What’s your favorite Azriel fic you’ve either written or read?
Oh man. It’s been forever since I’ve read any Azriel fics, but I have read all of the masterlist by @assassinsblade!
I have to say my favorite though was definitely Slow Burn because that actually inevitably lead me to read my first Eris fic too 🤭 Slow Burn was so good too! I loved the concept of it.
My favorite I’ve ever written I think has to be Angel because the enemies to lovers and one bed trope was just too delicious to write. Especially when they’re forced to use each other for body heat to stay warm…and he might finally try to shut reader up with other means of distraction 👀
content warnings: hangover (nausea, headache, difficulty remembering), unknowing consumption of a recreational drug (mirthroot, past), suggestive themes, language
word count: 9.1k
synopsis: Azriel was always meant to be yours.
trope: childhood friends to lovers
part 1 ~ part 2 ~ part 3
my masterlist
~ ~ ~
Azriel was on the floor.
And he was shirtless.
And drooling.
The light beaming in through the window felt like an axe against your skull, the pain nearly cleaving you in two before you ducked your head under the pillows.
Pillows that were definitely not yours.
You flew up into a sitting position again, leaning over the bed to take in the male below.
Azriel was not wearing pants.
He was wearing underwear, thank the Mother, but it didn’t stop the panic that was rapidly climbing up your chest. Not when you were wearing only a too large shirt that smelled like him, and had nothing underneath.
At least Azriel was on the floor? But that almost made everything worse, because you had shared a bed more times than you could count. You had shared a bed last week. Why would he feel the need to sleep on the floor if—
A flare of pain in your head made you wince, your eyes snapping shut as you tried to take steadying breaths. This was the worst fucking hangover. Your mouth was dry and tasted foul, your hair was a wreck, your head was throbbing, and the light spilling into the room felt like staring into the sun.
You cracked your eyelids open slowly, forming small slits that were just enough to make out Azriel still sprawled on the floor, stomach down and wings splayed haphazardly, with just a single pillow for his head to rest on. Your gaze caught on a glass of water on the night stand, and your eyes widened as you grabbed it. You drank only half of it, your stomach revolting at the first large gulp, and the sudden wave of nausea had you taking deep breaths again.
You blindly reached to set the glass back on the nightstand, but in your lazy effort, you sat it on the edge, and it went clambering to the floor. Or—more specifically—on top of the male asleep on the floor. Thankfully, the glass didn’t shatter, but the water spilled all over Azriel’s face and pillow, causing him to bolt up right.
“What the fuck was that?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep and confusion.
“I’m sorry!” you hurried out, your loud voices making you wince. “I’m so sorry,” you said again, voice softening.
Azriel blinked a few times, pushing wet strands of hair out of his face. His eyes fell to the glass on its side, the wet spot on his pillow—which, in your defense, was also drool—and then they snapped to you.
His eyes were a little bloodshot, and dark circles laid beneath his eyes. It was the most disheveled you had ever seen him outside of fighting in literal wars, and there was something so ironically wholesome about seeing this male hungover and dazed and confused in nothing but his underwear. It was a state you knew very few had ever been privy to seeing Az in, and that sparked a flare of fondness and irrational possessiveness in your chest.
His throat bobbed as he stared at you wide eyed for a few seconds, taking in your own horrendous state. You did not even want to know what the hell you looked like—hell, probably. You probably looked like hell.
His shoulders finally relaxed, and he groaned as he rubbed a hand over his face. “What time is it?” he asked.
You bit your lip, glancing at the window only briefly. “I don’t know,” you groaned, falling back into the pillows. This was fucking absurd. “Early? Late? It’s fucking bright out, I can tell you that.”
At that, Azriel pushed himself up off the floor, walking over to the window to snap the drapes shut, dimming the light in the room. Some of the tension instantly left your body. “Thank you,” you murmured.
Azriel only nodded, his movements almost stiff as he picked up the glass on the floor and disappeared into the bathroom. You closed your eyes, your hands coming up to cover your face as your mind spun to piece together the night before, fragments coming back to you in mortifying flashes. Something cool gently knocked against your arm, and you lowered your hands to peer at a fresh glass of water in Azriel’s hand.
He smiled slightly, but his own weariness was obvious. “Here,” he said, passing you the glass as you pushed yourself up to rest against the headboard. You took a few slow sips before he handed you another vial with a blue liquid that gave you nauseating déjà vu. “Drink this,” he instructed, then went back into the bathroom.
You eyed the vial suspiciously, listening to the water run in the bathroom as you took another sip from your glass. Fuck it. It could only help, surely. Even if it tasted gross.
You popped the vial open and tossed the liquid back, shivering at the bitter taste that coated your tongue. You took another swallow of water to wash it away, and you prayed you didn’t puke it back up as your stomach turned.
Azriel reappeared then, your eyes tracking him as he walked over to the other side of the bed, still in nothing but his underwear. Which made you feel absolutely nothing at all, of course.
He climbed onto the bed, resting his back against the headboard, but he was overly mindful of positioning his wings so that they didn’t bump yours. There was enough space between you that it felt like a chasm, and somehow you felt more separated from him now than when he was passed out on the floor. The air was thick with awkward tension.
You rested your head back on the headboard with a gentle thud. Eventually, you caved and said with a groan, “This is the worst hangover of my life.”
A beat of silence passed, then Azriel said quietly, “I didn’t realize you drank that much.”
“Me neither.” You closed your eyes, letting out a long sigh. “I should know better than to blindly follow Mor.”
More silence followed, and your chest felt a little tighter the longer it stretched, but you kept your eyes closed and focused on keeping your breathing steady.
“How much do you remember?” Azriel finally asks, his tone still soft, but he seemed almost worried.
You opened your eyes, then slowly turned your head to look at him. He was watching you with unfairly clear eyes, sitting up straight against the headboard while you were slowly slumping further down into the pillows again.
Your stomach twisted as you let the memories of last night wash over you. The way Azriel held your hand as he led you through Rita’s. The first shot that quickly blurred into innumerable empty glasses. The way his body felt pressed against yours. The way your hips moved with his. The way his lips were soft and demanding.
It was like squinting through fogged over glass, trying to piece together smudged details that made up sharp fragments.
“How much do you remember?” you ask instead of answering, your voice raspy with both dehydration and embarrassment.
“Everything,” he answered quietly.
Your face warmed. “I remember puking in the alley,” you admitted reluctantly, your arm coming up to cover your eyes. “And pieces leading up to it, but after that—” You shrugged, dropping your arm to meet his eyes warily. “I don’t really know.”
Which…was a problem, now that you really started to think about it. You were in Azriel’s bed, in Azriel’s shirt, and you had no recollection of how that came to be. You couldn’t even remember leaving that alley, let alone climbing into bed.
“After that,” Azriel said gently, “I took you home. You didn’t want to sleep in your room, so I brought you here.”
You nodded once, then glanced down at the black shirt draped across your frame. “And my dress?”
Azriel winced, and your face was growing even hotter in anticipation of the words that might come out of his mouth. “There was vomit on your dress,” he said. “I helped you change. Then you went to bed.”
Unease clawed at your throat as you struggled to remember and still came up blank. You swallowed hard, then took another sip of the water you still had clutched in your hand. You ran your thumb over the lip of the glass once you brought it back down to your lap. Your smile was small and self-deprecating as you asked, half-jokingly, “And my underwear?”
Azriel’s head snapped toward you. “You’re not wearing underwear?”
You blinked, his words dousing you in cold water. Did he not remember everything from last night after all? Your mind started spinning with every possibility, and your face was hot from the thoughts alone. “Gods—Azriel, did we—”
“No! No, I swear. I don’t know where your—” His voice abruptly cut off. His eyes were locked on the foot of the bed, where a scrap of cobalt blue lace was strewn haphazardly.
Everything around you slowed as you both stared at the offending fabric. You slowly sat your glass of water down on the night stand before frantically launching yourself across the bed to grab the lace. You fisted the fabric in your hand as you awkwardly climbed off the bed, staring at Azriel with wide eyes from where you now stood at the foot of his bed. You had half the mind to thank the Mother that he was so large that his shirt was longer than your dress, and you were saved from any further mortification this morning—even if it sounds like he may have seen more than enough from you last night.
You licked your lips, heart pounding as you glanced around his room for any of your belongings, finding none, and then nodded to yourself repeatedly. “I should go,” you rushed out, avoiding Azriel’s eyes as panic flushed away the nausea and headache. You stumbled though when you took the first step toward his door, blinking quickly before the stars faded from your vision.
You heard the bed creak behind you, and you quickly continued your escape as Azriel followed close behind. “Y/N,” he said, but your ears were ringing and your face was burning and you were so embarrassed. You wished the mountain would fissure beneath your feet and swallow you whole.
“Thank you for—” You gestured wildly with no direction, your back still facing Azriel as you reached for the door knob.
“Y/N—”
You flung the door open, and then stopped in your tracks. Azriel’s chest bumped into your back, and his hand landed on your hip to keep you from careening forward.
Cassian stood there in the hall with a bowl of fruit and wild hair, his eyes wide as he stared at the two of you. He blinked once, and then twice, the three of you frozen as Cassian took in the sight before him. His eyes fell to your hand, which was still clutching your lace underwear.
Azriel snatched them from your hand, tossing them out of sight somewhere in his room. You blinked, your already soul-consuming embarrassment reaching horrifying multitudes.
Cassian’s free-hand came up to rub at his eyes, as if the sight of you and Azriel gave him a headache—or maybe he was just hungover—probably both.
His hand fell to his side, and he squinted at the two of you. “I thought the mirthroot shots were making me hallucinate.”
Cassian’s words momentarily cut through your blinding mortification, and you and Azriel both said, “The what?”
Cassian blinked owlishly at the two of you. “The…mirthroot shots?” His gaze darted from you up to Azriel, then back to you. “Mor was giving them to everyone.”
You tilted your head back, only to bump into Azriel’s chest. “I’m going to murder her,” you mumbled. Then you winced when you remembered taking the shots from her, not caring in the slightest what it was before downing it. You were fairly certain you had even said as much.
Cassian looked sheepish. “I don’t think she knew they were mirthroot at first. Then it was too late.”
That explained your hangover from hell.
“So,” Cassian said slowly, and your head snapped back up to look at him. “Are you two—”
“No,” you rushed out at the same time Azriel growled, “Cassian.”
He raised his hand with a shameless smirk on his face. “I’m just asking—”
“I have to go,” you said quickly, stepping away from Azriel, the cool air in the hallway licking away the heat that his body had radiated onto your skin. You glanced once back at Azriel’s room, another piece of your dignity withering away as you decided to leave behind your underwear in the name of escaping to your room as quickly as possible.
Azriel could keep them.
Or burn them.
Ferry them away to some interspace dimension.
You didn’t care.
You flung the door to your room open, slamming the door shut with a thud that echoed through your too still room. There were still clothes strewn around haphazardly from your rush to get ready the night before, and your training leathers laid in a pile by the bathroom. You sank down against the door, your head resting against the heavy wood once you were seated on the floor. Your hands came up to cover your face, and you begged the Mother to put you out of your misery.
~ ~ ~
“You’re up late.”
Your heart skipped a beat as your eyes snapped up to the male in the doorway. You smiled sheepishly as he walked closer, sitting next to you on the sofa. He was in his leathers, and his eyes were tired as he looked at the fire, the flames flickering in his irises.
You laid your book down in your lap, the pages splayed outward. “Are you okay?” you asked.
His throat bobbed, and it took him a few seconds before he turned to look at you. His smile was small, but it seemed genuine. “I’m just tired,” he said. He leaned back on the couch, his wings brushing against yours as they draped over the back. He glanced at you, and you smiled back, intentionally stretching your wing to brush against his again.
Your face was warm, and you weren’t sure it was from the fire. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Azriel sighed. “Now that Rhys is High Lord,” he said, “there is just so much that needs done.” He paused, his hand coming up to run through his hair. “Before, it was not my choice to serve the High Lord.”
You winced, looking down at your lap.
“Hey,” he said, his hand squeezing your wrist. “That is not your fault.”
“You sacrificed your freedom for me, Azriel,” you argued.
