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: 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.
Summary: She is a Day Court princess, the light in every room, loud, bright, and adored. He is the Night Court’s spymaster, hidden in shadows, haunted by the knowledge that she deserves better.
Author’s Note: Another request completed! I hope you enjoy it!
Masterlist
Azriel had waited his whole life for the mating bond to snap, and now, as he watched her from across the room, it was nothing like he had imagined.
It snapped like sunlight searing through every shadow in his soul, filling the darkness with burning light.
His mate stood surrounded by a circle of heirs, nobles, and High Fae who made his skin crawl. Her laughter echoed through the ballroom as her hand rested against a High Fae’s chest.
Azriel’s world narrowed to her, his breath ragged and uneven.
A hand clapped his shoulder, dragging him out of the haze of her.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Cassian’s voice said.
Azriel’s eyes didn’t leave her.
“Rhys calls her the Day Court’s princess,” Cassian chuckled. “Apparently, Eris has been trying to wed her for nearly a century.”
Azriel said nothing.
He couldn’t.
The word princess didn’t begin to describe what she was.
She was life itself.
Her gaze found his then, and her smile faltered, just slightly, as her hand tightened on another man’s chest.
Azriel felt a pull deep within him, demanding and undeniable, dragging him forward.
Cassian’s eyes flickered between the princess, whose smile had now vanished completely, and Azriel, whose shadows were now restless, nearly engulfing him whole.
She felt it too.
She knew.
The princess’s hand fell from the man’s chest. Her eyes locked on Azriel as she crossed the ballroom toward them.
“Az,” Cassian hissed in disbelief as the most eligible bachelorette in all of Prythian rushed straight toward them.
She stopped a few feet away, the soft shimmer of her golden gown catching the light.
Up close, she was even more devastatingly beautiful. Every inch of her was warmth, gold, sun, and life.
Suddenly, Azriel felt like his shadows were strangling him.
“You must be from the Night Court,” she said softly, a smile on her lips. “I’m Y/N it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
She didn’t seem to notice the way every pair of eyes in the room turned towards her, towards them.
Maybe she just didn’t care. She was used to being the centre of attention.
Azriel, however, felt every gaze.
He wasn’t made for the spotlight.
Still, Azriel didn’t move. He couldn’t.
He just stared at her as she stood before him.
Cassian bumped his shoulder against his, but still, Azriel couldn’t force a word out.
His shadows curled instinctively around her, as if trying to dull her light.
Instead of flinching like he expected, she laughed softly, a sound that made his mouth go dry, and for a moment, he thought he might faint.
She tilted her head, studying him. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“Azriel,” Cassian said, grinning. “And I’m Cassian, General of the Night Court.”
Before Azriel could even react, Cassian stepped and took her hand. He bowed slightly and pressed a kiss to the back of her knuckles.
Jealousy burned in Azriel’s chest, his shadows thickening at her ankles. Cassian glanced at him with a smirk before releasing her hand.
“Cassian, the Night Court’s War General,” she said with a smile. “And Azriel, what’s your title?”
The way his name rolled off her tongue made his chest ache.
“Spymaster,” he said, his voice low and rough.
Her smile deepened into something that could have brought kings to their knees.
“Spymaster? That sounds… dangerous.”
Cassian laughed as Azriel’s jaw clenched.
“Most people call him the Shadowsinger,” Cassian added, lifting his glass of amber liquor to his lips.
The bond pulsed in Azriel’s chest, sharp, constant, and it took everything in him to remain still.
Her eyes filled with amusement.
“Well, Shadowsinger, your shadows seem to like me,” she giggled, hands gliding through the wisps of darkness that danced around her.
The sight made something twist inside him, equal parts awe and dread.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
His mate wasn’t supposed to be someone like her.
Not someone who shone so brightly it hurt to look at her.
She stepped closer, lowering her voice to a teasing whisper. “Tell me, Shadowsinger, do you dance?”
Azriel’s heart was pounding so loudly in his ears that he could hardly breathe.
“I don’t dance,” he said finally.
“A drink, then?” she asked, her smile softening.
Cassian’s smirk turned into a grin, glancing between them, but Azriel was already shaking his head.
“You should enjoy your night,” he said, forcing a polite nod and avoiding her gaze.
“Oh.” Her smile faltered, confusion flickering across her beautiful face.
“I’m on duty tonight,” Azriel added.
He could feel her hurt and rejection through the bond.
“Right,” she said softly.
A practised smile formed on her lips, but her eyes betrayed her, looking at him with hurt, as if she had never been denied a dance or a drink before.
He doubted she ever had.
“Well,” she said after a pause, her voice bright again. “I’ll let you get back to your duties, shadowsinger. I’ll save you a dance.”
His heart twisted as he watched her take a step back, then another.
The crowd swallowed her whole, courtiers and suitors, drawn to her like moths to a flame. Even as she smiled and laughed, her gaze didn’t leave Azriel’s.
He turned on his heel and pushed through the crowd, away from her, away from the sight of those men leaning too close, offering her company, drinks and dances that should have been his.
Jealousy flared hot, curling low in his stomach. The bond twisted painfully as he forced himself further and further from her.
“Az!” Cassian called, trying to catch up.
Azriel didn’t stop until they reached the edge of the ballroom. His hands were shaking, his chest rising and falling too fast.
Cassian caught up to him.
“What the hell was that?” he demanded. “The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen just walked up to you, asked you to dance and have a drink, and you said no.”
Azriel dragged a hand down his face, shadows curling around him as if shielding him from reality.
“She’s…”
He couldn’t bring himself to say it, the word catching in his throat.
Cassian exhaled sharply. “She’s what?”
“She’s my mate,” Azriel whispered, his voice cracking on the word.
Silence fell for a moment.
Cassian froze, eyes widening. “Does she know?”
Azriel’s gaze flicked back toward the crowd surrounding her. Men leaned closer, trying to catch her attention.
“She knows,” he said finally, forcing himself to meet Cassian’s eyes. “I think she’s waiting for me to go to her.”
Cassian’s brow furrowed, confusion written across his face. “Then go to her. Have your dance, have a drink with your mate, speak to her.”
Her laughter echoed in his ears; the bond between them was relentless and aching, a constant pull beneath his ribs.
“She deserves more,” he whispered. “So much more than me.”
Cassian’s expression softened, but Azriel didn’t look at him. He just stood there, shadows curling around his shoulders as her laughter faded into the music.
After that, he kept to the edge of the room, shadows cloaking him in darkness.
She was never alone, always surrounded by admirers, their laughter too loud, their touch too familiar and no matter how deeply he hid in the shadows, her eyes always found him.
Through the crowd.
Through the noise.
Through the dark.
Each time their eyes met, his breath caught, and each time, he was the one to look away first.
He could handle watching her from afar.
Until he saw him.
A flash of red hair, glowing like flames. A sharp smile. Amber eyes locked on one target.
Her.
Azriel’s stomach dropped, his fingers twitched at his sides, and his shadows coiled around his boots.
Eris Vanserra was heading toward his mate.
The heir of the Autumn Court bowed before her, taking her hand and gently kissing her knuckles. She laughed softly as Eris pulled her into a tight embrace, but her gaze slipped past him to where Azriel stood hidden in the shadows.
In that moment, Azriel’s control fractured.
Eris whispered something that made her laugh, a loud, unrestrained sound that twisted like a knife in Azriel’s chest. His wings flared slightly, and his hands clenched into fists.
“Dance with me,” Eris murmured, already tugging her toward the floor.
She hesitated. Her gaze fixed on the shadows where Azriel stood, almost invisible.
Azriel’s chest tightened painfully as he watched them step onto the dance floor. Her gown shimmered with every turn, golden fabric catching the light.
Eris held her as though she belonged to him, his hand resting far too low at the small of her back.
Every instinct screamed at him to intervene, to pull her from Eris’s grasp and into his own arms where she belonged.
Maybe she did belong here, in the centre of the room, with the heir of a court.
Maybe the Cauldron had made a mistake.
He stood there, cloaked in shadow, and watched his mate dance with another man.
Finally, her eyes found his.
Across the room.
In the arms of another.
Azriel’s fragile control finally shattered.
He turned on his heel and left the ballroom, through the winding halls of the Night Court palace.
The air was too bright, too heavy.
He needed darkness.
He needed distance.
He needed to breathe.
Azriel pushed open the heavy doors of the balcony, the night air cool against his burning skin. His hands gripped the railing until his knuckles turned white.
The bond pulled at him relentlessly, a constant, searing ache beneath his ribs. It was a pain unlike anything he had ever felt, as if he were being burned from the inside out.
His eyes stung.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. Couldn’t remember the last time he allowed himself to feel so much, but now, standing alone, he was seconds away from breaking completely.
He tried to smother it, the bond, the ache, her.
Tried to build the walls back up.
To breathe through the pain.
His wings flared in frustration. His shadows writhed and coiled around him, whispering her name.
“Stop,” he hissed to them. “Stop.”
The bond tightened in response, strangling him.
He didn’t hear the door open at first, only the sound of heels on stone.
He turned, tears drying instantly as his face settled into its usual mask.
He’d expected Cassian. Maybe Rhys.
Anyone but her.
“Is there a threat out here?” she teased, her gown glowing in the darkness.
“I’m sorry?” Azriel said, carefully.
She tilted her head. “You said you couldn’t have a drink because you were on duty, but from what I can see—” she glanced around the empty balcony, “—there don’t appear to be any threats.”
He inhaled sharply as she stepped closer.
“You followed me,” he said, his fists clenched at his sides.
“I did.”
She took another slow step forward. The closer she came, the more his shadows retreated.
“You were hiding,” she continued. “Watching me, watching Eris, and acting as if it didn’t bother you.”
Azriel’s shadows went still.
“You could feel that?” he whispered.
She was so close that he could feel her warmth against his chest.
“I can feel everything you feel, Shadowsinger,” she murmured, her eyes flicking from his to his mouth. “And you, my mate, are jealous. I’m here to tell you that I will always choose my mate, stranger or not.”
Azriel’s voice broke as he said, “You deserve someone like Eris.”
A quiet laugh left her lips as she shook her head.
“If I wanted Eris, I would have chosen him long ago. He knows that, it’s just a game to him, a chase he’ll never win.” Her voice was soft but sure. “I don’t want Eris. I want the man the Mother gifted me. My equal. My mate.”
He couldn’t breathe. The bond burned between them, a living thing.
“I’m not here to rush you,” she whispered. “And I’ll never force the bond, but I couldn’t leave the Night Court knowing my mate thought I’d chosen someone else.”
