open. Open, and finding him, and--Cauldron help him--she smiled. It was faint, pained, but it was there.
She didn’t move much; every shift made her wince. One arm was tightly bound against her side in a sling, her dislocated shoulder still healing. The bruises had not yet faded from her throat, her cheek, her temple. She looked broken. And still, she looked radiant to him. Alive.
Feyre was whispering something, voice trembling with joy and relief, but Y/N’s gaze didn’t leave his. Slowly, weakly, she slipped one hand from Feyre’s grasp, her fingers trembling with the effort. She lifted it slightly, beckoning him forward.
Azriel’s knees nearly gave out. He moved to her without thinking, sinking down at her side, so close now that he could see every flutter of her lashes, every shallow rise and fall of her chest.
Her hand brushed his jaw, then settled against his cheek. Her skin was fever-warm, her touch barely there, but it undid him.
“My mate,” she whispered, so soft it was almost a breath.
And Azriel...Azriel broke. Centuries of restraint shattered in an instant. His head bowed, his shoulders shaking as tears burned and spilled, as his hand rose to cover hers against his cheek. He didn’t care about the audience, about the Inner Circle watching in stunned silence. He didn’t care that they were seeing him unravel, seeing him feel. All he cared about was her.
He forced himself to lift his head, to meet her gaze through the blur of his tears. “No,” he choked, voice breaking. “No, not yet. Don’t- don’t accept it yet. You’re not well enough. Not like this.”
But she shook her head, slow, weak, stubborn as ever. Her lips curved faintly in a smile that was both fragile and defiant. “Please,” she breathed, voice rough with pain, “I’m… well enough.”
The bond between them snapped taut, a golden thread pulling tight, and Azriel felt it--the certainty, the recognition, the eternity. His soul locked with hers, and there was no undoing it now. Not that he would ever want to.
He pressed his forehead gently to hers, shadows curling protectively around them both. “I’ll always be by your side,” he swore, voice low, steady despite the tremor in his chest. “I’ll never leave you again. This will never happen again. Do you hear me, Y/N? Never.”
Her lashes fluttered, a tear slipping free. Her hand squeezed faintly against his cheek, and her lips curved once more.
“I hear you.”
And though her voice was faint, though her body was weak, the bond between them thrummed with strength, with promise, with the beginning of something Azriel had never dared hope for.
For the first time in his life, he let himself believe.