“And I would do it again,” he swore. He tugged at your wrist, and you forced your gaze to meet his again. “It was worth it, Y/N. I would have ended up serving on his court one way or another, at least I got to protect you by doing it.”
You nodded, and Azriel relaxed against the couch again. His hand slid down to hold yours, his fingers lazily playing with your own. You weren’t sure if he was even aware that he was doing it. “It’s different now, with Rhys. I chose to serve him. I want to. I’m loyal to him. I believe in him, and I trust his heart. He has plans for this court, and I want to help him bring them to fruition. It’s just…” He bit his lip, as if searching for the right words.
“A lot of pressure?” you asked.
He nodded. “A lot of pressure.”
You leaned against his shoulder, squeezing his hand. “I think that’s good,” you said softly.
Azriel hummed. “What do you mean?”
You shrugged. “It means you care,” you said. “You want to help people, Az. I think it would be bad if you just didn’t care at all.”
Azriel leaned his head against yours. Eventually he said, “Enough about me.” He sat up, and his gaze zeroed in on the book still in your lap. “Tell me about your book.”
Heat flooded your face, and you sat up straight. “Oh,” you laughed nervously. “No—it’s not—it’s pretty boring.”
Azriel frowned. “Tell me why it’s boring then.”
“I don’t—”
“At least let me look at it,” he said at the same time, plucking the book from your lap before you could even register what he was doing.
Your book that was still open to where you had been reading when he walked in. Azriel’s eyes danced as he read over the page, his lips slowly stretching into a smirk.
Mother help you.
“This is boring?” he asked, the taunt clear in his voice. As if the grin on his face wasn’t enough.
You yanked the book from his hands, snapping it shut. “Shut up, Az.”
“I had no idea this is what you read when you holed yourself away up here,” he teased.
You knew he was not being cruel, but embarrassment still made your stomach twist. You shrugged, your thumb running over the corner of the cover.
“Hey,” he said gently, and you forced yourself to meet his eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
You shrugged, your smile thin as you said, “I like it.” Then, maybe a bit foolishly, you added, “It’s safer…than the real thing.”
Azriel went still beside you. “What do you mean?” His voice was tight.
You had to force your mortification down deep to answer him, “I’ve only kissed a few males, and—” you forced out a laugh. “And it was kind of terrible.”
“All of them?”
You nodded. “All of them.” You shrugged, looking at the fire to avoid his eyes. “I don’t know. They were all drunken males at Rita’s, which is probably not the ideal place to meet a male. But I also think it might be me?” Your voice was small with your admission, and you hated the words that were tumbling out of your mouth, unsure why you couldn’t stop them or how your night had suddenly led you here. “I tense up, because I know I don’t want it to go any further. I just—I can’t. I can’t, not with my wings. I don’t—”
You forced yourself to take a breath, forced yourself to recenter in the moment, here, with Azriel. You dragged your gaze back to his, his eyes soft and patient as they watched you diligently. There was not an ounce of judgment in his gaze, and it made your shoulders relax slightly.
“You’ve…been with females. Right?” you asked shyly.
Azriel blinked. “Um,” he choked out, and it was nice to see a tint of red across his cheeks. It made you feel slightly less vulnerable. “Yes,” he said, “I have.”
“Did they touch your wings?”
Azriel’s face twisted briefly, then it quickly softened. “Sweetheart,” he said, and the name made you feel warm all over. “No one should touch your wings without permission.”
“I know that, Azriel,” you grumbled. “That doesn’t mean they won’t.”
He was quiet for a moment, then he said quietly, “It’s okay if you aren’t ready.”
“I hate it, though!” you exclaimed, the book finally sliding off your lap. “I just—I just want to—” Your words died in your throat as your gaze snagged on Azriel’s lips. Your heart pounded against your ribcage, and you were speaking again before you really thought. “Will you kiss me?”
“What?” Azriel choked out, his eyes bewildered.
It was possibly the most insane idea you had ever had, but you wanted to kiss a male and not feel like vomiting immediately after, damn it. Azriel was perfect. In more ways than one. You trusted him. He was, objectively, beautiful. He didn’t smell like a bar—he smelled like cedar and fresh snow, actually. He—he was perfect.
“Kiss me,” you said again. You forced yourself to meet his eyes. “Please.”
His lips parted. “Y/N,” he started to say, but you cut him off.
“Azriel,” you nearly pleaded. Nearly. You had enough pride not to beg him for a damned kiss. But you were not above persuasion. “I am nearly a century old, and I just want to know what it is like to enjoy a kiss without working my way through every washed up drunk at Rita’s—”
His hands were on your face as your words died in your throat, and in the next second his lips were pressed to yours. You froze, but just for a second, and Azriel was not deterred. His lips melded with yours gently, coaxing you to slowly start kissing him back.
Time seemed to stop around you. Everything slowed as Azriel kissed you, and kissed you, and kissed you. His lips were soft, and he tasted like rose tea, and you could devour him, right there on that very couch in the middle of Rhys’s personal library. Your entire body was electrified, every nerve ending came to life as you kissed your best friend.
He started to pull back, but you chased after him, your hands coming up to his neck to guide him back to you. He came easily, his own hands cupping your jaw and tangling in your hair. There was a fire burning in the center of your chest, and it felt like Azriel’s soul was living and breathing inside of you as his lips found yours over and over.
He moaned softly into your mouth, and suddenly the world tilted, and you remembered exactly where you were and who you were with. You pulled back, and Azriel separated from you, his hands slowly falling away as you pushed him back.
You swallowed hard, licking your lips once before wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Mother above.
You jumped to your feet with fragile composure, your book falling to the floor with a loud thud. Your heart was beating frantically, your pulse pounding in your ears, and your body was hot all over. Azriel was watching you with wide eyes, still sitting on the couch. “That was, um,” you said breathlessly, looking all around until your gaze finally fell back on him. “That was good.”
Azriel’s lips twitched. “Good,” he said, not really a question.
You bit the inside of your cheek, nodding. “Thank you.”
Azriel smiled. “Happy to help.”
“Right,” you whispered, trapped in a daze. You had just kissed your best friend. A lot. And you loved it. “Goodnight,” you rushed out, then made a beeline for the door.
You hurried down the halls, your mind racing as you neared your bedroom, as you opened your door and shut yourself safe inside. Your back fell against the door, your head thumping against the wood as a smile blossomed across your face and a laugh bubbled out of you.
That was better than any damned book.
~ ~ ~
“You have been an incredibly difficult female to find.”
You flinched at the voice behind you, your elbow banging into the wooden desk. You turned to meet Rhysand’s eyes, a smirk teasing his lips. You smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.”
He waved you off, walking closer to lean against the desk, making a show of taking in the dimly lit room of the library. You were deep beneath the main floor, layers of stone between you and everyone else in the world. The books and hushed steps of priestesses had been your sole company for days.
“You would think you were my scholar instead of my spy,” Rhys teased, but you heard the question in his voice.
You swallowed, aimlessly shuffling together some of the papers scattered in front of you. “Would that be a problem?” you asked quietly, avoiding Rhys’s gaze. “If I wanted to be, I mean?”
“Of course not,” Rhys said. He laid his palm down on the papers you were shuffling, your gaze reluctantly dragging up to meet his. His eyebrows raised slightly. “I didn’t realize you were unhappy with your position.”
“I’m not,” you assured him. “I’m just…”
“Not happy?”
You frowned. “Isn’t that the same thing?”
Rhys shrugged, pulling his hand back. “You tell me.”
You bit your bottom lip, looking at all the books and papers scattered around you. You had lost yourself to these walls, these words, for the last few days, and it was the most at peace you had felt in…a really long time. “Maybe,” you whispered. “I just miss it, sometimes. Your mother—” You hesitated, and you hated that the words got caught in your throat.
Rhys hummed in understanding. “My mother was many things,” he said quietly. “Beautifully cunning, was one of them.”
You smiled softly. “She gave me purpose when she brought me here. When she asked me to research childbirth and potions and medicine. When she asked me to help Madja.” You sighed, leaning back in your chair to look up at Rhys. “It’s just a different feeling than being a spy.”
It was all true. You missed the feeling of pages between your fingers and stringing sentences across books together to make a new—to make a discovery that would help others. Knowledge was, at its core, power. It was intoxicating when you first came to Velaris. You had never known such power existed, let alone one that could be at your very fingertips.
“And this has nothing to do with Azriel?”
Your breath hitched.
There was also that small fact that danced in the back of your mind. If you became a scholar again, you would no longer have to answer to Azriel. You had done well at avoiding him when you wanted these past few months, but resigning as a spy—well, that would make it all the more easier.
“That’s insulting,” you said instead.
Rhys held no remorse. “It’s a fair question.”
You rolled your eyes, feigning nonchalance and steeling your mental barriers as Rhys brushed against your mind. You scowled at him, and he only smirked.
“A kiss from a male is not going to decide my future career choices,” you growled.
Rhys' eyes lit up. “A kiss?” he laughed. “Well I wasn’t going to mention it—”
You groaned. “Enough, Rhysand.”
His eyes still danced with mirth, the faelights flickering in his violet irises. He seemed to debate his next words, and your shoulders sank with relief when he asked, “What have you been doing down here?” He picked up one of your notebooks—your personal notebook you realized with horror. “Mating bonds and desire,” he read aloud. “Matings bonds instill intrinsic—”
You snatched the notebook from his hands, your face hot. “Give me that.” You tossed it on the ground beside you. “That’s not what I’m researching.”
His brows raised. “No?” he asked, picking up the book that had The History of Mating Bonds embossed across the front.
“Not for you,” you countered, also taking the book from him.
Rhys pursed his lips, clearly not done tormenting you. “I was glad to see that you and Azriel had made up,” he mused. “Or should I say made out?”
“Rhys,” you pleaded.
“Now he’s back to moping around Velaris because you’ve holed yourself up down here. Researching mating bonds, apparently?”
“I told you that’s not all,” you grumbled, reaching for the much larger stack of papers and books across the desk. You slid them in front of Rhys pointedly.
He furrowed his brow. “The intricacies of mind compulsion?” He read the title of the first book aloud, then looked at your notes. His mouth turned into a frown, and your heart started to beat harder. “Potential targets of Koschei…Illyrians?”
You forced yourself to meet his gaze, nodding slowly.
“You think Koschei is controlling Illyrians?”
Not really, no. But wouldn’t it be nice if every terrible thing that had happened to you and so many others could be blamed on one entity? That the suffering you endured could be explained?
“Y/N,” Rhys said gently. “Sometimes evil is just evil.”
“I know,” you whispered.
Rhys squeezed your shoulder, a beat of silence passing between you before he said, “I wanted to tell you, I removed Freya’s husband from Windhaven.”
Your head snapped toward him. “What? Where is he?”
“Rotting in a cell in Hewn City.” He shrugged. “I haven’t had much time to go rifling through his mind, and I probably shouldn’t kill the male without proof of his crimes.” He grinned at you, his eyes glinting. “Though I can always expedite my investigation—”
“No,” you said. “Let him suffer.”
“As you wish,” Rhys said. “Speaking of Illyrians and Koschei, though,” he added slowly, “I have a mission for you. That is, if you don’t mind postponing the career change.”
You straightened. “Of course.”
Rhys picked up the sheet of paper with your notes detailing every link you could conceptualize between Illyria and Koschei, reading it with a worried frown on his face. “You’re not wrong that certain factions in Illyria would be vulnerable to Koschei’s…overzealous promises. Or would simply jump at the chance to see my head on a platter.”
Your stomach turned, knowing you had thought the same thing.
Rhys glanced at you, then laid the paper back down. “Koschei undoubtedly knows this. He’s already sent whispers into Kier’s court.”
“Kier?”
“Unfortunately,” Rhys grumbled. “Amren has done what she can to protect his mind from Koschei’s compulsion, but—”
“There’s only so much we know about him,” you finished softly.
“Precisely.” Rhys picked at a piece of lint on his arm, then folded them across his chest. “It presents us with an opportunity for a cover though. Azriel has not been able to infiltrate Koschei’s home nor the Mortal Queens’ castle. He’s managed to glean very little about how far Koschei’s influence reaches.”