“You’re leaving,” Azriel said, voice cracking.
“Not if you don’t want me to.”
He shouldn’t have looked at her, because when he did, his heart raced.
All sense, all restraint, left him.
“Stay,” he whispered.
Her breath caught, and then a smile formed on her lips. “As you wish, Shadowsinger.”
She stepped even closer, her gown brushing against his boots. The bond ached between them.
“Eris means nothing,” Azriel murmured, voice low and rough.
“Eris means nothing,” she repeated softly, looking up at him through her lashes.
“Tell me,” she said, her tone teasing. “Do you truly not dance, or were you avoiding me?”
“I don’t know how,” he admitted. “Will you teach me?”
Her smile widened, and the look on her face nearly brought him to his knees.
“Yes,” she whispered, reaching for him. “I’d love to teach you to dance.”
Her hands slipped into his, and the world tilted. The bond flared in response, and his chest tightened.
“Follow my lead,” she murmured, placing his hands on her waist, while hers rested on his shoulders.
She guided him, the Spymaster, the Shadowsinger, her mate, through the steps of a waltz.
He stumbled, stepped on her toes, tripped her, apologised too much, and his cheeks flushed for the first time in years. She scolded him, louder and fiercer than Cassian ever had during training, but every word, every correction, made his heart ache in growing affection.
After that night, everything changed.
For six months, they practised every evening.
He learned how to spin her without stumbling, when she wanted to be dipped or lifted, when to turn, and when to pull her close.
He learned her.
After that night, she never left his side.
She left the Day Court without a second thought. She moved into his home and filled every dark corner with light, colour, and life.
She was loud, spoiled, and everything he never knew he needed.
She kept every gift he gave her, every letter, every ribbon.
Every reminder of him.
On the night of their mating ceremony, they danced until their feet ached.
They danced with friends, with family, beneath the glow of the moonlight. He twirled her beneath the stars, her gown shimmering, her laughter echoing through the courtyard.
She glowed, a light so blinding, so pure, that he couldn’t look away.
cw: heavy angst, shaming, severe injury, mating bond, no use of y/n, not proof read
authors note: …sorry
It doesn’t matter how your love feels anymore;
It’ll never be the cure.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥
One year, seven months, seventeen days and six hours had passed since the mating bond had snapped into place.
One year, seven months, ten days and zero hours had passed since the day she walked into his life. Since the last time he had ever touched you.
They were the most agonising nine months of your life, and yet you bloomed through the pain so gracefully because you’d rather he was happy and free than unhappy and yours. You loved him, without a doubt. And there was a time when you thought he loved you too.
But here you sit, in Feyre’s vanity room with a flute of sparkling wine and a throbbing headache as the girls all fawned over Elain in her dazzling gown. She looked beautiful and radiant, the absolute picture of Fae grace, as she should do on her wedding day.
You were happy for her. You truly were. She was kind and caring to the core. She wasn’t ruthless and reckless like you. He deserved somebody to steady him, to make a home for him, a warm one that he never thought he deserved until her; not rile him up and be an everlasting stressor in the back of his mind.
You swayed back and forth on the canapé, taking in how the stark snow white of her gown very subtly faded into a cobalt blue right at the very bottom, like a brush of cornflowers pooled at her feet.
Tears pricked your eyes, and you hated yourself for it.
“You look absolutely breathtaking, Elain.” You swallowed hard, yet gave her the most genuine smile you could muster.
She turned to you, and alarm quickly overtook her beautiful features. “Oh, don’t cry.” She pattered over to you and sat next to you on the canapé, much to Mor’s annoyance who wasn’t finished applying her makeup. Elain draped her arm along your shoulders and rested her head on yours. “Don’t cry, lovely. Your time will come too.” She giggled genuinely.
Oh, how far she had fallen from the real reason for your tears. But you were happy to let her think the way she did. That your tears were as shallow as they seemed.
“I’m not sure it will.” You sniffed, but gave her arm a squeeze. “Go back to your makeup chair, before Mor guts us both.”
She beamed at you, showing off her perfect teeth beneath those blush lips. Lips that would touch him in all the ways you couldn’t. In all the ways that you had dreamed you yourself would cherish and worship your mate for the rest of your days.
Amren left the gaggle of females around the makeup chair, and walked gracefully towards you. Only her and Rhys had ever scented the truth, and you supposed it was somewhat comforting to have one person know the true reason for your tears. Even if it was Amren.
She placed a hand on your shoulder and squeezed hard, yet reassuringly, bringing you out of your thoughts.
“It will be okay, girl.” She murmured quietly.
You smiled sadly up at her. “I’m not so sure.”
She stared down at you, stone faced. “There’s no other option.”
You nodded to humour her, despite how aware you had become of all your other options that did indeed exist. Your head was filled with poison, and you were sure no alternative would be enough to drain it out.
A knock at the door snapped you out of your thoughts. “It’s me.” Rhysand’s smooth voice slid through the gaps in the doorframe. “Am I allowed in? Are you females all decent?”
“Come in!” Elain called out, after they had all giggled at his choice of words.
The door creaked open, and in walked Rhysand, in a midnight blue suit that made his violet eyes sparkle. He walked over to Feyre, pressed a chaste kiss to her lips and then turned to Elain.
“My, my!” He shook his head in disbelief. “You are quite the sight.” He took her hand and twirled her around.
He looked overjoyed for Elain, despite his initial aversion to their pairing. But that was before Lucien had left Prythian for good, satisfied with the life he’d built with his so-called Band of Exiles. Rhys shortly came around after that, mainly thanks to his own mate’s persuasion to ironically ‘let nature run its course’, and her ideology that what’s meant to be will be.
You had almost laughed out loud at her reasoning. Nature had quite literally told you what was meant to be, but that didn’t seem to matter to either party.
No, not to Azriel. And certainly not to Elain with Lucien. So all you could do was sit there and drain glass after glass of wine and wallow in self-pity, watching a beautiful girl get her gown tailored and makeup done for her wedding to the male whose invisible thread was bound to the depths of your very soul.
Not that he seemed to care, not with the way he looked at you with such disdain. Looked at you like your very existence tainted the air that his precious Elain breathed; like you yourself were just vermin he wished to be exterminated.
Gone was the male who kissed you like he couldn’t breathe without you. The male you’d shared your mind, body and soul with. Gone were the hushed whispers and stolen kisses after midnight and the reverent touches in places you’d never even reached yourself. For a short while, you were his religion. But in this case, his faith had long dissipated.
No, that male was long gone. But there was an extraordinary phenomenon that took place, that even he couldn’t explain.
Azriel was always adamant that he controlled his shadows; and that they didn’t control him. But when he had tried to send them to spy on you, not out of concern for you but to ensure you didn’t harm Elain in the early stages of their courtship, they flat out refused.
Like the shadows still knew you, despite what had become of yours and his’ relationship. His shadows would not conduct any surveillance on you, much to his discontent. And this was the first time anyone had seen anything like it.
A few quiet sobs from Feyre broke you out of your poisonous train of thought, and you glanced up in alarm until you realised she was just emotional for her sister.
Something withered inside you. Wilted and broke down and died. Nobody would ever shed such emotion for you. Nobody would ever prepare you for your wedding and cry for you and cheer for you and stand by you as you began the rest of your life, no.
Your heart still belonged to him. And it always will.
After chatting with Elain, Rhysand marched in your direction, taking a seat next to you.
“Unclench your jaw.” He spoke softly. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
“Does it matter?” You barely acknowledged him, staring straight into space.
He took the wine glass out of your hand, and placed it on a side table.
“You look like you need air.” He whispered. You just shrugged in response.
He raised his voice slightly, before he said. “I think you should go fetch us some more wine, just to be on the safe side. Can’t let Mor run out before she’s done working her magic.” Rhysand winked at Mor, and then winked subtly at you.
You squeezed his hand gratefully, before hurrying out of his and Feyre’s bedroom door before anyone could say or ask you anything.
Clutching your chest, you practically sprinted in your heels down the hallway until you reached the little terrace balcony opposite the stairs to the main hall in the River House. You shoved open the lattice doors, and immediately gasped for air.
You couldn’t slow your breathing. You swallowed lungful after lungful of air, clawing at your throat and yet nothing was making the tightness, the constriction subside. You braced your hands on the stone balcony fencing, leaning over it and trying to slow your hyperventilating.
Your mate was getting married. Your mate was getting married and not to you. The male who held you like you were his biggest blessing and tasted you like you were his favourite sin, was about to wed another female. He saw what he wanted, saw how her sisters’ lives had panned out and decided he was entitled to complete the pattern; three sisters for three brothers.
Your heart thundered against your ribcage, but finally, your breathing began to slow. Your hair had no doubt been ruined from leaning over the balcony and it blowing freely in the wind, but you didn’t care. You raked your fingers through it and let it tumble down.
Suddenly, you froze as you heard the terrace door behind you creak open.
You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. His scent was ingrained in every fibre of your being, written into your biology like he was part of you. No, you’d recognise it for eternity.
You held your breath, bracing yourself for the door to slam once he realised who was outside, but no such sound came.
“Are you alright?” Azriel spoke quietly.
Your knees practically buckled in shock as you turned around, glancing at him over your shoulder. “What?”
“How are you doing?” He stared at you with an unreadable expression.
You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat not subsiding. “Since when do you care?” You whispered hoarsely.
“It’s polite to check on a female in distress.” Was all he said.
“Right. I forgot how polite you are.” You turned back around to face the Sidra to conceal the sneer that escaped you.
“I’m trying to be better.” He explained. “For Elain. She makes me better. Less volatile.”
“That’s fantastic.” You clenched your jaw and squeezed your eyes shut.
“Are you being sarcastic?” He asked in disbelief, as if it was ludicrous for you to feel disdain towards him after everything. Of course you were angry, even if your heart still cried for his.
“I’m not trying to.” You spoke through gritted teeth.
“Don’t make this hard for me.” He whispered, and you whipped back around in shock.
“What?” You scoffed in disbelief, pointing at yourself. “Me?”
But there was something unfamiliar in his eyes. Something that resembled remorse.
“Yes, you.” He stood his ground.
You laughed humourlessly. “You have some fucking nerve, Azriel.”
His expression immediately turned sour. “I’m trying to do the right thing here.”
“You had the choice to do the right thing over a year ago.” You seethed. “Don’t come here and play the victim because you want to clear your conscience .”
“I’m not here to clear my conscience.” He thundered, taking a step closer.