“He’s mentioned that,” you said quietly.
“The queens are throwing a ball in two days.”
You scrunched your face up. “A ball?”
“Yes.” Rhys smirked. “And you will be attending—on behalf of the Court of Nightmares.”
“Me?” you asked. “How progressive of Keir to send a female liaison.”
Rhysand winced. “Well, not exactly.”
“Rhys.”
“Azriel will be going as the liaison,” he said, looking only slightly guilty. Your heart beat sped up. “You will be going as his wife.”
~ ~ ~
“Will it be weird?” you asked, fastening the last of your belts around your waist.
“What?” Azriel asked, absently cleaning his dagger. Truth-Teller, he called it. You had no idea where he got the obsidian blade, but he treated it like his first-born.
“Going on a mission together.”
Azriel frowned, sheathing Truth-Teller at his side. “Why would it be weird?”
You shrugged, nerves making you shaky as you stood in front of him, and your shakiness only made you more nervous. You felt like a fraud, wrapped in leather and strapped with weapons—like a child pretending they were a warrior. The sheath around your thigh slid down, hitting the floor with a clang that made you flinch.
Azriel kneeled on the ground to pick it up before you could, his fingers deftly undoing the buckle. His legs wrapped around your calf to guide your leg up, settling your boot-clad foot on his thigh. Your breath hitched when his fingers grazed your thigh, wrapping the leather sheath around you and securing it tight.
Then he lifted another thin strap of leather attached to the sheath, smiling softly as he weaved it under your belt. “You forgot to fasten this one,” he murmured quietly.
Your face was warm when his fingers fell away and you brought your foot back to the ground. “Thanks,” you whispered.
Azriel stood up, analyzing the rest of your gear with critical focus.
You bit your lip, anxiety still pushing up far too many inconsequential worries in the face of your first mission from Rhys. “Is it uncomfortable for you, being in charge of me?”
Azriel’s eyes snapped to yours. “No,” he said. “Is it for you?”
You automatically shook your head, then thought better of lying at a time like this, and slowly started to nod. Azriel frowned, and you hurried to explain, “I just—I’m scared of disappointing you.”
Azriel’s entire face went soft, his hazel eyes warm in the dim light of your room. “You could never disappoint me,” he said softly.
You shook your head. “You can’t say that.”
“It’s true,” he argued. “Y/N.” He took your face in his hands, forcing your eyes to meet his. “You could tell me right now that you aren’t ready, and you are not doing this mission, and I would be proud of you for standing up for yourself.”
You started to shake your head again, trying to close your eyes, but Azriel’s grip tightened. “You could go on this mission and decide to turn back at any point, and I would be proud of you for trying. Or we can go on this mission and get what we need, and I’ll be proud of you for doing it.”
Your eyes were burning as you stared at him, your entire body warming from the inside out as he brushed a gentle thumb over your cheek. “Do you want to go on this mission?”
You nodded. “I’m just scared.”
“That’s okay,” he assured. “I would be worried if you weren’t.”
You smiled slightly.
“Rhys trusts you. I trust you. I wouldn’t have agreed to this if I didn’t think you were ready.”
His words were meant to be soothing, but they only twisted your spiral tighter. “Rhys is an untried High Lord now,” you laughed drily. “His faith in me is all the more pressure not to royally fuck this up for him.”
Azriel’s hands dragged down your arms. “It’s going to be fine,” he soothed. “It’s just the Spring Court, anyway,” he grumbled. “Our relationship with them is already shit, and Tamlin is an untried High Lord too. If we get caught,” he shrugs, “oh well.”
You knew it was definitely not as simple as “oh well” if you got caught. Rhys needed these roses. He needed their magic to rebuild and revitalize Velaris. It was also just roses though, which you knew was Azriel’s point.
You nodded, letting out a deep breath.
“Okay?” Azriel asked.
You nodded again, then yanked Azriel down into a hug, your arms circling around his waist. His body curled around yours, his cheek pressing against yours as you held him close.
“It will be okay,” he murmured. “You’re not doing this alone. If anything happens, you’ll have me.”
You nodded your head against his chest, still not letting go as your breathing slowly calmed. You inhaled his scent and listened to his heart beat, and you thought for a moment that your hearts began to beat in tandem.
Azriel squeezed you tighter.
“You will always have me.”
~ ~ ~
Azriel was freaking out.
He had dealt with more nerves in these last few months than he had in all his centuries of life, and he was tired. He knew it was a mess of his own making, really, which made it worse. He felt like he was grasping at cobwebs every time he moved to try and fix this mess he had made after too many fucking drinks at Rita’s. Twice. With every step he made, the ground seemed to just crumble beneath him, and he was terrified that this might be the last chance he had to salvage whatever you were still willing to give him.
He wasn’t sure if he loved or hated Rhys for forcing the two of you on this mission. Maybe both. You had been hiding from him for days, again, and he couldn’t blame you. He never should have kissed you, let alone allowed it to escalate as it did, and every time his mind wandered to how the night might have progressed differently if you had not fallen ill so quickly, his stomach revolted with guilt.
He was drunk. He was—he knew he was—but he was sober enough to take care of you. That was his responsibility. He had promised you. He owed you, after all. It was his fault that he had taken one too many shots blindly from Cassian after relentless begging, and it was his fault he didn’t bother questioning Cassian when he slurred some nonsense about “flying without flying” as he passed him a brightly colored liquid that smelled and tasted overly medicinal.
He should have realized it was the same shot Mor had grown infatuated with throughout the night, and that you had taken with her in solidarity—and with maybe a little desperation, if he was honest with himself. He didn’t know exactly what was bothering with you, but he knew it had to be something he said that night at Rita’s, and fuck knows what else since then. The dinner with Soleil had been particularly terrible, but that was only one night.
He was fairly certain you were unaware of the bond. It was strange, every time he reached for the living, glowing tendril in his chest. He could trace it all the way to you, and it felt alive and intimate in a way he never knew existed, but it was dark. Quiet. Like it was asleep, and he never let himself reach close enough to risk tearing you from that peaceful slumber.
He wanted you more than anything. He had been in love with you since he was a boy, if he was entirely honest with himself, but he didn’t really understand what love was for a very long time. He didn’t know how to recognize it, how to differentiate it from the familial love he had felt toward his brothers. He just knew he would die for you, live for you, do anything for you—and maybe he was a bit foolish, for taking so long to realize.
Then after centuries, in the midst of a war tattered campground, as you yelled at him for being a godsdamned martyr while mending a tear in his wings, he felt the world tilt around him. He thought he was dying at first, when he felt that first tug against his ribcage and the air was yanked from his lungs. Then he sucked in a fresh breath, and grasped at the living thing pulsing inside him, and he followed it directly to you, kneeling before him. You had dirt and blood dried on your face, your leathers were torn, and he loved you—and you were his mate.
It took everything in him to control his face and shadows. He could hardly process that what he had longed for had just been so unceremoniously unveiled in the midst of chaos and carnage, and he knew that the last thing you needed to worry about was a mating bond.
He told Rhys and Cassian not long after, and it was not intentional, but he felt like he was dying hiding this blessing from everyone. He hated feeling like he was hiding you. He almost confessed everything, almost bared his entire soul to his brothers in a too small tent surrounded by exhausted warriors and friends and family after fighting for everything and claiming victory, but he thought better of it, and no one ever brought it up again.
Not until he apparently told you like a drunken fool on the streets of Velaris a year later.
He was just glad he didn’t say it was you. That you were his mate he adored and would eternally serve and pine for from afar if he must.
You had spent your life fighting for a future, for autonomy, and he could not steal that from you in the name of taking something he wanted. You had never spoken of mates. You had never seemed keen on finding a partner or spouse or having children. You always diverted any conversations Azriel had subtly prompted in the past, and he was never one to push you more than you wanted.
He could not—would not—force a mating bond on you. He would rather die.
He still selfishly hoped it would snap for you one day. He could not control fate, after all, and if it did—well, then it would be your choice what to do with it. It wouldn’t be something that he was forcing you to confront.
He could love you from afar. He could love you as a friend. He could love you however you needed him to. He did.
He also thought you might love him, and that was terrifying. He didn’t know how to navigate that possibility. Sometimes, he let himself think that maybe you were jealous of some amorphous mate he had drunkenly poured his heart out for, and maybe that was one of the roots of your shifting demeanor with him. It felt too foolish, though, too egotistical to consider for long. He had known you for centuries and had never seen you envy anyone.
However, he could not deny the signs that you felt something toward him. You had kissed him, even if you were drunk, and he was certain that you would have kissed him that night in Illyria if he had not pulled away. It was confusing, trying to decide the best way to handle such a delicate situation, and every move he made seemed to create a new fracture.
If you loved him, you could choose him for yourself, without the pressure of a mating bond.
But he also knew that you would never let yourself encroach on another person’s happiness, on his happiness, which meant you would protect Azriel’s mating bond with you from yourself if you thought it was with another.
It was a mindfuck.
“Azriel.”
Azriel spun around, his shadows darting behind his wings as he met your glare with wide eyes. You were standing across from him in this too small inn room with your hands clutching your dress to your chest. Waves of onyx fabric fell from your hips, shimmering in the faelights as you stepped closer.
Azriel swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry and face warm. “Sorry,” he said, and he hoped he sounded somewhat composed. “What did you say?”
Your lips pursed and your brow crinkled in frustration. He had no idea how long he had been lost in his thoughts, staring at a wall to give you privacy while you dressed.
“I need your help with this dress,” you huffed, and turned around to show him your open back.
It was a corset back, and if you let go of your bodice he was certain the entire dress would fall in a heap at your feet. He could see the hint of black lace lining your lower back, and his pulse thumped loudly in his ears as he stepped closer, allowing himself only another second to drink in the expanse of your bare.
He picked up the silken laces from the bed, his fingers grazing your skin as he threaded the first row and then pulled it taut. Your wings flared outward, and you reached for the desk crammed against the wall to hold yourself steady.
Azriel’s gaze lingered on your wings, then he frowned at the laces in his hands. The top of the dress was maybe a finger’s width away from the base of your wings. “Will this irritate your wings?” he asked.
You shifted impatiently, and he could practically hear you roll your eyes as you said, “According to Mor, no.”
Azriel’s frown deepened. He continued lacing the corset, but said quietly, “Mor does not have wings.”
“Trust me,” you gritted out when he tugged at the dress. “I know.”
“Do you want to wear something else?”
“Of course I do,” you huffed, still leaning over the desk. “But this is what Rhys gave me, and I have a part to play.” You waved at him flippantly, urging him to continue. “I’m meant to be your pretty plaything from the Court of Nightmares.”
Azriel couldn’t help the harsher tug on your laces, a startled oof falling from your lips. “You’re my wife,” he corrected quietly.
You were quiet at that, letting the soft slide of silk laces occupy the room.
If one of his shadows fell away from his grasp to slither down your arm, he didn’t stop them.
Eventually he pulled the final row tight, securing the corset with a bow. He should have stepped away then. He should have given you your space, but instead his hands grabbed you by your waist, and turned you around slowly to face him. Your chest rose and fell with heavy breaths as your eyes met his, and your irises were stunning against the smoky background Mor had crafted before you left—even if you would be unrecognizable to anyone else beneath the glamour.
“You are divine,” he told you, and the words felt like a hymn upon his lips. He forced the rest of the praises down deep into his soul, letting them coast along the bond in glimmering glyphs instead of speaking them aloud.
Your breath hitched.
You took a small step back, looking down at your dress as you smoothed over the fabric with your hands. “This dress is a monstrosity,” you argued, though the words lacked conviction. “And entirely impractical.”
Azriel shook his head, stepping forward to reclaim the space between you. He was a foolish, foolish male. He would do everything in his power to kindle this flame that glowed between you. How could he not? There was never really another option, as much as he might try to delude himself.
“I was not talking about the dress,” he told you quietly, warmth flooding his body as you looked up at him with wide and blinking eyes.
Your throat bobbed as you licked your lips, and Azriel could not help the flare of desire that sparked in his chest. You were ethereal, and powerful, and you were about to walk inside a ballroom full of fools and run circles around them. He loved every fiber of your being.
He reached for your hand, your skin soft against his scars. He lifted it slowly to his lips, his eyes never leaving yours as he left a lingering kiss against your skin. You blinked, and he gently lowered your hand back down, but he didn’t let go. “Let’s go make some friends, wife.”
~ ~ ~
The ball was more akin to a menagerie.
Azriel did not let his hand leave your waist as the two of you weaved through a sea of bodies, an eclectic and seemingly chaotic collection of faeries littering the ballroom floor. There were humans sprinkled throughout too, and Azriel’s chest tightened at the emptiness behind their gazes. The music that filled the room seemed slow and upbeat all at once, a tempo that left his heart beating fast in his chest.
He did not like this at all.
His hand tightened on your waist, and his lips brushed the shell of your ear as he leaned down to say, “Do not leave my side.”
Of course, you glared at him. “I can take care of myself.”
Azriel spun you so you were chest to chest, both of his hands now on your waist as your hands pressed against his chest. He swayed the two of you to the slightly off-beat music that made his skin crawl. His cheek brushed against yours as he leaned down again to speak to you quietly. “For all intents and purposes tonight, you are my wife.” He felt your breath fan out in a warm buff against his neck, and he brought one of his hands up to lace his fingers with yours, the two of you dancing slowly amongst the crowd. “Assume we are being watched.”
You nodded slightly, acquiescing as you leaned into him. “Why do I feel more like an exhibit than a guest?” you murmured.
And that was exactly how Azriel would describe it. The skin on the back of his neck prickled as if there were eyes on him from every direction, but his shadows had scattered to every corner of the room, and there was no one watching the two of you. No one that could be seen.
“There’s too many people here,” he said, eyes scouring the crowded floor. “And none of them seem particularly…noble.” It was not an insult, but no one here was dressed in finery that would be expected at a royal ball. He almost felt like the two of you were overdressed.
There were as many lesser fae as there were high fae, and that made him nervous—for them. He could not imagine that the Mortal Queens had decided to provide charity to the oppressed fae of Pyrthian, and if Koschei had any involvement in this gathering, he hated to think about why these people were gathered here. He also could not ignore that, technically, the two of you were lesser fae as well.
Kier had said the invitation was for his court nobles, who would have been High Fae, but Azriel trusted Kier as far as he could throw him, even with Rhys rifling through his mind.
“Do you think it’s a trap?” you murmured quietly in his ear.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, and he hated feeling unsteady. He hated how little information he had been able to collect from Koschei and the Mortal Queens, and how difficult it had been to glean any information from the shadows of the Continent. “No one knows who we are,” he said. “But this is not the crowd I anticipated.”
You went stiff in his arms. He ducked his head to meet your gaze, but your eyes remained glued over his shoulder. He squeezed your waist, pulling your gaze to him. “There are two Illyrians here,” you said quietly.
Azriel blinked. His grip tightened on your hand, and he imperceptibly shifted you closer to his body. “We anticipated this,” he murmured. It didn’t stop the rage from coursing through his veins.
It also meant that Koschei was almost definitely acting as a puppeteer for the Mortal Queens, either knowingly or unknowingly to them. That was expected, though, and that wasn’t why you and him were there. You were there to collect information, to find out who else might be involved. He had anticipated nobility from across courts, though, not a consortium of lesser fae.
“Az,” you said quietly, and he almost reminded you not to say his name, but then you shifted the two of you just enough so that he could see the Illyrians. He recognized them. They were from Windhaven. He was fairly certain one was a male you had spat at just weeks ago.
“They won’t recognize us,” he assured, though even he did not really believe his words. He could still see the sheen of the glamour Rhys had cast around your face, and he could feel the warmth of his on his skin, but it did nothing to hide the fact that you were Illyrians, and if they got close enough, they could recognize your scents. You had likely made an impression.
You bit your lip, your eyes shifting around the ballroom, but your gaze always lingered on them. “Look who they are speaking with.”
Azriel glanced again, careful not to stare. He sucked in a breath as a faerie moved to reveal the High Fae the Illyrians were standing next to. “Autumn Court soldiers.”
“And nobility,” you added. “That’s the first noble I’ve seen.”
“They could be under a thrall,” he said.
You shook your head, forcing your gaze away from the males. Your eyes were sharp when they met his gaze. “No,” you said. “They’re perfectly lucid.” A human bumped into you from behind, sending you careening into Azriel. He steadied you easily, even as you glared at the woman that stumbled away without an apology. “I’m not sure the same can be said of the humans,” you grumbled.
“They might be drunk on faerie wine.”
Your nose scrunched up in distaste. “These Mortal Queens are fools.”
“They could also be in a thrall,” he argued half-heartedly.
“Briallyn wasn’t.”
“No,” he agreed quietly.
“We need to split up,” you said.
Azriel did not agree. His grip on your waist tightened, and you cast a withering glare toward him. “No,” he said.
Your eyes narrowed, and you leaned in close. You hand trailed from his chest to the back of his neck, your nails grazing his hair at the nape of his neck. Your lips brushed the column of his throat as you murmured back, “Yes.”
He knew you were playing into your role. He knew the two of you very well could not argue in the middle of the ballroom, no matter how crowded. He knew you likely felt the same invisible eyes on your back that he did. It did not stop the rush of desire that ran through his veins or the goosebumps that pebbled his skin.
He swallowed hard. Then he tilted his head so his lips grazed your ear. “I do not think that is wise.”
“We are not doing this again,” you argued, your tone a touch harsher. “I can take care of myself, Azriel.” His jaw clenched, and he knew you were right. He hated himself for letting his own selfish fears dictate his decisions, and for trying to dictate yours.
Your eyes were soft when you pulled back to look at him, though. “There are too many people here for us to just stand here and dance in the middle of the floor.”
He was grateful in that moment that Rhys’s glamour did not hide you from him. You were stunning. Beautifully sharp in all the right places, power coursing through your veins and conviction shining in your eyes. You were more than capable. He had never doubted that. He just felt like he was dying every time you were in danger, and he could not fathom what it might feel like if something happened to you.
“Okay,” he whispered. He hated the ripple of shock on your face, but he loved the small smirk that graced your lips.
Azriel could not help himself.
He leaned down, his lips a hairs breadth away from yours as he paused for just a second, then he pressed his lips to the corner of your mouth. Your breath hitched as he pulled back, but he didn’t let either of your wallow in your complicated emotions. “Don’t wander far, wife,” he said, voice cool and detached, loud enough for those around you to hear.
Your eyes narrowed, but you bowed your head slightly, stepping away from Azriel. He forced himself to drop your hand, and he watched you until you disappeared in the throng of faeries.
Summary: What if you started a romance book club and Azriel joined? How could the most delusional reader define the line between fiction and reality when it comes to love?
Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie looked at me expectantly. They had been holding their breath for thirty whole seconds now. I couldn’t back down, not now that I’d told them about it. About… my plan.
I nodded to myself. Time to speak.
“I’m thinking of making a book club. A romance novel book club.”
In the span of half a second, Nesta’s eyes popped, Gwyn squealed, and Emerie fell back in her chair.
Gwyn raised her hands in the air. “A book club?” Whether it was a question or plainly an exclamation, I wasn’t sure. She kept waving her hands in the air. Up and down. Up and down.
“Stop with the hands,” Nesta cut in. She ran a hand down her face. “Y/N, you mean… sharing publicly the type of books we read?”
“Yes,” I said slowly, trying to maintain eye contact with her icy stare.
Like Emerie, the rest of the girls sat back on the couch, taking it in. I mean, I knew they would be hesitant, but the idea wasn’t crazy. It wasn’t the first book club in Velaris. Maybe it was the first dedicated exclusively to romance novels, but c’mon…
“It’s not that crazy,” I said.
Emerie coughed dryly. “It’s actually not.” I turned to watch her, my mouth open. “It’s just a book club, girls.”
Gwyn and Nesta turned to watch her too, but there was no surprise on their faces, just a smirk. A knowing, up-to-no-good smirk.
“Yeah, it is,” Nesta said. “It’s actually a good idea.”
Oh.
“Yeah, it is,” Gwyn nodded.
I shook my head. “So you’ve just changed your minds? Just like that?”
There was a grin on Emerie’s face that told me there was more to it. Actually, the mischievous look on all three of them told me I should worry.
“Emerie,” I called, and her lips trembled from holding back a smile. “What did you say to them?”
She tossed her head in mock offense. “No - nothing. I just think it’s a great idea.”
“Oh, so now it’s not just good, it’s great.”
“Marvelous,” Nesta said. “We want to help you.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Well, I was going to ask you, but now that you seem to be planning some—”
“Don’t worry about that. We truly want to participate,” Gwyn told me, beaming like she knew I couldn’t say no to her dazzling smile. “Please?”
I took a deep breath. “Yeah,” I nodded. “Of course you are in.”
“Yay!” she yelled as she pulled us all into a hug.
I smiled as I embraced them, but I still wondered what was up with these crazy, mischievous females.
…
“Look how many people are coming!” I almost yelled to my friends, who were sitting by my side. We were in front of what we thought was going to be way too many empty chairs. But now, they were almost all taken. The book club was… succeeding.
Well, maybe it was too early to deem it that way; today was just the opening day. But, man, I had worried that no one would come.
“And now look at this!” Gwyn said, amazed too by the people still pouring through the door.
Feyre had lent us this place in Velaris. It was supposed to be her new studio, but when she heard about my book club, she said it was perfect for me and that I should take it. My sweet Feyre, she is the best.
I turned to watch the clock. Oh, now it was time.
“Welcome everyone to the Romantics Club. Not romantic as in the human artistic movement,” I laughed, and Nesta mouthed at me to stay on track. Oh, my hands were trembling. “Romance, as in love. That’s, after all, why we are here, because we lo—”
And then the door cracked open. And he came in.
“Sorry I’m late,” Azriel whispered. He was wearing his usual black combat pants and a black shirt. And he was, as he always is, incredibly handsome. As he scanned the room for a chair, I watched all the females run their eyes over his body. His wings, his face.
I needed water. Because of the speech, of course.
Oh. The speech. I wasn’t talking, I realized.
I coughed.
“Because we love - we love.” Azriel realized all the chairs were taken and started walking toward the wall. “We love books. Yes. And we love handsome love interests that court the main character, yes, that too.” I should stop looking at Azriel as I say that.
I’m making a fool of myself.
Yes, you are, Nesta’s voice rang in my head, and I immediately checked my mind shields.
Shut up.
“Azriel, come sit here,” Gwyn, next to me, said, gesturing to her seat. I had to control my impulse to scream. Don’t, Azriel. Don’t. Thank the Cauldron, he shook his head and indicated it was okay.
“No, no. Really. Sit,” she insisted as she got up and walked toward Emerie’s chair. Our Illyrian friend instantly made room for Gwyn to sit, smiling toward me. Then her eyes moved to Azriel, who was, reluctantly, coming to sit in Gwyn’s chair. Next to me.
I turned back to Emerie, her eyes still on me. Her mischievous eyes.
You, I mouthed.
Nesta and Gwyn shared a knowing look, smirking.
Now I was truly containing my internal screams.
But I didn’t scream. I just turned to face the whole group and resumed my speech.I only allowed myself a few glances at Azriel once in a while. But whenever he caught my eye, I promised myself I wouldn’t look back again.
But I always did.
Why did he have to be so handsome? And such a good listener.
And even a good reader.
“What do you think of romance?” Nesta asked him well into the session. She gave me a quick smile that infuriated me.
“Oh,” he said, quickly glancing my way. “Romance novels, you mean?”
“Yes,” Nesta answered, though it still sounded like a question.
“I think they are great. They combine entertainment and knowledge.”
“Knowledge,” she tested the word. “Knowledge in… love?” She made sure to look at me while saying that word.
Azriel glanced down at his feet, thoughtful. Then he met her eyes. “Yes. I think they teach many ways someone can love.”
“And many ways to have sex,” a female in the group said, earning a laugh from everyone. Everyone but Azriel, who just smiled. He caught me watching him, and I swiftly looked away.
“Yes, that too.”
My cheeks turned pink.
Nesta opened her mouth again, but I was quicker.