“What are you here for, then?” You huffed a shrill laugh. “Enlighten me.”You blinked hard, as the wind quickened and blew some strands of hair into your face.
“You can’t take anything seriously, can you?” He shook his head. “And you wonder why I chose her.”
His words slapped you harder than any palm ever had and would. Even he looked slightly taken aback at his own monologue.
Yet where tears would have usually fallen, all you could feel was the anger thrumming in your veins thanks to the copious amounts of wine that bubbled under the surface and finally reached your system.
“I’m happy for you Azriel.” You stepped closer, so much so that your chests were almost flush. You watched his throat bob as he swallowed hard. “Truly. I hope you live happily ever after and have a plethora of children and she bakes and gardens for you for the rest of your days.”
He misunderstood your tone entirely, and rage bloomed on his face.
“Perhaps the simple life is what I desired all this time, but you only ever cared about yourself to see that.” Azriel crossed his arms.
You looked him up and down. “You can lie to me all you want, but please don’t lie to yourself.” You said quietly. “You never liked simple.” You glanced down once more. “Are you satisfied, Azriel?” you hummed, stepping closer.
You knew that even if he tried to deny it, thanks to the bond his skin would always burn and his blood would always pump harder in close proximity with you.
“Do not ask me such questions.” He seemed like he was almost squirming.
“Does she touch you better than I did?” Your voice sounded gravelly.
No response came from him, so you simply laughed. “I suppose the baking makes up for that, then.”
He grabbed you by the throat, spinning you both and pushing you hard against the lattice doors. Before you moved away, flashbacks of being in similar positions with him ambushed your mind.
Movements that were usually accompanied by whispers and strokes and grasping at each other desperately like you couldn’t breathe had somehow turned into being accompanied by rage and rebuttal and loathing.
“You speak of baking and gardening like it is sin.” His fingers flexed around your throat, and his jaw clenched hard. “I’m rather satisfied that my betrothed takes on such homely tasks, instead of slaughtering and torturing in dungeons and on battlefields for a living and then drinking and soliciting men in her free time.”
He held up his scarred hand for you to see, his speech clearly not over. “I would rather feel this again than to ever be touched by you again. You disgust me.”
This time, hot tears did burn your eyes as you felt your heart crumple from within. Your traitorous, fitful heart.
You struggled to take a deep breath with the hand around your throat, but you tried. “I was by your side on every one of those battlefields.” You rasped softly.
His eyes widened and he loosened his grip slightly, before he suddenly became aware and his face became apathetic again. His grip remained loose, though.
He let go, and pushed off the wall and away from you. “If it were down to me, you wouldn’t even be in the wedding. But Elain wants you there. She’s kinder than we’ll ever be.”
You rubbed your throat gently, grateful to be able to take deep breaths again. He pulled the handle on the lattice doors, clearly deeming it time to end the conversation.
“Congratulations, Azriel.” You said softly, before the door fully closed. And you thought for a moment that you saw him hesitate. Saw him pause in his tracks. But the door closed anyway, and he was gone.
You slid down against the doors and the tears came in full swing. You hugged your knees to your chest as rumbling, sorrowful sobs escaped your throat. The clouds began to darken slightly, as though rain was pending. But at least it was still warm, despite the winds.
You cried for at least twenty minutes, until you wiped your nose and pushed your hair out of your face, and decided it was time to face the music.
But first, you went in pursuit of that wine Rhysand had ‘sent’ you for.
-
Third seat, second row.
That was where you sat amongst the rest of the attendees, all in agonising anticipation of the event to come and to see the bride in her gown, for not everybody had shared the privilege you had of getting ready in the High Lady’s chambers with the bride herself.
Harp strings twinged, and fiddles groaned as the music slowly came to life, and you knew Elain would be walking towards the altar any moment now. The altar you refused to look at, for he was stood there. Tall, proud, and devastatingly beautiful. Elated and anxious and excited to begin this chapter; to start the beginning of the rest of his life.
But you couldn’t help yourself. You glanced up at him once.
And once was enough to notice him staring straight at you with an unreadable expression.
You slowly shook your head, as fury and frustration began to simmer under the surface of your skin once more. What in the Cauldron’s name was he playing at?
You clenched your fists and sank your teeth into your lip to try and send pain to your brain before the tears started. A tactic that never usually failed you. But this time it was no use. Both your lip and your eyes stung, and you looked up again to see him finally look away.
Commotion rustled behind you, and you turned around. And there she was.
Elain. Beautiful, radiant, and a devastating bride in her custom gown. Taking such slow, graceful steps that you could barely see her ballet pumps under the cobalt hem of her white dress. The blue that perfectly matched the siphons that glinted on the male waiting at the end of the aisle.
Rhysand walked beside her, her arm tucked in his as they strolled towards the altar with Feyre and Nesta in tow, both holding beautiful bouquets just like Elain, comprised of white lilies and blue cornflowers, then embraced by twined sprigs of rosemary and thyme from Elain’s garden as a finishing touch.
You hated how much of a bitter taste it left in your mouth. You hated yourself, mostly. Both for feeling this way, and for whatever you had been or done to not be good enough for him to choose his mate. The one the mother had chosen for him. The one he was not supposed to live without, and yet you weren’t good enough. Gods, you loathed yourself. You picked up the nearly empty bottle from where it was hidden under your seat behind your dress, and poured yourself a new glass. Not wine, but whiskey this time.
It’s ironic how the burn of the whiskey soothes you, rather than disgusts you. Soothes your scorned heart and tortured soul; you can’t burn something that has already gone up in flames.
A voice smooth like silk slid into your mind. “Steady on the drinks.”
You looked up towards the front of the aisle, where Rhysand’s head was ever so slightly turned in your direction. He narrowed his eyes so that you’d get the message.
You always listened to him. He was your voice of reason.
Not today. Not anymore. Today you were a woman scorned, and you didn’t care to conceal how much you felt like acting like one. You raised the whiskey to your lips and drained almost all the contents, before dropping the glass on the floor where its fall was cushioned by the tulle near the hem of your dress. It was pink. You fucking hated pink.
A smile crept onto your face as the amber stain began to spread across the pooled material of your dress on the floor.
“What are you doing.” Rhys tried again. This time, you put your shields up and shut him out entirely. You watched his eyes widen as him and Elain reached the altar.
Dealing with him would be a problem for another day. Right now, you didn’t want to feel, and the liquor was helping you achieve just that.
Elain finally reached the altar, and took her place opposite Azriel. You couldn’t bear to look as he reached forwards and took one of her hands away from the bouquet, before lifting it to his lips and pressing a soft kiss against her knuckles.
Your stomach lurched. He had worshipped you like that once. Felt so deeply for you that nature bound you together. And it still wasn’t enough for him.
You felt a genuine ache spread through your chest, and the nausea rose up your throat as they began to read their vows.
The priestess glanced at all the attendees in the pews, and called out; “Does any male or female in this court object to this union?”
Rhysand glanced at you.
Amren glanced at you.
You almost scoffed at them both, but didn’t wish to draw attention.
But then Azriel looked at you. One long, empty look and you could have sworn you watched the rise and fall of an extremely heavy breath on his chest.
And your stomach turned again. You closed your eyes and counted down the minutes until everyone filtered out of the temple towards the festival hall. Once you were sure it was less conspicuous, you launched out of your seat and darted down the aisle to the nearest bathing chamber. You could have sworn somebody called after you, but you didn’t have time to turn back.
The moment you opened the chamber door, you hurtled your body over the toilet and violently deposited the entire contents of your system, your throat burning as the whiskey made its way back up. You heaved over and over again, your respiratory tract on fire and your chest like somebody had stuck a knife into it. You couldn’t fucking breathe.
Several minutes that felt like hours later, you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and rose, taking one look at yourself in the mirror.
What stared back almost made you laugh hysterically. Mascara streaked down your cheeks, your lipstick smudged and the space under your eyes was so hollow it looked purple.
“Of course he doesn’t want me.” You cackled to your own reflection, holding up the bottle of whiskey you managed to remember. “By the cauldron, who would?”
You wiped your lipstick onto the sleeve of your dress, squealing in delight as you ruined the pink material more and more as the day progressed.
Finally emerging from the bathroom, you threw back the rest of the whiskey and set it down on a nearby maid’s tray, before taking the two flutes of sparkling wine that had sat upon the tray.
One in each hand, you sauntered into the Great Hall, where tables were laid out with elaborate foods and wines and elixirs and petals and gorgeous smelling candles. The cobalt blue theme decorated the entire hall, and you all but sneered at the accents.
Your eyes narrowed in on the central table, where Elain and Azriel sat, gazing into each other’s eyes with what could only be described as absolute contentment and joy. Rhysand and Feyre sat to their left on the circular table, followed by the rest of the inner circle. You drained your first flute, and set it down.
Rhysand missed nothing. His eyes flicked up, and his expression soon became horrified as he took in your drink and your ruined dress. Feyre then looked up, and you struggled to hold her stare as devastation was written all over her face. She no doubt knew now, too.
You ripped your gaze away, tipped your head back, and poured one flute of sparkling wine right down your throat, ignoring the burn of the bubbles.
And then he saw you. And the love and content that was directed at Elain was replaced with pure ire. Disgust. Fury.
You expected him to simply sit there and scowl, but he banged a fist on the table, and stood straight up. Guests all around the room whipped around and stared in confusion as the groom stalked through the room like an apex predator, nothing but bloodlust on his expression.
Azriel grabbed your wrist. Hard.
“What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?” He thundered.
You tipped your glass towards him. “I’m enjoying the party!”
A drop spilled, landing on his leather shoe.
“Oops!” You whispered, covering your mouth.
“Get out.” He said calmly. Too calm.
You pouted up at him, even though your chest burned. It burned with regret, humiliation, any and every form of self loathing that existed. And it burned with the bond, still alive and roaring not to be ignored.
“Get the fuck out.” He repeated. “And don’t show your face around Elain or I again. You’re no longer welcome in our lives.”
You stared at him, as the world suddenly fell silent. The flute slipped from your hand, smashing on the floor. Gasps echoed around the room, the quartet ceased their string work, and you looked behind Azriel. At Elain’s panicked face.
She didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve for you to ruin this for her.
“I’m sorry, Elain.” You whispered, and you knew she couldn’t hear it. But the expression on her face after you inclined your head told you she understood.
You backed away, sparing Azriel one last glance. It must have been your inebriation, because you could have sworn that the rage on his face faltered for a split second as you slowly stumbled backwards.
“I’m sorry.” You repeated. But no one could hear you, as the strings resumed, the cutlery touched plates and drinks clinked. Everyone had moved on.