“Okay, well,” I said to everyone as I got up. “That's two hours for today. Thank you, everyone, for coming. This has been truly special. Hope you enjoy Love and Other Pastimes. We’ll see you next week.”
I spared Nesta a triumphant look, and she shook her head, smiling.
This battle, maybe, but you haven't won the war, she spoke into my mind.
This is winning? You’ve just made Azriel come to my book club, where I talk about romance books. Are you crazy?
Before she could respond, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to find him staring at me with a beautiful smile on his face. “That was a great session. You’ve done a great job.”
I wanted to thank him, but my mouth wouldn't cooperate. I was frozen in place.
“Sorry, did I say something bad?”
Oh no. Speak, now!
“No, no, sorry, I was… I didn’t recognize you for a second.” I laughed nervously, already regretting what I’ve just said. He looked momentarily hurt. Oh no. “I mean, you look different. More… handsome. Have you done something to your hair?”
He opened his mouth as I tried to keep mine shut. Forever. How could I have just made it worse?
I swear his face flushed a bit. Well, suck it up, because I’ve probably gone full red right now.
“Thank you, Y/N,” he said. “But no, I haven’t cut my hair. But I actually need a cut. Seriously,” he laughed. And it was so odd how much he was… talking. He is the spymaster, after all. Always silent, always composed. Cauldron, I’ve broken him with my stupid comments.
“I can't find a good place to cut it, so it’s just grown too much.”
“Oh, well.” I turned to glance at the room; everyone had left. Even my friends. Was this their plan too? My hands started to sweat as I realized I was alone with him. He noticed too. What was I even talking about? Oh, Cauldron, don’t freeze again. Oh! Hair! Yes!
“I actually know how to cut hair. Pretty well, actually.”
He tossed his head back. “Oh, you do?” I nodded. I am stupid. “Well, and, could you…”
“Yes!”
He smiled. “Really?”
“Yes!”
Yes, what?!
“Great. Thank you so much.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “And when could you?”
“Now!”
“Now? Really?” he asked, rubbing his chin.
“Yes!” Stop yelling. Learn a different word. “Yes, now. If - if you can.”
He stopped to think. “Umm. I mean, yes. I can, but… I have to pick up something nearby. Would you - can you wait for me at home? I’ll get there in no time.”
“Sure,” I said, still not sure of anything we were saying.
Am I really going to cut Azriel’s hair?
“Okay, great,” he beamed. “Then I’ll see you soon.”
“You have a beautiful smile,” I said.
I said?!
“Thank you,” he reddened.
Yes, I said it out loud! Oh, Cauldron, please stop me.
“You have,” he said, looking at his feet. “You are beautiful.”
My jaw dropped. He looked up and saw it. I closed my dry mouth, nodded tightly, and muttered, “I’ll see you at my place.” And I exited the book club. I walked two streets away and hid in an alley.
And I screamed.
One big breath in, and I was myself again.
Until I realized I was meeting with Azriel in a few minutes. The same Azriel who just said I am beautiful. Yes. The Azriel I’ve had a massive crush on since forever. That one. Yes. Great. Marvelous.
Azriel murmured under his breath once you had stepped inside his townhouse. You felt your eyes narrow at the man, crossing your arms across your chest while he seemed to pay no mind. “Excuse me?”
“Sit.” Az didn’t even look up from where he had plopped down on the couch next to you. The audacity of this man. You should’ve left. Instead, you dropped down to sit next to him.
“I’m sitting. Now what?” The brattiness tinged over your tone yet the dealer's lips twitched into a sly smirk. “Whatchyu need?”
“I literally…” you sighed, trying not to let the heat between your legs pool too much. How did this man turn you on yet annoy you all in one?
“I told you when I texted you. Just some bud.”
His arm lazily draped around the back of the couch. Your pulse jumped through the roof as you fiddled with the rings on your fingers. “How much you need, doll?”
“I have…”
Pausing for a moment you dug through your purse, drawing out the crumpled up twenty and holding it up with your own small smirk.
“A twenty- I see. I could do a gram or…” Azriel started to speak as he reached over to the coffee table, getting a baggy and a scale ready. You swore you noticed his hazel eyes darken just a touch. “… I could do more…”
More. More weed? Right? Your face flushed up. It seemed you both were thinking the same damn thing. “How?” The question jumped from your lips eagerly.
“I wouldn’t mind throwing some more in for a pretty face like yours… Especially if—“
He was being confident of course. It should’ve annoyed you. But for some reason, it only made that second heartbeat thump between your legs faster. “If what?”
So. Damn. Bratty. But you wanted him to spit it out already. Az let out a low and dangerous chuckle. Hanging his head off the back of the couch while his tongue grazed over the inside of his cheek.
“If ya wanna use those gorgeous full lips of yours to compensate.”
It came out nonchalant but there was a growl aching to escape from his throat. So straightforward. You couldn’t help but blink at the dealer for a few moments. Processing it.
But that damn shit-eating grin of his stayed plastered across his features. Even while he grabbed one of his pre-rolled joints and sparked it up.
“Like a blowjob?!”
You almost sounded offended. Almost. Yet again he let out that cocky laugh of his. Raising his brow while he puffed on his weed. “You said it, darlin’. Not me.” The. Fucking. Nerve.
Although you couldn’t lie, couldn’t hide the fact that you really fucking craved him. “You wouldn’t last a minute with my throat game.”
“Ha- wanna bet?”
The tension was heating up between the two of you through the back-and-forth bantering. “You know what?”
“Hm? What’s that, doll?”
Before he could spew anything else, you leaned in and kissed him. Your lips locking with Azriel's. His hand instantly wrapped around your throat while your tongues swirled roughly together.
A damned good kisser. Fuck.
A husked groan seeped between his lips, holding the burning joint with his free hand. “You taste fucking sensational-“ Az growled as you started to kiss and lick down his jaw, to his neck.
“I know—“
That siren-like stare of yours burned to his for a split second before you dropped down to your knees. Teasing your fingers along the waistband of his grey sweatpants.
“Confident, aren’t ya?”
With a simple nod, you let one of your hands trace over the outline on his pants. Jesus. Fucking. Christ. This man is fucking hung. You felt your heart jump in your chest. “Hard, aren’t ya?”
Biting your lower lip to hide the growing smile across your face, Azriel's brows rose in amusement. Finding someone to match his style of banter and jokes was something new.
“Hard not to be when I got you down on your knees like that.”
He muttered, shifting his hips forward as you finally tugged his sweatpants down. His blood-filled length popping right out. Hard as a fucking rock. Veined to perfection and ready to burst.
“Well… let me work my magic—“
That was the last thing you had seductively whispered before starting to go down on him. You started simple. Kissing the precum right off his tip. Licking from his balls all the way to the top.
“Fuuuuck— such a damn tease.”
You let your tongue lick across your top teeth as you slowly stroked his cock. His darkened gaze burning down into yours as he took a hit from his joint. Blowing the smoke smoothly up above him.
“You know… I could go slower—“ You bratted right back, his head snapping down to yours with a domineering look glistening in his eyes. “You’re a fucking brat.”
With that his big hand found its way into your hair, wrapping it around into a ponytail as you pulled yourself closer to his dick. “Open.”
Another demand. But you obeyed. God- did you obey. Instantly. Those once siren-like eyes turning to a submissive doe-eyed gaze. Wrapping your swollen lips around his massive length.
“There you go- good fucking girl.”
A satisfied growl emitted, taking another long drag from his drug while you sucked him off. Azriel was definitely having the time of his fucking life right now.
He pushed down on your head, forcing his cock deeper down your throat. Your muscles stretched around it while you gagged, tears pricking your eyes. “Relax your throat, doll— there ya go- fuck. Just like that.”
Fuck. Did this man talk you through it. Mascara smeared under your eyes from the tears. But Azriel fucking loved this sight of you. Loved it.
“Such a pretty mess for me, aren’t we? A greedy little slut suckin’ me off so she can get some more weed.”
Your panties? Fucking soaked. Absolutely drenched. All you were doing was blowing him. Why the fuck did it turn you on so much? His hand kept a tight grip on your locks as his hips started to thrust harder. Faster.
“Keep lookin’ at me like that— Fuck. You’re gonna make me bust-“
Azriel's head hung back for a moment while he drilled down your throat like a damn jackhammer. Before you knew it you felt his warm seed explode down your throat. “Swallow.” He demanded through his groans and heavy breathing.
Once again, you obeyed. Swallowing every last drop of his cum before slowly pulling off his cock. Saliva dripped between your lips as you giggled. “Such a good girl when ya want to be, huh?”
His free hand grabbed you by the throat, gently bringing you into a softer kiss and helping you up. “When I want, yes.” You teased him right back while you sat beside him.
The half-smoked joint was handed to you, taking a long dragged-out puff as he nodded his head. “You good? Need anything?” He asked through his glazed-over gaze. Definitely as high as a kite.
“Just my weed and I’ll be on my way-“
He playfully rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “What? Don’t wanna stay a bit?” Az asked you as you both fell into a soft laughter together. He got your baggie ready. Giving you plenty more than what you asked for.
You just knew you’d be returning to him for weed. For drugs. The banter. The sex. The vibes between you both. It was just… Too damn good.
dealer!az has been taking over my fuckin brainnnn yall 🫠🤤
As always dividers are linked in my main ml— asks and requests open to all of you beauts🤍
content warnings: alcohol intoxication, vomiting (brief, from the alcohol), reader has some possessive thoughts sue her, some grinding?, language, more angst and yearning I'm sorryyy
word count: 9.6k
synopsis: Azriel was always meant to be yours.
trope: childhood friends to lovers
part 1 ~ part 2
my masterlist
~ ~ ~
“Let me guess,” a low and familiar voice murmured into your ear. You fumbled with the jewel crested knife, nearly slicing your palm in your attempt to catch it. “Not flashy enough?”
You cast a sheepish smile to the merchant glowering at you behind the table before carefully setting the knife down. You twisted around to glare at Azriel, whose eyes danced with mischief. “It’s not for me, you ass,” you grumbled, stepping away from the table to continue weaving through the merchant stalls.
Azriel easily fell into step beside you. “Oh, I know,” he said. “You have a habit of gift shopping at the last minute.”
You merely cast him a sideways glance, knowing you had no defense. You half-heartedly examined a pair of leather gloves on another table, rubbing the fabric between your fingers before placing it back down. Really, how could you find a unique gift for a male that you had spent centuries of birthdays with?
“So, what are you thinking?” Azriel asked, walking beside you as you perused the tables.
You shrugged. “What did you get him?”
Azriel’s silence made you glance up, your eyes narrowing as Azriel toyed with a pair of gloves in a rotten shade of chartreuse. You forced out a disbelieving laugh, indignation licking at your spine. “You have to be kidding me,” you said. Azriel’s ministrations over the fabric paused. “You ignored me for four days, and now you want my help?”
“I wasn’t ignoring you,” he said quietly, still pretending to look at the gloves that neither of you would be buying.
“I have not seen your face since you dropped me on the terrace and then vanished into the night.”
“I did not vanish,” he argued, but his voice wavered. He finally met your eyes, and the wariness in his gaze only made you more exasperated.
You had spent the last four days torturing yourself with all of the possible reasons Azriel had disappeared. You had agonized over the very real possibility that your brief moment of foolishness in Windhaven had sent him right into the arms of his mate—because that was exactly where he should be.
You had nearly kissed him, and you knew he knew. He was the spymaster, for fuck’s sake. He was fluent in the art of body language. He knew you were about to kiss him in the middle of the kitchen of your pseudo-childhood home, and he pulled away from you. He pulled away, then ferried the two of you off to Velaris, and he disappeared. For four days.
Until now.
Because he wanted help buying Cassian’s birthday gift.
The slimy mixture of mortification, humiliation, and jealousy turned your stomach sour and your heart cold as you stared at the male across from you. Maybe it was hypocritical to be mad at him for the very thing you had done to him not long ago, but it felt justifiable at the time. It still did. You were acting out of self-preservation. Azriel—well you didn’t know what Azriel was doing, actually, which made it all the more infuriating.
“Will either of you be buying something today?” the female manning the merchant table asked pointedly, breaking you from your stupor.
You smiled at the female, fighting a wince at the irritation in her gaze. “Sorry, not today. Thank you for your time.” She pursed her lips in disapproval, and you hurried to add, “Your work is lovely.”
Azriel sent his own apologetic glance toward the female as he laid down the unfortunately ugly gloves, then he stepped around the table to grab you by your elbow and guide you away. You pulled away from his touch as soon as you were away from the disgruntled merchant, glaring at him. His hand fell to his side, curling into a fist. “We always buy Cassian a gift together,” he said.
“Not always.”
“Fine, for the last decade.”
“Well,” you said, voice tight, “things are different.”
Azriel reached for you again, pulling you to an abrupt stop in the middle of the market. “What does that mean?”
Sometimes you felt like you were losing your mind. You had been in love with him for over five centuries. You didn’t know it was love for that long—you didn’t really even let yourself consider it until much, much later—but it didn’t change the fact that it was love.
You had spent every night for the last couple of months replaying every memory you had with Azriel, trying to pinpoint when things changed for you. When did you fall for the male that was your closest friend? The soul-crushing truth was that there never was a change, there was never a shift that sent you toppling, because you loved him from the very beginning.
And it did not make sense to you how he could not feel even a fraction of what you felt for him, when you had lived through it all together.
Anger flared deep in your chest, smoking out the words tumbling around inside you before you could think them through. “Because you have a mate,” you snapped. “You should give Cassian a gift from you and your mate.”
Azriel might have tried to say something, but you didn’t stop. “Is that where you disappeared to? To be with her?” you asked, the center of your chest fracturing outward with every word. “Will she be there tomorrow? At Rita’s?”
The ache in your chest was somehow worse than it had ever been, so many clashing sources of heartbreak melding together into one messy and convoluted vat of poison. It was unfair. You should be able to shop with your friend for your other friend’s birthday without having an existential crisis over it, but this was too much. It was all just too much.
Azriel, to his credit, looked bewildered. “What are you talking about?”
Sometimes his oblivion to the heartache he had caused you, unintentionally or not, hurt worse than anything else.
“You have to be fucking kidding me—”
His hands suddenly grabbed your shoulders, his grip firm and unrelenting as his shadows swallowed the two of you whole. As soon as they deposited you on a familiar outcropping of the mountains overlooking the city, you shoved away from him, your fury building irrationally fast.
“Don’t do that,” you gritted through your teeth.
Azriel looked like he was at a loss. “I want to talk to you without the whole of the Velaris market square watching us.”
You stared at him, your arms falling to your sides. “You want to talk to me.”
“Yes!” he exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. “I want to talk to you.” His hand fell to his side, his wings drooping slightly behind him. “I don’t understand what is happening,” he said, and the quiet desolation in his voice made your heart twinge, despite everything.
“What do you mean?” you murmured, looking down at your boots.
“Don’t do that,” he snapped, his eyes wild with more emotion than he usually ever showed. Then his voice softened as he said, “Please. Please just—” He shook his head. “Things have been different,” he finally said, and all you could do was stare at him as your heart thundered against your chest, your mind racing to find a way to protect yourself from any more heartache. “Since that night at Rita’s, things have been different.”
You couldn’t stop the scoff that flew from your lips, though regret sliced through your chest at the wounded look on Azriel’s face. His throat bobbed as he stared off into the forest behind you. “Y/N,” he rasped, “I don’t know what I said.” He looked at you, and Mother, his eyes were glossy. “I don’t know what I did that night. I—I know I told you I have a mate,” he hurried to add, and the words seemed to feel like sandpaper against his throat. “I know that, but my shadows refuse to tell me anything else and, I just, I’m sorry if I said or did something—”
“You did nothing wrong, Azriel,” you cut him off quietly. As angry and hurt as you were, as much as you wished he had done something you could rationally hate him for just so it might dull some of this pain, you could not let him go on thinking he had done something terrible—not when all he had really done was find something everyone could only hope for. “You—” You swallowed hard, shoulders deflating as you forced the words out of your mouth. “You told me you found your mate, and you said nothing but lovely things about her.”
He looked like he didn’t believe you.
“I promise,” you said softly. “You had fun at Rita’s, and I helped you home, and you told your friend about something wonderful. That’s all.”
He stared at you for a moment, blinking slowly. Silence wrapped around you like a stiff blanket, scratching at your skin with every passing second. The sunlight beating down on your face was unseasonably warm. It felt wrong to be illuminated so brightly while Azriel grappled to tear apart the invisible walls you had desperately built between you. There was nowhere to hide.
Azriel stepped closer, and you hated the small hitch in your breath. You hated the way he noticed, and you hated that his steps faltered when he heard. You hated that there were mere feet between you, and he still felt worlds away.
“Why didn’t you visit my mother with me?”
Your eyes snapped to his, guilt sliding down your throat. “I—”
“And don’t lie to me,” Azriel cut you off, near pleading.
And what could you really say? That you were worried his mother would see your broken heart the second she set eyes on you? That you were worried you would have to endure his loving confessions about his long-awaited mate to his mother—his mother you loved and that you had known for centuries? That jealousy so potent and toxic would eat you alive and ruin anything that might still be salvageable of your friendship?
“I couldn’t.”
It wasn’t an answer. It didn’t explain anything, but it was the only thing you could say that was not a lie, and that was not as baring as the truth.
Azriel shook his head, looking up at the sky. “You know,” he said quietly, “I thought maybe things were okay, when you asked me to go to Windhaven.”
Your pulse pounded in your ears, thinking about how there was never any question of who would go with you to Windhaven. You were selfish, and there was never anyone else that could have gone with you to that camp.
“And when you came to me that night,” he continued, his eyes slowly falling back to yours. He looked lost, and you hated it. He huffed out a sad laugh. “I was actually grateful that we were there. That things felt normal.” His nose twitched, and his shadows seemed to spread outward in agitation. “Then you were pissed at me again.”
You shook your head slowly. “It wasn’t you I was angry with,” you said quietly. “Not really.”
Azriel looked at you incredulously.
You looked up to the sky. “Fine,” you admitted. “I was pissed at you for taking over.” You were pissed that he felt the need, that he acted like it was his duty, to protect you from some self-righteous male.
You were not his responsibility.
“I did not take over.” Azriel moved toward you, his boots stopping mere inches from yours, and you had to look up slightly to meet his eyes. “You can be pissed at me all you want, Y/N, I don’t care. No one will speak to you that way and get away with it.”
“I do not need—”
“I am always going to protect you!” His hands came up to cup your face, his gentle touch a startling contrast to the ferocity of his words. You stared at him wide eyed, his own gaze searching yours. “I told you that. You know that,” his voice softened exponentially, but his words were spoken with fervor. “I don’t care how angry you are. I don’t care if it pisses you off. I don’t care. I’m sorry—” He closed his eyes briefly, inhaling deep before letting it out slowly. “You are the most important person in my life,” he said softly. Your eyes burned. “I will always protect you with my life.”
Your hand came up to curl around one of his that was still cradling your cheek. Your mind was racing with his words. It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. A foolish, hopeful part of you wanted to consider that maybe—maybe he did feel the same. Maybe—
But you could not forget the terrible reality that he had a mate.
You loved him so much. It was intertwined with every fiber of your being and every thread of it throbbed with painful longing and hope that it might finally be recognized. Every thread was fraying with dread that it might never be tied off, that this love might be unmoored forever until you completely unraveled.
“Sweetheart,” Azriel murmured, and you closed your eyes as his thumb grazed the top of your cheek. “You’re shaking.”
Your eyes flew open, and you suddenly pulled away, his touch falling away from your face abruptly.
“Y/N—”
“I’m fine.”
You were not fine.
You had to get out of there.
“Wait, Y/N—”
You shook your head, your wings flaring out before you really even thought about flying. “I have to get Cassian a gift,” you muttered. Then you took off into the sky, leaving Azriel and your heart behind.
You shook off the tendril of shadow that clung to your wrist.
~ ~ ~
“And explain to me, Rhysand, why I should take this young female into my court?”
Your heart pounded in your chest as you fought against the urge to lean against Azriel. Your muscles trembled from the weight of your exhaustion and dread that this disillusioned plan would all collapse around you at any moment. You could not appear weak in front of the High Lord, not if you wanted this plan to work.
You could stand on your own two feet.
Azriel’s pinky grazed the back of your hand, a gentle touch that could easily be an accident, but then his wing bumped into yours, and you knew Azriel was far too careful for accidental touches. You let yourself breathe in deep, let the comforting and familiar scent of Azriel wash over you as Rhysand argued with his father.
Rhysand’s mother stood a step back from him, but still in front of you and Az, watching their exchange with pursed lips. Rhysand and his father had been talking in circles, their voices growing louder and the room growing darker with every passing minute.
“I think that’s enough,” Rhysand’s mother cut in, without an ounce of fear in her voice.
Rhysand and his father both went silent. Then his father’s eyes narrowed. “The boy must learn how to advocate for himself, Melina—”
“And he has, my Lord,” she agreed placatingly. She stepped closer, and Rhys fell back to stand beside you. “But this is ultimately my request of you. She is Rhysand’s friend, yes.” She glanced back at you with so much warmth and pity it made your stomach twist. “But she has no one. She is of no use in Illyria, no one who cares for her.”
Your eyes burned as her words lodged in your chest, the truth wrapped around them like barbed wire. Azriel stepped closer to you, his arm now nearly pressed against yours. The High Lord’s eyes fell to the two of you, and maybe you should have stepped away, maybe you should have moved closer to Rhys, but the thought of leaving Azriel made your head spin. So you stayed in place, with your arm pressed against Azriel’s, and his shadows licking against the back of your neck and hands.
“No one but us,” she continued, her voice softening, and it took everything in you to keep your tears at bay. “She is not safe in Illyria. Let her stay in the House of Wind. Let her work for me. I need the help.”
The High Lord was quiet for far too long. You desperately wanted to grab Azriel’s hand, but you didn't move. Instead, you waited, the four of you silent as you prayed to the Mother the High Lord agreed.
“Alright,” he said. “She can stay.” You were going to throw up. “But you are mine.”
He wasn’t looking at you. Your eyes slowly followed his gaze, slowly looking at the male standing still beside you.
“Father—” Rhysand started to protest, taking one step forward, but the High Lord cut him off.
“That’s my condition. You want her to stay here? Fine. She can stay. But so does he.”
“He still has to pass the Blood Rite,” Rhys argued.
“Fine,” the High Lord agreed. “You will finish your training, complete the Blood Rite in Spring, and then you will come work for me, Shadowsinger.”
This was insane. Azriel couldn’t sign his life away to the High Lord just because you asked for help.
“But father—”
“Okay.” Azriel stepped forward, his warmth vanishing from your side. “I agree, on one condition.”
“Azriel—” you and Rhysand both spoke at the same time. He glared at both of you.
The High Lord grinned. “In addition to her sanctuary here, you mean?”
You hated that he had yet to refer to you by your name, but you knew that, really, it was inconsequential compared to what your fate would be in Illyria.
“Yes,” Azriel said.
He was so large, standing in front of you. His leathers were stretched around muscles that lined his body, and his wings were wide behind his back that was ramrod straight, his head held high as he met his High Lord’s eye.
You weren’t children any more.
The High Lord waved his hand at Azriel. “Go on.”
“Y/N keeps her wings.”
You stopped breathing.
The High Lord raised his brows, but said nothing.
“Y/N stays here and works for the Lady of Night, and she keeps her wings.” He spared a brief glance at you, and when his eyes met yours, you finally released the breath trapped in your chest. “And I will work for you.”
An inexplicable warmth washed over you, working outward from the center of your chest, thawing the icy terror that you had been trapped in for the last 48 hours, even as you now feared for Azriel. You worried it was selfish to feel such relief when Azriel was practically signing his life away for you.
The High Lord smiled. “I accept.”
~ ~ ~
“We need to talk.”
You glanced at the male behind you, shaking your head as you focused on the training bag in front of you. You landed another punch, a heavy thud reverberating through the room. “Not now, Cassian.”