Everyone except you.
“I’m sorry.” You murmured towards the floor, as you slipped through the grand doors.
You slipped off your heels and ran down the stone hallway as a burning pressure began to attack your throat and close it up. Tears stung your eyes and you ran fast, faster, willing your legs to keep up with your mind until you crashed into the double doors leading out into the garden.
You heaved for air, and when you felt your lungs had finally refilled you let out the most harrowing scream you could muster. It registered, it hit you that this was all real. You had lost your mate. Forever.
Your love wasn’t enough. It never would be. You were broken, torn apart and scarred by life but so was he. Yet although he was enough to make you feel complete again, for him you would never be the cure.
You stared at the garden that Elain had so lovingly cultivated. You were sure their happy, half Illyrian children would run through these bushes one day. And you wouldn’t be around to see it, and it was nobody’s fault other than your own.
A few hushed whispers sounded like they came from the hushed rustling behind you, but you assumed it was the alcohol. You were hearing things.
Until they got slightly louder, and you were able to make out a few words.
Big event.
Night Court.
Opportunity.
Final chance.
Before you even had a chance to turn around and inspect it for yourself, you scented it before you felt it. The ash arrow, that ricocheted straight through your gut.
AZRIEL
He had been gazing lovingly at Elain as she chatted happily with her sisters when he felt it.
His stomach lurched, and an excruciatingly sharp pain struck him in the chest. He doubled over, clutching his chest tightly as he felt a metallic liquid run up his throat and coat his tongue. Blood. His blood. But why?
Rhysand and Elain both whipped around in horror as they had scented his blood first.
Azriel spluttered as he tried to explain that he had no idea what was going on, but no sound came out as he choked and coughed. The rest of the inner circle began to turn around, and an unfamiliar expression suddenly dawned on Rhys’s face.
“Azriel.” Rhysand’s voice like smooth, calming silk entered his mind. Azriel simply nodded to him to indicate that he had heard as he tried his best not to heave.
“Azriel,” He repeated. “Search inside yourself for the bond.” Rhysand’s forehead suddenly seemed to be slick with sweat.
Azriel blinked at Rhysand in confusion, before his gaze flickered to Elain, and then back to Rhysand. And then his eyes widened, as it dawned on him. As the realisation hit him, what was running through Rhys’s mind.
Azriel searched. He tugged. Something faint glimmered, but it had dulled tenfold. It had been a long time since he had acknowledged that it was even there, but it still glowed stronger than this recently.
“What’s going on?” Elain murmured, glancing between the two males. “Are you speaking into his mind?”
Azriel couldn’t respond as his chest pain grew with every second, his stomach doing somersaults as he covered his mouth to keep from retching. Elain put a hand on his arm to comfort him as he tried not to vomit. He clutches his chest hard, standing up and doubling over.
“It’s fading.” He choked, out loud this time.
Rhys closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, but Elain and Feyre only looked more bewildered. Nesta and Cassian had returned from their dance hurriedly to check on Azriel as he struggled to keep himself out.
“What’s fading?” Elain screamed, not out of annoyance but out of sheer panic and worry for her new husband.
“Follow it. Follow what’s left of it, NOW, Azriel.” Rhys panted, wiping his forehead.
Azriel used whatever strength he dug up from within him to ignore the pain and sprint towards the double doors. He tried to follow his heart, but all he felt was the hollowness he’d always believed resided in its place. So he followed scent instead.
The dull ache in his chest became one, sharp sensation worse than anything he had ever felt. And then it was gone. And a flicker of relief washed over him.
Until he saw them. Two Autumn Court sentries, darting through the doors to the courtyard and garden.
“Hey.” Azriel shouted, walking towards them with Rhys in tow. “HEY.” He screamed.
Rhys made a swift gesture with his hand, and both of the sentries paused as if time had stopped as the High Lord and his friends caught up to them.
But once they’d made it through the garden doors, Azriel stopped in his tracks.
Azriel froze in shock as he beheld you. Once blushed and bright skin, now sunken and pale. Your expression was permanently fixed into one of despair and…longing. As if you had wished you hadn’t gone through this alone. Your long, lovely hair caked in blood as one arrow was nestled in your neck, and the other in your chest.
The sound that ripped out of Azriel’s throat was one his friends had never heard, and hoped to never hear again as he fell to his knees and pulled your torso towards him.
He’d known how to scent death on a Fae since before he could walk or fly in the Illyrian camps, and yet he still didn’t accept it as he flattened his palms on your chest and pushed, willing your heart to start again.
“Please.” He whispered.
“Azriel.” Rhys placed a hand on his shoulder.
But the Shadowsinger shoved his hand off and grabbed your jaw, making you face him.
“Wake up.” He spoke through gritted teeth, pushing your hair back from your face.
“She’s gone, Azriel.” Rhysand shouted, his tone sterner this time. “You didn’t want her, and now this removes the complication of the mating bond. Isn’t this what you wanted, anyway?” He scoffed.
“Mating bond?” Elain and Feyre said softly in unison from where they had finally caught up.
Azriel looked over his shoulder at his new wife as tears stung his eyes.
What had he done?
He looked back at you. Dead. You were dead.
Rhysand straightened, and turned towards the Archeron sisters.
“They were mates.” He swallowed hard, and gasps resounded from the small crowd that had began to gather following the commotion.
An unwelcome figure walked up from behind the Inner Circle, and stared down at your body with shock and anger.
“I told him not to do anything.” Eris Vanserra shook his head as his voice cracked. “He said a Night Court wedding this level of prestigious would be too good of an opportunity to pass up to send you a message.” He covered his mouth as he turned to Azriel. “I’m so sorry.”
Behind him, Elain had began crying. But the sound didn’t disarm Azriel as it usually did.
“This was Beron?” Rhys thundered.
“I believe so.” Eris muttered. “I rushed here as quick as I could. But I was too late.”
“What have I done?” Azriel whispered.
“Get the fuck out.” He repeated. “And don’t show your face around Elain or I again. You’re no longer welcome in our lives.”
He had well and truly spoken those words into existence, and he shook his head as he stared at your lifeless body. He pulled your head onto his lap and stroked your hair silently, rocking back and forth as he whispered his apology to you over and over again.
His mate had died. He could have prevented it. He could have done literally anything differently, and the outcome would have been better than this.
He looked up at the sky, and let out the most bloodcurdling scream to have been heard in all of Prythian, as he searched for the bond within his chest, finding no light and no familiar hum. Just emptiness.
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: 4k
Warnings: Biggest miscommunication trope lol, angst, pining!, idiots in love, Archeron!Reader but really only that she was human and now fae
a/n: This is the second and final part for this little two-shot!! It was so fun to write I love miscommunication (when it gets RESOLVED lol)!! Thank you for reading ilyyyy 🫶
Read part one here!
Main Masterlist ♡
~~
You bundled yourself into a thick wool sweater to stave off the chill of the night. After your proclamation and the awkward silence that followed, Azriel had stood, faltered in his stance, and then excused himself while running a shaky hand over his jaw.
The picture of relief; he was finally free from your needy confines.
Your chest felt heavy as you walked with no destination in mind. Perhaps you should find a date for the night. You had been fae for a while now, and so perhaps it was time for you to truly settle in—to find relationships beyond the family you acquired. Sure, you’d made friends, but there was something more you desired, and it was clear Azriel wasn’t going to be that for you.
You shook off the thoughts—both of finding a date and of being with someone who wasn’t Azriel. It would take a lot more than a simple whim to get over him, and although disheartening, that revelation was crucial. You needed to move on. You needed to stop reading into every small move he made. He was just nice, just giving to his family.
Frustration and tiredness gripped you next, so you set course for the Sidra. You figured the lapping tide would calm your mind and ground you, and when you plopped onto the first bench you could find, you found your suspicions were correct. Closing your eyes, you let the water take over.
It wasn’t until you started to notice the chill under your legs that the air shifted. You could tell it wasn’t Azriel instantly, something about the movement of the air not feeling like him. Instead, the swish of wings caused you to snap your eyes open to find Cassian standing before you, his arms crossed over his chest and his brow raised in silent accusation.
“That was cruel,” he said, tone not unkind. “You’re not cruel. Not on purpose. What did he do to make you so upset?”
He did several things to make you upset, but they all sounded childish, even in your head—childish and not even his fault. But you weren’t even sure what Cassian was referring to, so you started with that.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Cassian sighed like he was getting ready for a long night. He tugged at the seams of his pants and sat beside you on the bench. “Come on. Don’t be like that. Tell me why you said you have a date when you’re sitting by yourself right now.”
It was your turn to sigh. You leaned back and looked out to the Sidra instead of at Cassian’s patient gaze. “Don’t make me talk about it. It’s bad enough that you’ve caught me in my lie.”
“Yeah, no offense, but I didn’t actually think you had a date.”
You huffed out a humorless laugh. “Am I really that pathetic?”
“Well… No,” Cassian slowly replied. “But I never thought you would do that to Az. And I’m sure he doesn’t think that either. But it hurt him to hear you say that, and I guess I’m trying to understand why you did. Like I said, you’re not cruel.”
Something felt like it was running in circles in your head. You kept your arms crossed over your chest, but craned your neck to look at Cassian again, trying to find answers in his features. You found only open searching from your friend.
You shook your head slightly. “I did it to protect myself,” you stated obviously. “I needed to let him go, and he needed to know that I would be fine without his constant attentiveness. It’s never been fair to him.”
For all of his gusto in entering this conversation, Cassian now stared at you with an utterly blank expression. Not even his wings twitched as you both looked at each other. Cassian had his arm hooked over the back of the bench, and it looked to be cemented there as he processed your words.
Feeling uncomfortable in the silence, you continued. “I’ve been his responsibility ever since I was Made, and it’s not fair that my feelings have kept him trapped for longer than he’s needed to be. I’m so grateful that he’s been here for me while I’ve been getting adjusted, but I’m adjusted now, and he needs to start living again.”
Another pause. Cassian turned your words over in his head. “Your feelings?”
“Of course that would be the only thing you catch—Yes, Cassian, I have feelings for Azriel. But you and I both know that’s ridiculous.”
He blinked. Something close to irritation stirred in your gut.
“You think—” Cassian began, before stopping himself and moving back on the bench slightly. “You—But Azriel… and you—”
You followed each sentence he uttered, only for them to trail off. Some of the irritation mingled with embarrassment within you, and you clenched your jaw, gripping the stone beneath you. “Yes, Cassian, I know it’s very hard to believe and probably quite a comical thought, but if you could gather your words that would be very appreciated.”