You heard his steps draw closer as you continued throwing punches, relishing in the dull ache blooming around your knuckles. The sun was just starting to rise, but you had been here for hours.
Cassian caught your fist before you could land the next punch, his face looking unimpressed. “Yes, now.”
You yanked your hand away, scowling at him as you shook your hand out. “What do you want?”
He raised his brows, a flash of amusement passing through his eyes. “Happy Birthday, Cassian. You're my dearest friend, Cassian. I’m so happy to celebrate another year of life with you, Cassian—”
You grabbed his shoulder quickly, your eyes wide. “I’m sorry. Mother—Cassian—”
Cassian smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s okay, Y/N.” He pushed gently at your shoulder, knocking your hand away from his own. “I’m just messing with you.”
“Still,” you murmured, shame making your face warm. You looked down to start unwrapping the cloth around your hands, then you looked back up at him sheepishly. “Happy Birthday.”
He grinned, tugging you into his side. “Thank you.” Then he turned you toward the terrace, guiding you to lean against the cool stone railing not yet warmed by the morning sun. “Now, we need to talk.”
You fought the urge to roll your eyes. “Fine. What is it?”
He leaned forward on his elbows, looking out over the city before glancing at you. “What’s going on with you and Az?”
You sniffed, rubbing at your nose as you looked out at the city, mirroring his position. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he said pointedly, shifting his body so he faced you. “Why are things so damn awkward?”
Your face was hot now, and you wished you could pass it off as the sunlight hitting your cheeks. “They’re not,” you lied, terribly.
Cassian scoffed. “Y/N,” he said, unimpressed. You met his eyes warily. His eyes narrowed. “First, you avoided him for weeks. Then, there was the lovely dinner from Hell—”
Gods.
“—then you refused to visit his Mother—”
“He told you about that?” you interrupted, that same shame from when Azriel confronted you yesterday curdling in your stomach.
Cassian paused, seeming to think over his words before just saying, “Yes.” Then he kept going, “Then there was Windhaven, which we will also be talking about, by the way. Then he avoided you for days—”
So he was avoiding you.
“Then he apparently saw you yesterday, but walked into Rhys’s office like a storm cloud, and has been in a foul mood since.” He studied you quietly, and you knew he was leaving out every ounce of unbearable tension and awkwardness that had infused every minute between the events he laid in front of you. “So tell me,” he said, voice softening, “what happened?”
You could probably tell Cassian. You could probably cry, right now, in front of him on this terrace—on his birthday, no less—and he would not hesitate to try to pick up your broken pieces and find a way to glue them back together. He wouldn’t judge you.
But you felt too fragile to do that right now, and he deserved better than that on his birthday.
But he also deserved something, and maybe it would be nice to hand off just a piece of the weight crushing your soul.
“Do you know who his mate is?” you asked quietly, your voice as small as you felt.
Cassian was quiet for so long that you turned to look at him, and when you saw the painful understanding in his eyes you thought you might actually cry. “He hasn’t told me,” is what he finally says, looking back out over the city.
You chuckled weakly. “That’s not a no.”
His lips twitched. “It’s not a yes.”
“Cassian,” you said, staring at the side of his face until his eyes met yours again.
He sighed, leaning heavily against the balcony now. “I don’t know, no.”
Oh.
You bit your lip, not sure what you were expecting. You weren’t sure what you even wanted to hear. Maybe that he did know, and he hated her? Maybe that she was a terrible match and he didn’t know what the Mother was thinking?
You didn’t know.
“Nothing makes sense, if I’m honest with you,” Cassian said.
“What do you mean?”
He glanced at you. “I mean Azriel and his mate.” He tossed his hand toward you haphazardly, as if that cleared anything up.
“What?”
“I didn’t know he told you he found his mate.”
You blinked. You felt like he was talking in circles.
“Cassian,” you said, voice flat and tired. “We were all at that dinner.”
Cassian shook his head. “I mean before that.”
You swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. “Yeah, well,” you said, “he did.”
His mouth twisted in thought. “Right. Surprising.”
“Cassian, what does this have to do with anything?”
He shrugged. “How long ago did he tell you?”
You threw your arms out. “I don’t know!” You did know. “A couple months ago? After Rita’s.”
He hummed. “Which is when things started to get tense—”
“Cassian,” you cut him off, your heart starting to race. “I’m not in the mood for this.”
Cassian immediately sobered, his expression turning serious. “Azriel found his mate over a year ago.”
You went cold. His words practically shoved you outside of your body, and you were floating just a few inches away from where you stood in front of him, grappling to reorient your already fractured reality to his words. “What?” you rasped.
Cassian shrugged, as if this was an entirely inconsequential detail. “He told me and Rhys a little over a year ago.”
You blinked. “So this entire time he—”
Cassian killed your words with a hard stare. “He what, Y/N?”
“I had no idea,” you said quietly. You had no idea things had changed so much sooner than you were even aware.
Yet they hadn’t, had they? Azriel never acted any different toward you. You were the one that made everything turn sour.
You frowned. “Over a year ago…we were at war,” you said slowly.
Cassian didn’t say anything.
“I thought he must have met her in Velaris, but—” You were going to be sick. “Oh gods, is it Elain?”
Cassian whipped his head to you. “What?” he asked. “Are you insane? Elain is mated to Lucien.”
You shook your head, all logic having been replaced with sick terror. “Mor then—”
“Y/N, for fuck’s sake,” Cassian said, cutting you off quickly. “It’s not Elain, and it’s not Mor.”
“You said you didn’t know—”
“Well I know it’s not them.”
“But—”
“I don’t know where or when he met her,” he said. “He didn’t tell us anything. He just…told us he had a mate. We were pestering him and he snapped, and then made us swear not to say a word because she didn’t know. That’s all, but I’m also not a fool.”
You scowled, recognizing his insinuation that you were a fool.
You were also tired of this conversation, and you were tired of the emotional whiplash. After a long beat of silence, you said, “Is it Nesta?”
Cassian growled, his eyes flashing with brief rage. You smiled, relieved that your jab landed successfully. His nostrils flared. “Enough.”
You rolled your eyes, leaning forward on the balcony again, letting your head droop. The two of you stood in silence for a while, the sun slowly rising higher in the sky as the sounds of the city slowly waking up washed over you.
Velaris had always felt like home.
Even that first night you crossed the city’s borders, clinging to Rhys and Azriel in mild terror, something settled inside you as soon as you were within the city’s limits. The air was cleaner. Fresh. It was still just as cold as Illyria, but it didn’t have that bitter tang that licked at your skin when you crossed the camp’s borders.
The air smelled like salt and jasmine. It was so unlike the stale and rotten air that wafted through Windhaven that, at the time, you could hardly fathom that a whole city full of faeries lived here. Now you were one of them.
“I heard about Windhaven.”
You let out a long breath, your shoulders falling. You were tired. “Cassian,” you said, a warning, but he shook his head.
“I’m done talking about Az.”
You rolled your lip between your teeth and looked out over the city, taking in the soft and joyful life that pulsed through the streets. The stark contrast between here and an Illyrian camp was sometimes so jarring it made your bones ache. “Yeah,” you said quietly, not sure what else to say.
He placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing once. “You saved that girl.”
You let out a bitter laugh, refusing to meet his eyes. “Right,” you said, “or I just made it worse for her after we left.”
“You didn’t.”
His words held so much certainty, you couldn’t help but turn to meet his gaze. Cassian wasn’t necessarily one for platitudes, but how could he know that for sure? “What?”
“You didn’t make things worse,” he said. “You saved her wings.”
“But how—”
“I’ve been to Windhaven every day since your return,” he explained, his voice unusually soft. Your eyes burned as he stared back at you with overwhelming sincerity. “I’m headed there after this. No one will touch her wings. They all know what will happen if anything happens to that girl—oh.”
You threw yourself into Cassian before he could finish his sentence, your arms circling him in a vice. He let out a soft chuckle before he quickly returned the hug, one hand coming up to rest on the back of your head. “This is much nicer than, What do you want, Cassian? Not now, Cassian—”
You squeezed him harder. “Shut up.”
~ ~ ~
“I want to teach you how to fight.”
You barely glanced at Azriel as you slid another book back onto the shelf. “Me?” you asked, disbelieving.
Azriel followed behind you as you pushed the shelving cart further down the aisle. “Yes.”
“Why?” you asked, pointedly sliding another book back into place.
Why me? Is what you didn’t say. I’m a scholar. I’m the High Lady’s right-hand. I’m not a warrior.
“Why not?”
You ignored him, continuing on with your shelving duties—which, really, were not yours, but there was also no one else willing to voluntarily work in the library. At least, no one that the High Lord had authorized. You liked being here anyway, and the few librarians scattered throughout didn’t mind.
“You are more than capable.”
You hummed. “Yes,” you agreed. “Doesn’t mean I want to.”
Suddenly Azriel’s hand was on your wrist, and he had you twisted around so that your chest was pinned to the book shelf. His point was clearly made, but still he didn’t move away. His body was pressed against yours, his chest grazing the base of your wings with every inhale.
His lips might have briefly brushed the shell of your ear before he said, “I’m serious, Y/N.” His grip on you relaxed, letting go of your arm that he had pinned behind your back, but he didn’t move away. “War is coming.” Which sounded very serious, but all you could think about was how his body was pressed against yours, and his breath was warm against your ear. Goosebumps pebbled along your arms.
Azriel pulled away, and you had to blink yourself back to reality before you slowly turned around to face him.
Your face was warm. Azriel seemed unaffected—serious and stoic as always.
“This city is meant to be impenetrable, I know, but—” He cut himself off, looking away.
“You’re worried,” you said quietly.
He nodded. His shadows slowly curled around your ankles, one gliding up your leg to then curl around your wrist. “If we go to war,” he said, voice hushed, “I won’t be here.”
Your stomach twisted. It had been years since you moved to Velaris, and years since Azriel had become the High Lord’s spy. Your time with Azriel was fleeting as it was. Stolen moments peppered over the years whenever he could slip away, but he has always been around. Sometimes months passed without talking to him, but you knew deep in your bones that if Azriel was worried about this war, it would happen, and he would be gone much longer than a couple of months.
“I just want to know that you’re safe,” he continued, as if he thought he still had to convince you. “I know it might be complicated for you,” he said slowly, gently, as if he was coaxing a timid animal. “Training, I mean. After everything that happened in Windhaven. But it would just be me, and—”
“That was a test,” you cut him off, realization washing over you.
Azriel’s mouth shut, his eyes wide.
“That—” You gestured between him and the bookshelf behind you. “You—you were seeing how I would react?”
Azriel looked only mildly guilty. “Yes.”
Irritation flared in your gut. He was right, of course. You had never spoken about why you never trained. You had never even told him outright that you didn’t want to, but the offer had always been there, unspoken, waiting quietly, and you never took it. Now Azriel was forcing you to confront it, and he knew fully well why you might be hesitant to let someone put their hands on you.
But Azriel had just pinned you to a shelf with his entire body, and not even a flicker of fear arose inside you. Fear was the last thing you felt.
“I’m sorry,” Azriel eventually said. You knew he meant it, but you also knew he didn’t regret it.
“No,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek once as you contemplated his words. “You made your point. And you’re right.”
Azriel’s gaze was a mix of sympathy and worry. “I’m sorry—” he started to say again.
“I want to know how to fight,” you cut him off. His shoulders seemed to visibly relax at the words, and your stomach fluttered at the flash of pride you might have seen in his eyes. You weren’t doing this for him, though. You needed to be able to defend yourself. It was unwise as it was that you had gone this long in the House of Wind without learning.
“But I also want to know how to hide,” you said, and his eyes glinted with excitement. You couldn’t help but grin when you added, “Like a spy.”
~ ~ ~
Your steps faltered as soon as you felt his presence. Your blade wobbled as it came down, losing its clean momentum from your misplaced footing. You growled in frustration, slashing the blade through the air once more before spinning around.
Azriel was standing there in the shadows, watching you quietly.
“What are you doing here, Azriel?”
He walked closer, the moonlight illuminating his face as he stepped into the clearing. He studied you for a moment, his eyes lingering on the sword in your hand. “You’re late for Rita’s.”