Cassian muttered a silent ‘comical?’ to himself that made you raise your brows, but the Illyrian seemed to finally land on a solid thought and quickly reached out to shake your hand. Your wrist flapped in his grip.
“You’re wearing this,” he started, forefinger tapping the ring on your pinky.
“Yes? And? It was a sweet gift,” you offered.
“It has—the siphons.”
“It has what?”
“The blue. It’s part of the siphon Azriel wears on his chest. The underside.”
You looked away for a moment, searching the surroundings for nothing. “Why on Earth would he put that in there?”
Cassian gave you an incredulous look. “What about the flying cloak?”
“What about the what?” You jerked your head back slightly, now completely and utterly lost. “You mean the coat Azriel was letting me wear when he flew me places?”
“No, the cloak. It’s tradition. His mother—” Cassian cut himself off again, releasing your hand finally. He’d been shaking it around since he started talking, and you were glad to have it back. You clutched your fingers in towards your chest and stared at your friend, suddenly worried about his sanity as he squinted his eyes up at a passing cloud.
“Cass, are you alright? I don’t—I’m confused.”
“You’re confused,” Cassian nodded to himself, words final. He remained squinting at the sky.
“Right. So, can you explain this psychotic break to me, or am I meant to pick up on context clues or…”
Cassian suddenly stood, the wind taken up by his wings startling a small screech from your lungs. You followed him up on pure instinct, and the Illyrian grabbed both of your shoulders. “Come on then.”
“Come on? Come on, where? Cassian, I still don’t—Cassian!” Your questions were lost to a scream as Cassian practically shoved you into his arms and took to the sky. You pushed your face into his chest and felt the cool whips of night drive into your skin, missing the “cloak” Cassian was going on about on this impromptu journey.
Your one saving grace was the view of the ring on your finger as you flew. It seemed to shine against the wind, sparking bright blue with each gust against the stone. The color warmed on your skin, a small comfort in the otherwise jarring flight. Just as quickly as you took off, Cassian deposited you on the balcony of the House of Wind. He marched forward instantly, leaving you in the dust with more questions than answers.
Now you were trapped. You shifted your weight onto your heels and accepted defeat without putting up much of a fight, rolling your eyes at Cassian’s retreating form. There was a fleeting second you considered taking the stairs back down to Velaris, but your legs were all but frozen, and you were hoping to give Cassian a piece of your mind. You had almost forgotten about your disastrous night with Azriel. That was, until your gracious sister alerted you to her soothing presence.
“I take it you figured it out?” Nesta drawled, snapping her book shut, her rigid posture hidden behind a rather tall chaise.
“Figured what out?” you tiredly sighed, rounding the room to sit beside her. You watched her eyes dart up to the ceiling in the same way Cassian’s had just minutes ago. The only difference was that hers looked markedly less confused and entirely more agitated.
“Absolutely no one listens to me in this family,” she hissed to herself before turning to you. “Do you remember when you confided in Feyre about loving Azriel?”
You reared back, gripping Nesta’s arm in alarm. “Keep your voice down. What is the matter with you? And yes, I remember confiding that in her. Something I will never do again, it seems.”
“Enough dramatics. Do you remember what she said?”
“Of course not, Nesta. That was months ago and I was half-delirious on fae wine.”
Nesta was looking up the ceiling again, counting something, maybe, or just sitting in her breaths. She jutted her jaw to the side and then dipped her finger along her neck to snag on a chain there. With a quick tug, a ring fell from behind her bodice, dangling from the gold it was looped to.
“Look,” she ordered. “I have the same ring you do. Only different in one way.”
You examined the red twining along the edges. “Okay?”
“Feyre has one as well.”
“A welcome gift?”
Nesta’s eye twitched. “Elain does not have one.” You stared blankly back at her until she stood from the chaise and took her book with her. “I swear you were not this dumb when we were children.”
“Nesta!” you called out, offence lining your tone.
Your sister did not even look over her shoulder. “If you cannot put together the pieces, save for your lack of self-worth, then I do not have the time for this. Open your eyes to how he looks at you, I swear.”
Her last words were filled with such exasperation that you felt chastised. You slumped back into the chaise and chewed on your lip, running over the jarring events of the evening. You certainly were not turned in early with a warm drink and a book as you had planned. No, instead, you were analyzing how Azriel last looked at you, using lingering crumbs to put anything together.
He had already been looking at you when you said you had a date, his gaze tracking your voice the second you opened your mouth. He always seemed to do that, so attentive in the way he listened to others. You remembered how he had started listening with rapt attention, gaze flickering down to your mouth and then back up to your eyes. There had been nothing assuming there, no expectations; he always watched you like he was simply there to listen, to be there and let you be heard.
And then you had said it, and things shifted. His expression flashed; his jaw had twitched. He had already been looking at you, but it seemed he somehow lost the sight of your face because he was quickly refocusing, brow curling uncomfortably. When you thought back on it now, he had looked… hurt? Lost? Your initial assumption was relief, but that had been a terrible conclusion. That had been an unfair judgment and you were now left wondering how many assumptions you had been making.
Because you had never really asked him, had you? You had always seen yourself as an unwanted burden he was too kind to brush off, but maybe you hadn’t been unwanted, not at first. And maybe you inserted your opinion of yourself too rashly in your relationship with Azriel. Maybe he liked the responsibility, and you thought you knew what was best for him.
Maybe you loved him too much to be selfish, and that was the problem.
Or maybe…
Could he love you? Was that the point Nesta was making with the rings?
An idiotic thought, even for you. And you were being called dumb and confused quite a lot today.
Your racing conclusions were cut off by yet another presence entering your space, but this time, you knew it to be Azriel. You could hear the gentle undercurrent of his shadows and just knew it was him as if by some instinct. Steeling yourself, you turned your gaze up to meet the Shadowsinger.
And you looked at him—you stared up at him as he looked at you.
He looked strained, at odds with himself.
“Cassian said we needed to talk,” Azriel offered, this being the third time he opened his mouth to speak. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted space. I left because I thought you did.”
You didn’t move from your seat. His shadows swarmed beneath your feet, unwilling to listen to their master. “Space for what?” you almost whispered.
He raised his brows, shifting his gaze to the floor. “To think, I suppose. I’ve made you angry, done something to ruin this. I didn’t want to make it worse.”
The picture was falling apart again. You’d finally pieced something together after Nesta’s words, but this was not lining up with your conclusion. You stood, taking a few steps towards the Shadowsinger.
“Why would you think that, Az? I’m not mad at you.”
“Why would I—Y/n, you’ve been avoiding me for weeks now. You hardly speak to me unless I prompt you. You don’t stay at the House.”
“I wanted to let you have your life back,” you earnestly replied. “It’s probably what Cassian wanted us to speak about. But then… he said I was confused and maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was pushing my thoughts onto you and you didn’t want so much space.”
“I want no space,” Azriel affirmed. He took a step forward and met you in the middle of the room. “And my life—there is no life I would want back. My life now is… you are everything to me.”
That gave you pause—a stunning, all-encompassing pause. You felt your eyes widen and your mouth fall open, but nothing could stop your reaction. Several of your conclusions, your assumptions, somersaulted in your mind.
“What?” you whispered.
Azriel shook his head, reaching a tentative hand out to cup your jaw. “I’ve tried to be subtle, to go slow, but you have to know. If you’re thinking I want space from you, then I haven’t made this known enough. You know that I love you. Tell me how to show—”
“You love me?” you blurted out, lost in the soft touch on your cheek and still more alert than you’ve ever been.
Azriel’s expression morphed into hurt again. “Of course I love you. That’s why we’ve been courting. To take things slower until you were ready.”
“Courting?”
The hurt was wiped clean. Azriel’s brows came together, his next words sounding punched from his lungs. “Yes, angel. Courting. Since Starfall.”
You temporarily spun at the name, but you had no time to focus on that. “Since Starfall?” you gaped, once again offering nothing but repetition.
Still holding you in his hands, Azriel searched every inch of your face. He didn’t let you go, but you felt his grip reposition as if to ground himself. He ducked an inch lower to fully catch your wide eyes.
“Did you—not know?”
You gave the slightest shake of your head. “You never…”
The air in the room shifted again, and Azriel was clearly panicking. He bit into his lip and searched your features again, looking for something to make sense of this. It was a mirror of your last few weeks. You wanted to provide him with some comfort, but nothing came to mind.
“The ring,” Azriel finally landed on, tilting your chin up with his thumbs. “I gave it to you then. I-I told you I wanted you to keep it close, as I would keep the other piece.”
“You said that?” you asked, trying to remember his words after he had slid it on your finger. Everything had been a blur of giddiness.
“Yes. I told you it would always guide you back to me. You—I haven’t seen you take it off since. It was a courting gift.”
“I thought it was a normal gift.”
Azriel’s expression widened. “Illyrians always give it to their partners. We have it made when we meet.”
“You had this made for me when we met? In the human lands?” His nod was hurried and disjointed. “But I—I didn’t know that.”
Azriel’s panic increased. He ran his hands down from your jaw to rest at the back of your neck. “The jacket,” he quipped. “You accepted it. You wore it everywhere I took you.”
“To keep warm!” you exclaimed, feelings of hysteria taking over. “I thought you were letting me borrow it for convenience!”
“It’s a tradition—the flying cloak. Illyrian men are meant to take their partners everywhere. We guide them. The cloak goes along with that. I had it tailored into a coat for you to be more comfortable.”
Breath escaped your lungs. “Cassian called it a cloak,” you said to no one, pulling yourself out of his hands to pace the room. You moved your palm to your forehead. “Am I—am I missing anything else?”
Azriel stared back at you with a beseeching expression, hands limp at his sides. His shadows were swarming, some batting at his head, and his wings were pulled tight against his back. Not sprawled out for you to see. They were always out for you.
“Just… small things,” he spoke quietly into the air between you. “But, I had thought you knew. I thought—”
Silence blanketed the air, your pacing now taking up less room. You went one way and then the other, your hand on your chest as you tried to quell the pressure there. It was aching somewhat, but you also couldn’t catch your breath and your world was turning upside down.
So many things you had missed. So much confusion and heartache and this was all right in front of you. But how were you supposed to know? How were you meant to understand the idiosyncrasies of Illyrian traditions when you were still discovering how your ears worked, for God's sake?
Azriel loved you.
He was standing before you and telling you he loved you, that he had been loving you, and you were blind to it all. You were too caught up in your doubt and confusion to see it.
You finally stilled, fingers curling into your palms as you faced the man before you. He had been watching you, and something settled when you caught his eye—when you stopped looking like you were about to bolt.
And then realization struck him. He frowned. “But you asked about my history. You asked about my life before you.” He was grasping at straws himself, trying to find hints that maybe you knew all along. But he was not going to like this answer.
You pressed your lips together. “I was asking you about your hobbies, Azriel. I was trying to tell you to do more things you enjoyed instead of watching over me.”
“Things I enjoyed?” he almost deadpanned.
“Yes.”
“And I told you I went to pleasure houses.”
“Yes, Azriel.”
An agonized sound left him. Azriel covered his face with his hands and then moved them to his hair, tugging at the roots. “Gods, I—I am so sorry. I thought you were asking about my romantic history.”
You shrugged slightly, unable to offer anything beyond that. He couldn’t know that it had hurt beyond belief then, because it was silly to acknowledge that now. You had only been hurt because he hadn’t been yours, but that wasn’t even true. This pain and hurt had been of your own creation, spurred on by your lack of insight.
Azriel seemed to catch onto your train of thought. He cast his woes aside and leaned down to find your gaze from across the room. “This is not your fault. This is entirely my fault. I should have been clearer with my intentions. I should have known this was confusing. Nesta mentioned it, but I thought—” You pressed your nails into your hands until they hurt. “—I thought it was clear how much I adore you.”
You let out a breath, trying to release some of this tension within you. It didn’t work. Obviously it didn’t work. How were you so blind? So caught up in menial things?
The rush of hearing those words from Azriel warred with the feeling of incompetence at your confusion, leading to a silence that you didn’t realize you were maintaining. Azriel caught it, though. He caught everything when it came to you.
“Do you…” At the broken sound of hesitance in his voice, you shot your wandering gaze back to him. “Do you not want me? Is that why you’ve encouraged me to… get my life back?”
He said the last few words through gritted teeth, and everything fell apart. All of your confusion and frustration and hurt. The world felt lighter, as if you might pass out.
“Azriel, of course I want you. I have wanted you since I met you. I thought you didn’t want me,” you explained, watching the way his shoulder slumped.
“That’s insane,” he muttered.
“It wasn’t. It made sense to me. I thought I was a burden to you. I thought Rhys was making you help me.”
“I asked to help you. I begged him to let it be me.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“I know,” Azriel softly replied. He found you again near the fire, taking careful steps to capture your hands in his. He raised them and kissed the ring against your skin. “I know.”
You looked at him with a fondness you reserved for when his back was turned, finally feeling free to put it on display. He winced as if it hurt him to see, and knowing what you knew now, you were sure it did. Because while you had been pining after him, he had been seeking affection. Searching for even a morsel in a one-sided relationship.
So much wasted time.
“Why have you never tried to kiss me?” you asked when he began tracing the contour of your jaw. “Perhaps that would have made things clearer.”
Azriel smiled softly, the expression a tinge forlorn. He tilted his head to gaze at you fully. “I told you—I was willing to take things as slow as you needed me to. To be subtle, even when it was hard to do so.”
“Is that why Feyre and Nesta didn’t have the… courting period?”
Azriel tucked your hair back with gentle fingers. “They had entirely different circumstances, but yes. I was doing things the more traditional way to give you more time to adjust. I didn’t want to scare you.”
“I’m not scared.”
“Will you let me start again, then? Let me show you how I love you?”
You were going to say yes. Even so, you reminded him, “I’ve been so confused, Azriel.”
“I know,” he whispered again, his nose now nudging yours. “I know and I want to fix it. Let me fix it.”
You placed your hand over his heart, the ring on your finger clicking against his siphon. “Okay,” you whispered.
And he kissed you, then.
Your chest lit up with a foreign glow, and he kissed you harder.
Summary: When an emergency causes the Inner Circle to crash into Madja's clinic, they unknowingly take over your appointment. Azriel, infatuated by your quiet beauty, wants to make it up to you
Hi everyone! This is my first time posting my writing… anywhere really. We'll see how this goes. This is being posted on my side blog, might add my main one here (which is currently comprised exclusively of reblogs) but for now, I kind of want to keep this on a clean blog.
Also, I am notorious for switching back and forth between present and past tense in my writing for some reason. I tried to clear it up as much as possible, but if you do see it… pretend you don't 😁
Word Count: a little less than 6K
Warnings: Reader has chronic pain (I'm trying to keep it accurate, but just in case: any medical inaccuracies are due to the fact that Reader is fae and not human and should be attributed to the biological differences between the two species 😊), semi-unreliable narrator, feeling insecure, angst (my fav!), minor descriptions of blood but nothing too bad.
Possibility of one or two more parts, but can be read as a one-shot
Part 2
————
Closing your eyes, you forced yourself to breathe through the deep ache emanating from your bones, seeping into your muscles, washing over your body. A pain that has followed you your whole life. Glancing up at the clock in Madja's small waiting room, you urged the time to go faster.
Madja had been the one to diagnose you when you were a child with an exceedingly rare chronic illness that effects your spine and muscles in your back. Manageable, mostly, but the constant pain from your condition was unavoidable, with only a few tonics having been proven effective at easing the pain… slightly. Your parents, who owned a small farm outside of Velaris, left in the middle of the night after receiving the news. Madja tried for weeks to return you to them, but was unsuccessful and eventually brought you to an orphanage on the outskirts of the city. The healer still saw you and continued to treat your condition at no cost, at least until you got a job, but felt she was in no place to raise a child.
Even now, decades later, you were still dependent on the healer and her tonics to allow you to function. Five more minutes, according to the clock, then you can get your medicine, go home, lay in bed and not move for a few hours.
A loud crash echoes outside, making you jump in your seat. The door burst open, shadows spilling into the building and a deep male voice shouts for Madja, the sound sending chills down your spine.
Two males appear out of the newfound darkness, one with huge dark wings protruding from his back, dark blue gems glowing on his chest, knees, shoulders, and wrists. The other male you recognize from your time orphanage; the High Lord used to visit the small building each year before donating money to the owners. If only he knew where the money had truly gone.
The High Lord shouts for the healer and your eyes fell to the limp form slung between the two males, similar dark wings hung limply behind him, the red stones adorning his leathers dull. You had heard enough stories of the High Lord's Inner Circle to recognize the Spymaster and General, although it was the first time you have seen either of them. Your eyes were drawn to the spymaster, Azriel, as the shadows dance frantically around his form.
Emerging through the doorway, Madja's eyes widen at the sight of the lifeless Illyrian, wasting no time ushering them into the back. You remain frozen, eager to stay out of the way. Something pulls in your chest as the Shadowsinger moved to drag his friend forward, following the healer. It pulls and tightens until it glows in your chest.
A small gasp left your lips, the sound lost in the chaos. He disappears behind the door you crumple forward, pain radiating through your back from the pull of the bond. The mating bond. A gift so rare it might as well be legend, but none of the stories you heard described the bond as painful. A hot of tear rolls down your cheek, body shaking to fight back a sob.
There is no way he would want you, bond or no. He's the spymaster for the High Lord, some say the two, along with the General, are as close as brothers. He's the Shadowsinger, one of the most powerful Illyrians in history. And you… you were a broken, weak, uneducated orphan whose own parents abandoned you as soon as they found out. The Mother must be cruel to think he could even want you. That you were his equal.
Focusing on your breathing, you refuse to let your emotions overwhelm you, at least not in public. It takes a few minutes, but you regain control of your breathing and slowly uncurl yourself to sit up.
Wiping the tears from your cheeks, your gaze catches on a swarm of black shadows emerging from the door to the back, followed closely by the Shadowsinger himself, running a gloved hand over his face with a sigh. Your breath catches, studying him for a moment. He's beautiful, even covered in blood, sweat, and dirt, your heart leaps at the sight of him. His golden skin glows in the evening light flooding through the window, dark hair drenched in sweat clung to his forehead. His massive wings tucked in tightly to his muscular body. The world seemed to go silent around him, his shadows calmer than before, swirl throughout the room.
Opening his hazel eyes, they lock on yours, widening slightly. Heat rose from your neck and onto your checks, and you quickly advert your eyes. Slowly, he looks back through the door, still partially propped open, almost ... sheepishly.
"Sorry we took over your appointment," he says softly, moving further into the waiting area, closer to you, his size seemed to take over the room.
Hesitantly, you glance up, cheeks flaring as your eyes caught once again. "No need," you respond quietly, barely above a whisper, just as a low groan echoed from the back followed by Madja's calm voice ordering people around. "Looks like your friend needs it more than I do." Your spine flared with pain as you spoke, but you hold back the grimace that threatened to emerge with practiced ease.
Still, the Shadowsinger shifts closer, offering a small smile. "May I sit here?" he asks, gesturing to the seat across from you.
Glancing up, you nod, the movement more of a jerk, sending sharp pain shooting down your neck. Letting out along breath he collapses into the chair that was too small for him and definitely not built for wings.
Hands clutched in your lap, you manage to keep your eyes on him this time. Thankfully, he didn't seem to mind, an easy smile lighting up is face. "What's your name?"
Your voice caught in your throat for a moment, mouth opening silently. "Uh… Y/N."
He hums quietly, studying your face. "I'm Azriel."
"I know," You say. His eyebrows rose slightly and you swore your face couldn't get any warmer. "The, uh, shadows gave it away," you admit, voice barely a whisper, gaze dropping once again.
Azriel chuckles softly, leaning back into the too small chair. "They tend to do that," he mutters, glaring at the swirling darkness playfully. Your lips tug upward, and he leans his head against the wall behind him closing his eyes.
You allow yourself a second to admire him, now that no one was around and he wasn't looking. This male, your mate. You had heard stories, of course, about the fearsome Shadowsinger, the High Lord's ruthless Spymaster. Even in Velars, where it's common knowledge these stories are exaggerated and that he would only my act like that with the Night Court's enemies, they persist. But sitting in that too small chair, head leaning against the wall, eyes closed, he didn't seem like the same person as the stories, the male whose very presence can scare people into spilling their darkest secrets. He just seemed... like a male; a beautiful male beyond compare who could use a good night's rest, but still a male.
The corners of his mouth twitch up, and you knew that he, somehow, knew you were looking. Probably thanks to the shadows now swirling against your legs. But he didn't stop you, only shifted, spreading his wings slightly wider behind him in a way that was definitely more uncomfortable, almost like he was showing off.
"Y/N!" a shrill voice called out, drawing your attention to the short tree nymph in healers garb standing in the doorway, bag in hand. Azriel's eyes snap open, body stiffening as he takes in the healer, Melina. She stalks over and you stand slowly, barely making it to your feet before she shoved the bag into your chest. "Here," she spits out. You stumble back, the ache in your bores becoming sharp, shooting down your spine and legs.
Clutching the bag, you fall back into your chair, closing your eyes to contain a wince. Melina has been one of Madja's assistants for a few decades. You had met her during her first week of her working for the older healer and have put up with her temperament ever since. It was about what you deserve, you had concluded long ago, since you tended to make everyone's lives harder. Madja sitting back and doing nothing about it only further nailed the point home.
Opening your eyes, you peered into the bag. Melina already stomping away. Scanning the vials inside your eyebrows furrowed. "Where are the-"
"Oh, for Caudron's sake," Melina curses, stopping in the doorway, head tilted to the sky. "It's all can give you without interrupting Madja," she explains slowly, turning backs to face you.
Your cheeks heat as she speaks to you like a child, looking down on you as if you are an idiot. Tears bristle in your eyes. "But this isn't enough for-"
"Well it's all you're going to get," she hisses.
"If I need to wait for Madja, I can -"
"We're busy, Y/N," Melina snaps. "Mother are you really so stupid? The General is dying and you're taking up my time when I should be helping," she growls, slamming the door behind her.
A hot tear burns your cheek as you clutch the bag to your chest. Gods, Melina was right, as she tended to be. You had seen the General's limp form, his blood still stained the floor and Azriel's leathers, the stench of death hung in the air.
You glance at your mate, face burning with shame. This is now you introduce yourself? His first impression of you? Taking away resources from his dying friend, his brother. At some point, Azriel had sat up straight and he now stares at the closed door, shadows eerily still around him, face carefully blank. What does he think of you now?
"I'm sorry," you whisper, arms tightening around the bag of medicine serving as your shield.
Azriel's eyes snap to you, head turning so fast you wonder how it didn't hurt. "What?" he barely breathed the word. You expected malice, anger, disgust, not the disbelief that floods his tone, the shock breaking through his mask.
A sharp hot pain twists in your gut, one not from your condition, but still one you know all too well. "Your friend is hurt," you explain weakly, eyes dropping to the floor, missing how his widen, "and I-"
"She shouldn't have spoken to you like that," he mutters, shadows beginning to dance around him once again, their movements choppier than before. A fierceness enters his eyes, his face, sending painful shivers down your spine.
Exhaustion seeps into your muscles, settling next to the constant ache that only seemed to be getting worse. You tried to shrug, but your muscles refuse to cooperate. "She's right," you sigh.
His gaze softens and out of the corner of your eye you could almost see him force himself to release the tension in his shoulders. "No, she's not," he insists, voice soft. You tense; it has been a long time since someone spoke to you so softly, and the last person who did... you suppress a shudder at the thought. "You have every right to see a healer when you need to. It's on us for barging in," he continues.
"Your friend was hurt," you reason, voice barely a whisper. "I'll live." He sucks in a breath, a few of his shadows resuming their dance around your legs.
"That doesn't make it okay," he counters. "And it certainly doesn't justify the way she spoke to you."
Twin streaks make their way down your checks you force yourself to stand. "It's fine," you whisper, turning to leave. "Good evening."
"Wait," he calls standing up so quickly the chair almost fell over. You tense as he approaches and he stops immediately, slowly opening his gloved hands. Pain rolled through your tense muscles while you turned your head to him. "Let me make it up to you."
Eyebrows furrowing, you half turn back to face him. "What?"
A soft blush graces his cheeks, but he didn't faulter. "Let me buy you a drink. It's the least I can do."
Your gaze flickers to the window, the sun having just disappeared behind the buildings moments ago. "N-now?" you ask, staring at him with wide eyes.
Azriel glances down at his leathers, still covered in blood and dirt, and gives you a sheepish grin. "Maybe tomorrow?"
Your month opens, prepared to turn him down, but you hesitate. He was asking you for a drink. Your mate was asking you out for a drink. A part of you knew a relationship between you would never work, not with you being as you are. But you would be foolish to turn him down, to forfeit the chance to get to know him before he found out about your condition and left, like all of your previous romances, like everyone else in your life. Your spine throbbed as if to remind you. Even though you don't drink alcohol, you could suffer through one night if it meant being with your mate.
"Okay," you hear yourself whisper.
A dazzling smile broke out on his face. "Okay," he confirms, nodding once. "There's a cafe in the Palace of Hoof and Leaf, The Ever Brew. Have you heard of it?" You couldn't help the sigh of relief that escapes you as you nodded. A cafe, not a bar. "Good, I'll meet you there at three?"
Shifting the bag in your hands, the weak muscles in your arms already protesting carrying it, you nod, a smile forming on your lips. "Three o'clock. I'll, uh, see you then."
——
Cassian was dying and that was all Az could think about as Rhys winnowed them to Velaris. He couldn't focus on anything else as they burst into Madja's clinic shouting for the healer, unable to see the female watching the scene, eyes wide. At Madja's direction they brought Cassian into an examination room, laying him on the table. Blood poured from the gashes in his abdomen, his skin becoming grey, broken wings dragging on the floor. Az and Rhys were pushed aside the moment Cass was laying down.
Neither of them knew what had happened. Az knew Rhys and Cass had an argument over Nesta and that Rhys sent him on a mission to Spring alone out of spite. Az was in the middle of chewing Rhys out when his face went pale and the two winnowed to spring immediately, finding Cassian's broken body on the forest floor.
No less than 3 healers were coming in and out of the room, each bringing supplies. Rhys, face ashen, winnowed away with a word about retrieving Nesta. Az remained, watching for a few moments, constantly moving out of the way of the healers until he slipped out of the room.
Trudging into the waiting room. He closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh, running a hand over his face. It was only then that his shadows mentioned the female. His gaze landed on you immediately when he opened his eyes. His breath caught, eyes widening. You were eautiful, not in the striking way like Mor or Nesta, or in the powerful way like Fayre, or even with the gentle confidence of Elain. No, your beauty was softer, more understated, but just as present and undeniable. When the blush graced your neck and cheeks, he forgot everything else for a brief moment.
He didn't even realize he had approached as he was speaking. Your soft voice was music to his ears and he needed to be near you, to hear your voice again. Az had to stop himself from preening when he sat, barely noticing the chair digging in to his wings and sides. You looked scared, ready to run at the first opening, so Az kept quiet, kept his distance since that was the last thing he wanted. When you told him your name it just felt right, fitting into place like the missing piece of a puzzle.
Exhaustion had crept over him then and he leaned his head back against the wall closing his eyes. Azriel had remained keenly nearly aware of your eyes on him, studying him. The shadows whispering every more you made, they seemed just as enamored by you as he was. He couldn't stop the grin pulling on his lips and he unconsciously shifted in the seat, only realizing moments later his wings had spread slightly behind him.
Embarrassment began to flood through him such a blatant show, but it was quickly cut off by a harsh call of your name. His body stiffened, eyes snaping open at the sound, just in time to see the nymph shove the bag into your chest sending your falling back into your seat. His brows furrowed, watching the healer stalk off we no explanation. Anger boiled in his veins when the healer snapped at you. Slowly, he sat up straight not taking his eyes off of the tree nymph. And when she insulted you and used his brother to make you feel guilty, it took every ounce of self-control to keep the shadows from lashing out and not slaughter the nymph where she stood.
Then you apologized to him, parroting the same reason as that disgrace of a healer. His heart broke when he heard you agree with the healer, voice so soft, so accepting of the nymph's words, so defeated. He tried to reassure you, to make you see how wrong the nymph was, but he could tell it didn't work.
She got up to leave and Az panicked. He didn't want you to go, especially still believing the nymph. He didn't know where the idea for the drink came from and was so relieved when you agreed despite your hesitance. And the way you relaxed when he mentioned the cafe had something in him singing.
So now, Az stands outside the cafe, desperately trying not to shift on his feet, eyes scanning the crowd around him. He doesn't know why he is so nervous. Why his heart was pounding and he can't stay still. Even his shadows seem excited, darting around the square, telling him the minutes is they passed, which only made time go slower.
He straightens when the shadows whisper that it was three o'clock, pulling his wings in tight behind him. He had been with more females than he could care to remember, had taken many of them out, either to dinner or a drink first, and yet he was nervous. His unease only getting wore as the minutes passed there was no sign of you.
At first, Az brushs it off. There were plenty of reasons you could be a few minutes late. It wasn't until 3:15 came and went that the unease began to twist into something else.
He shouldn't be surprised, Az figures. Why should you come? He was a male you didn't know who demanded you come have a drink with him. Of course you wouldn't show up, for your own safety if nothing else.
3:30 passed and Az was about ready to turn around head home. His heart sinks at the thought although he wasn't sure why. The shadows kept whispering, urging him to stay a few more minutes, insisting you had to come, but Az was quickly finding their optimism annoying.
Still, he stays. Just a few more minutes he tells himself. It's not like he can stand around all afternoon anyway. He is the Spymaster, he has reports to read, others to write, missions to plan and delegate, information to go over, a brother to check on. But he couldn't get you out of his head; last night after you left the clinic, this morning while he tried to work. Even as he attempted to sleep is shadows kept supplying whispers of your voice, your scent, this brain constantly replayed the images of your shy smile when you agreed to meet him, the blush emerging on your neck and cheeks. He could've sworn he dreamt of you, although he could only grasp the very edges of the dream; it was the best night sleep he had in... centuries.
The shadows pull him from his thoughts, urging him to turn, to look as the clock overhead ticks to 3:38. Even through the bustling crowd he can make out your shuffling footsteps and quiet "excuse me" as you slowly make your way through the crowd. Gods, you were even more beautiful than he remembered with the sun rays shining down on you. Your hair was pulled back into two braided plaits, with quite a few strands falling out and sticking to your face, beads of sweat shimmering against your skin. A simple brown dress hung off your body, a size or two too big for you and your arms were wrapped around a large bag, holding it tightly to your chest. The bag was bigger and bulkier than the one you had yesterday and Az could see your arms trembling under its weight. Just the sight of you had Az's shoulders relaxing, an easy smile pulling on his lips.
Looking up, your gaze lands on him, eyes he knows he can spend centuries happily getting lost in, and he hears your breath catch. Straightening under your gaze, Az let his smile grow, trying to be warm and inviting, two words Az was sure were never used to describe him, not wanting to scare you off. As you continue to make your way through the busy square, Az watches, body tensing a moment before someone shoves you out of their way. You stumble forward, knees hitting the ground, vials and linen skidding out of your bag and your assailant mutters some obscenities your way. Az is moving before he can think, finding himself kneeling next to you in a moment, knowing his shadows are already following your assailant.
The crowd continues to move around you and Azriel, barely stopping to look, while you kneel on the ground, on hands and knees, taking long, slow breathes. The shadows begin to gather the fallen vials, which were miraculously intact, and folding the linens into a pile next to the discarded bag. Beloved is in pain. His shadows hiss, not that he needs them to at the way your brows are furrowed, your measured breathes, and the faint smell of blood in the air.
"Are you alright?" he asks softly, cautiously raising a hand to rest on your shoulder. Your eyes snap open the sound of his voice and you flinch back sharply as his hand approaches you. He stops, immediately withdrawing his hand, watching your eyes widen in what he could only describe as horror before shifting into one of shame. He opens his mouth to apologize, because of course he should've checked before he tried to touch you, and you were well within your right to say no.
"I'm sorry," you whisper before he could. His eyes widen, staring at you. He never expected those two words to be so haunting especially said in a voice as beautiful as yours. First last night and now this... a pit of dread slowly began to form in his stomach.
"For what, love?" he asks in a similar whisper, the endearment slipping out. But he didn't feel sorry, not with the way your cheeks and ears redden.
Forcing yourself to sit back on your knees, you kept your eyes low, picking up bag. Glancing down, Az sucked in a breath; the palms of your hands were scraped raw, dirt and pebbles imbedded in parts of the wounds, and he could make out the small bloodstains forming on your dress from your knees. Usually the sight of blood doesn't bother him, but for some reason, yours made his stomach twist.
Careful of your bleeding palms, you attempt to collect your fallen belongings back in the bag. "Here, let me," he offers, reaching a hand toward the bag. This time he was more cautious, stopping a distance away until you look at him and give a small nod, placing the bag in his hand. It took no time for him to carefully put the vials and cloths back into the bag. "Do you need help standing up?" he asks gently, glancing your knees once again.
Slowly, you shook your head, placing your hands back on the ground to push yourself up. Grimacing on your behalf, Az waits until you were half way up to stand himself. You sway on your feet, hesitantly accepting the arm Az offers for balance. Gently, he begin to lead you out of the center of the crowd to a secluded corner.
"I'm sorry," you mumble again.
Stopping, Az turns to you, his heart breaking seeing the tears lining your eyes. In the dark corner his shadows surround you, brushing across your skin attempting to calm you down. Az can't help himself, he put down your bag and used his now free hand to push some of your hair out of your face. "For what, sweetheart?" he whispers. You lean into his touch, the hand on his other arm tightening and Az wishes he wasn't wearing his gloves so he could feel your skin on his.
"Being late," you breath, closing your eyes. "The interview went long and by the time I left it was already twenty after and I tried to get then as fast as I-"
"You don't have to explain," Az interrupts your rambling gently, a small smile on his lips, "or apologize." His hand slides off your face and your brows furrow at the loss, opening your eyes. Carefully, Az takes the hand not grasping his arm a holds it up to examine. The bleeding had stopped and new skin was already starting to form over the dirt and pebbles. "I have an apartment not far from here. Can I take you there so we can get you cleaned up?"
Tugging your hand away from his, you turn it to look at your palm, brows furrowing and you nod. "O-okay."
Reaching down, Az easily pick up your bag once more; despite its load, the bag was surprisingly light. Even with your grip on him, you continue to sway slightly. Looking out at the busy street around them, Az takes a deep breath. "It would be faster if we fly," he says softly.
"F-fly?" you repeat. Eyes widening, they move toward the direction of the street. Your body wobbles and Az brings the hand with the bag up to lightly hold your arm. Leaning your weight into him, you look back, exhaustion coating your features. "You sure it's alright?"
Smiling softly, Az nods. "I wouldn't have offered otherwise."
After another moment of hesitation you nod. Gently, Az lifts you into his arms, withholding his surprise at how light you are. Closing your eyes tight, you bury your face into his neck, hands grasping his shirt. With a sigh, Az lets his wings spread behind him, reveling in the feeling of having you in his arms, how right it felt.
Barely two minutes later, Az was landing on the small balcony of an apartment he had bought shortly after Cassian and Nesta's mating ceremony. "We're here, love," he whispers, his shadows already unlocking the door.
Inhaling deeply, you allow yourself to be placed back on the ground, opening your eyes slowly. Az smils, doing everything in his power to contain his excitement. You had scented him and now you are about to enter his home. You feel comfortable enough to let him bring you here. Gods, he was a dead male, whether you knew it or not, he was yours, Az knew. From now until the end.
His shadows swirls around you once you regain your balance, sweeping over every part of your exposed skin. You didn't flinch from their touch, just stared at them with eyes wide, not in fear but in awe. Gently the shadows lead you into the apartment and you didn't protest, letting them guide you to sit on the couch. Az follows close behind, a small smile pulling on his lips at the sight, although he was acutely aware of your stiff knees and stumbling steps.
A bowl of warm water was already set out on the coffee table in front of when you sat with the shadows placing more pillows behind your back and urging you to relax. The small medical kit Az usually keeps in the bathroom lay neatly next to the bowl. Setting your bag next to the door, Az slowly approaches the couch, the shadows reluctantly parting so he can see you better.
Your eyes remain on the shadows as they continue to pamper you, brows knit in confusion. You didn't even notice Az kneeling in front of you, dipping a cloth into the water, until he gently took one of your hands out of your lap. Your eyes dart to him, widening when Az eases your hand open and softly places the wet cloth on your scraped palm.
A flush grew up your neck and cheeks and you weakly attempt to pull your hand back. "What are you doing?" your voice is barely a breath.
Az keeps a gentle grip on your hand, not letting you pull back, keeping the cloth on your skin, a small frown forming. "We need to get you cleaned up, love. To make sure they don't get infected," Az explains softly.
Shaking your head, your gaze darts between his grip on your hand and his face. "I-I can do it. You- you don't have to," you try again, and Az could see tears forming along your eyeline.
Frown deepening, Az doesn't allow himself to analyze this, not now, not when your hurt, but he tucks your words, your actions, into the back of his mind for later. "I want to," Az insists, removing the cloth from your hand. The warm water had allowed the patches of new skin to soften and loosen, allowing him to gently begin cleaning the dirt pebbles away.
Your eyes land on his face, widening even more, disbelief shining through your features and it made Az's heartbreak. Softly, Az clears his throat, satisfied that your palm is clean he begins to prepare a bandage with ointments. "How was the interview?" he asks softly, hoping to give you something else to focus on.
"W- what?" you breathe, eyes flickering between his face and where he gently began wrapping your hand.
"The interview," Az repeats, a small smile slipping on to his face as he fastens the bandage and brought the wet cloth to your other hand. "You said it went long, how did it go?" he asks again.
"Oh, n- no. It's not…" you stammer for a moment. Az smiles softly, encouragingly, as you take a deep breath. "I… uh, I'm a mid-wife," you explain softly, watching your hands carefully while Az prepares the second bandage. "They were new parents, to see if they want to hire me."
Az feels his brows furrow, wrapping your hand. "I didn't know we had mid-wives in Velaris," he admits softly, glancing up at you.
You shift on the couch, the shadows continuing to lightly swarm around you. "Not many do," you concede. "There are only two of us that live in the city full time."
Az hums softly, gently tying off the wrap. "You must keep busy then," he says keeping his voice low.
Shaking your head slightly, Az sits back on his knees for a moment. "Not as much as you would think," you admit with a sad smile. "Most fae prefer going to a healer or an apothecary. They either don't know we are an option or think they are better suited for the service."
Brows furrowing, Az slowly reaches for the hem of your skirt. "May I?" he asks, eyes catching on your reddening cheeks. "For your knees," he explains, his own face flushing.
"Oh, um… okay," you breath out, body tensing against the couch. Az saw his shadows curl around you again, trying to calm you she he slowly, carefully, raises the hem of your skirt. Only enough to see your right leg, keeping the fabric bunched right above the knee, unable to see anything else.
Reaching for the cloth again, he wet a clean corner and tenderly placed it against the healing skin. "Is it true?" he asked, again trying to shift your focus. "That healers and apothecaries are more suited than mid-wives?"
"Uh," you hesitate, eyes drifting from your knee back up to him. "Healers and apothecaries have a lot of knowledge about a lot of different things," you answer, each word sounding carefully chosen and rehearsed. Probably a question you receive quite often in your interviews, if Az had to guess. "While mid-wives focus solely on fertility and pregnancy, meaning we have a lot of knowledge focused on one specific subject, so we are better able to handle more of the… unexpected or unique situations than can arise during pregnancies than most healers."
Brows furrowing, Az focuses on wrapping your now clean right knee. Many questions about the subject coming to mind, the image of Feyre's pregnancy and labor still somewhat fresh in his mind. But, he knew now was not the time to ask any of that, your anxiousness still permeating through the air, despite your practiced answer. Anxiousness that was almost overwhelmed by the insecurity radiating from you along with… shame; shame so strong Az could almost feel it in his own chest.
"Do you enjoy it? Being a mid-wife?" Az asks gently, lowering your skirt over your right leg and beginning to raise it to tend to your left knee.
Your breath hitches when the cloth came in contact with the torn skin. Taking controlled, measured breaths, you nod, another flush overtaking your face. "Yes," you breathe, eyes moving toward your wrapped hands in your lap. "It's… it's not simple, or easy, but… but it's beautiful, greeting a child in their first moments of life, laying them in their mother's arms." A small smile pulled on your lips as you speak, one Az echoes, taking the final bandage to wrap your knee. "And you?" you breathe, not daring to look up from your hands. "You work for the High Lord, right?"
"Yes," Az agrees slowly, leaning back slightly as to not crowd you after gently lowering your skirt. "I… catalogue and monitor potential threats to the court, to put it simply," he explains, setting the cloth back on the table. You nod, pursing your lips, watching the shadows swirl around your hands.
One shadow sneaks away, somewhat reluctantly if Az had to guess, snaking up to his ear. She's hurting. Beloved tries to hide, but we see. The whisper seems to echo in Az's ears, looking her over once more. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" he asks softly. You shake your head slowly, eyes closing like the action itself is uncomfortable. Pursing his lips together, Az doesn’t push, as much as something within him begs him to.
Shadows swallow the bowl of water and the bloodied cloth, a small gasp leaving your lips at the sight. Az smiles softly, head dipping to catch your eyes. "I believe I still owe you a drink."