You glanced at the sky, your heart dropping when you realized just how far the moon had traveled. You had meant to leave at sunset. “Fuck,” you cursed. Your grip tightened on your sword as you ran a hand through your hair, cursing again when your fingers got caught.
“It’s okay,” Azriel said, voice soft. He moved closer to gently guide your hand away from your face, then smoothed a hand over your hair. He smiled softly when he pulled his hand away, almost hesitant. “Cassian won’t mind.”
You stared at him, taking in the way the moonlight illuminated the hazel of his eyes and glinted off the inky strands of hair that fell over his forehead. He was wearing a black button-up that clung to his body perfectly, molding the contour of his muscles with perfect definition.
You blinked, then shook your head. “It’s not okay,” you grumbled, taking a step back.
Cassian had just spent the morning of his birthday comforting you, letting you lean on him. The least you could do is show up to his birthday party.
“Y/N,” Azriel said, “It’s okay. They were only just leaving the River House when I left to find you. I told them I was picking you up.”
You frowned. “How did you know where I was?”
Azriel’s lips twitched, like the question amused him. “You weren’t hard to find.”
You tried to argue, wanting to point out that you were in a random clearing in the mountains, but Azriel silenced you when he stepped closer again. “You were sloppy,” he said, nodding toward the sword.
“I’m aware,” you snapped.
“You’re fighting angry.”
“I know, Az,” you groaned. “I don’t need the lecture right now.”
“I’m not trying to lecture you,” he said gently. He stepped even closer, the heat from his body pressing against your skin. “Lift the sword.”
“We’re late,” you warned.
“So what’s a few more minutes? Lift it.” He circled around you, moving so that he stood at your back. You waited a moment, but eventually lifted the sword again.
“Good,” he murmured. He was crowding your space now, his body brushing against yours. You could hardly breathe. “Lower your wings for me?” he asked softly, a low hum that reverberated through your body.
Your wings lowered.
Azriel’s arm covered yours, his hand enclosing yours that held the hilt of the sword. “Right now,” he said, practically talking directly into your ear. “You’re angry, and it’s making your movements messy, because that anger is radiating in every direction. Your body doesn’t know what to do with it.”
You swallowed hard, your breaths heavy as you let the truth in his words wash over you. You were angry. You had been angry for months, and sometimes it felt so loud and potent that it might just consume you. It felt like there was nowhere for it to go.
“I always taught you not to fight angry—but, really, that’s shit advice,” he said.
You couldn’t help but smile.
“You care too much to not get angry when you’re fighting,” he continued. You weren’t sure if you should be insulted, but then he said, “That’s not a bad thing, Y/N. Just channel it. Let that anger stabilize you.”
You sucked in a sharp breath when his other hand grazed the membrane of your wing, your body going still when that hand settled on your hip.
“I’m sorry,” Azriel said quietly, his body also going still.
Your heart was beating frantically in your chest, and you were sure he could hear it, but you nodded your head anyway. “It’s okay,” you told him breathlessly.
A beat of silence passed, then Azriel’s hand slid a little closer to your front, his fingers grazing your abdomen. “Direct that anger to your core,” he murmured. His tone had permanently dropped, a low lull in the delicate silence around you. His hand slid back to your hip, then pushed you to step forward with him. “Let that anger guide your movements. Don’t let it force them.”
The two of you stepped back, and his chest was flush with your back. “Now swing. Let your anger extend into your blade. Keep it sharp and defined.”
You closed your eyes for just a moment, taking a deep and steadying breath as you gripped the anger swirling through you. You imagined it as an anchor, locking your mind and body as one. You imagined it as sharp as the blade in your hand. You imagined it washing over your muscles, powering the force of your movements. You swung the blade in one of the most complicated moves you knew, the angles between movements sharp and defined with an elegance you had been reaching for all night.
You grinned as you finished, relief you had been desperate for settling over you. Azriel’s touch fell away, and you turned around to meet his eyes.
He was smiling too. “Now we can go to the party.”
Your grin only widened. “Thank you.”
Azriel’s smile then wavered, his expression suddenly sobering. “Y/N,” he said, “about yesterday—”
“Az—”
“I’m sorry.”
You stared at him. “You’re sorry? Az, you did nothing—”
“I did nothing wrong, so you’ve said,” he brushed you off. “But something is upsetting you,” he went on, voice gentle again. “And Windhaven—it was hard. I know that. And I wasn’t there for you when we got back, and so I’m sorry for that.”
You looked away, eyes falling to your boots, your toes mere inches away from Azriel’s. You shrugged a little, then finally met his eyes again. “I haven’t really been there for you that last couple of months,” you admitted quietly. “So I guess we’re even. Or, really, I still have much to make up—”
“We don’t do that,” Azriel interrupted softly.
“Do what?”
“Keep score,” he said. You felt warm all over as you stood under his gaze, relishing in the comfort of this male you had known and loved your entire life. Just his presence, without worrying about mates or relationships or boundaries that may or may not exist for the first time in months, was enough to quell the fury and despair that had been warring inside your soul for weeks.
You nodded, knowing he was right.
“Whenever you’re ready to talk about whatever is bothering you, I’ll be here to listen,” he promised. “But for tonight,” he said, a smile slowly stretching across his face again, “Let’s have fun and celebrate our friend.”
Your own smile didn’t quite reach your eyes as you half-heartedly joked, “Will you be getting as drunk as our last night at Rita’s?”
Azriel grabbed your hand, jostling it lightly between you before tugging you close again, his shadows already creeping in around you. “No,” he hummed, mirth in his eyes. “I think it’s your turn tonight.”
Your grin was real as you said, “I like the sound of that.”
~ ~ ~
You weren’t kidding when you told Azriel you liked his plan for tonight—specifically, you getting drunk.
He had taken you back to the House of Wind, and he waited for you to bathe and get dressed before taking you to Rita’s. You would like to think that his cheeks were tinged pink as he grabbed your waist because of you—because you were in a silken dress that shimmered in the moonlight and defined every curve of your body, and you felt good, for the first time in a while.
The two of you were silent as he pulled you in close by your hips, his chest lightly brushing yours before his shadows cocooned the two of you in their familiar embrace. Time always seemed to bend when you traveled through the shadows, warping around your body in a way that felt too fast and too slow all at once. The entire time your eyes were glued to his, his own gaze unwavering as he stared back.
You were in front of Rita’s before you could blink, and yet it felt like those seconds with Azriel’s hands on your body and his eyes stuck to yours had stretched into years. Your heart was racing again. It was becoming a problem.
You stepped back, breaking eye contact with an awkward cough. Your body felt far too warm in the chilled night air. Azriel’s hands fell away from your waist, and you took a second to smooth your hands over your dress, recentering yourself before walking into the crowded tavern.
Azriel watched you, and eventually you forced yourself to smile before meeting his gaze again. “Here we go,” you said with a grin that felt too tight on your face.
You didn’t wait for Azriel before you pushed through the door, the dim lighting and cacophony of music and voices disorienting at first. You scanned the room for your friends, and it wasn’t until Azriel placed a gentle hand on the small of your back and pointed toward a corner of the room that you found them.
He laced his fingers with yours before you could even take a step, guiding you through the sea of bodies. His skin was warm against yours, and you relished in the feeling of your hand in his. He pulled you closer to him when an especially tipsy faerie bumped into your shoulder, jostling the two of you.
Eventually you reached the booth everyone was crammed in, Cassian sitting on the end with a wide grin. You expected Azriel to drop your hand, but he only squeezed it tighter when the two of you stopped in front of the table. Your face was hot when Cassian’s gaze dragged up from your hands to your face.
His eyes were already glossy in the dim light, and empty glasses were scattered across the surface of the table. You hoped he kept his questions and observations to himself tonight.
He pushed up from the table, with Nesta stabilizing it frantically as he bumped the corner and glasses clattered together. Cassian didn’t notice, and he pulled you into him for a hug, effectively breaking Azriel’s hold on your hand. “You’re here!” Cassian cheered.
You laughed as your face squished awkwardly against his chest, his arm squeezing your waist on just the verge of too tight. “Happy Birthday, Cass,” you said again, even if you already saw him this morning. This morning felt forever ago anyway.
Cassian pulled back, his gaze set on the male behind you. He kept one arm around your waist before he reached for Azriel, tugging him into a clumsy hug that you were still held hostage in. The three of you were a mess of arms and wings, Azriel’s body half covering your own and Cassian held you both by one arm.
Azriel would deny it, but he was smiling as Cassian hugged him. Even if he didn’t wait long before extricating himself from the messy embrace. You managed to break away too, your hands squeezing Cassian’s forearms once before falling away. “I’ll have to give your gift tomorrow,” you told him.
Cassian’s brow furrowed. “Az already gave me—” His words died as his gaze flicked behind you, and your neck felt hot. Cassian’s smile faltered, but you could tell he fought to keep it on his face, even if the alcohol running through him had eroded his already thin filter. “I can’t wait,” he said.
Your smile was tight, and you were ready to escape the awkward tension that had fallen over you. You locked eyes with Mor on the end of the booth, relief washing over you when she stood up. She grabbed your hand, immediately dragging you toward the bar as she declared it was time for more drinks.
She dropped your hand once you reached the bar, her gaze sympathetic as you gathered your bearings. You didn’t hear what she ordered as you took in the crowd around you, the floor flooded with dancing bodies and loud music. Mor handed you a glass of blue liquid, and you didn’t bother asking what it was before you tossed it back.
Which might have been a mistake, because it was foul.
You gagged, clanking the glass down on the counter. “Mor, what the hell was that?”
She also gagged as she downed her own, her class clinking against yours as she sat it down. “Disgusting,” she said, wiping her mouth. Then her eyes glinted. “But effective.” She waved toward the bartender ordering another round of something that hopefully didn’t taste like acid.
She leaned against the bar while you waited, her gaze flitting up and down before settling back on your eyes. “I figured it was that kind of night.”
You leaned against the bar next to her, your arm brushing hers as someone bumped into you. “Yeah,” you said with a weak laugh. “You could say that.”
Mor glanced toward the table with your friends. You followed her gaze, and your heart skipped a beat when your eyes met Azriel’s, who had taken Mor’s seat at the booth. His shadows were mostly hidden behind his wings, but a few stray ones pulsed to a slow beat. You averted your gaze, your skin feeling even more flushed.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Mor asked, and you were fairly certain she knew more than you had ever told her, just like Cassian, and Nesta, and probably everyone else around you.
“Nope.”
The bartender brought your drinks, and Mor handed you another glass, this time with a pink liquid. “This one is better, I promise,” she said, then clinked her glass against yours. “Let’s get drunk.” Then she tossed the liquid back.
You grinned, following her lead, relieved when the liquid was smooth and sweet. “Let’s dance,” you said, grabbing her hand as you sat the glass down, the two of you giggling as you pushed into the sea of bodies.
It was hot. So many bodies brushed against yours, so many faeries overheating the room as you all moved to the music. Song after song drifted over you, and Mor came and went with drinks in hand more times than you could count. Your blood felt fuzzy, your entire body vibrating from the alcohol coursing through your veins and the electric buzz that permeated the air.
At some point Cassian and Nesta joined you, periodically dancing with you and Mor when they weren’t entirely absorbed with each other. Your head was light and hazy, and you almost forgot why you had felt so heavy before.
Then a hand grabbed your waist from behind, familiar scarred fingers curling around the curve of your hip. You leaned back, your body connecting with a warm chest you knew better than your own skin. Your skin was hot and flushed, tingling all over as the scent of salt and cedar and something so uniquely Azriel enveloped you.
Your head lulled against him, your body moving against his in time with the music. His other hand settled on your other hip, and you let him guide your body however he saw fit. Your heart was racing and your stomach was fluttering, and you never wanted this feeling to end. You never wanted Azriel’s grip on your body to fade, and you never wanted another male to touch you like he was now. You wanted him to claim you in this crowd of people. You wanted everyone to know that you were his.
You wanted everyone to know that he was yours.
Azriel had always been yours.
Your hand came up to curl around the back of his neck, pulling his face down to meet your gaze. You had to tilt your head back to see him, but Mother above, he was everything you ever wanted. He was the most beautiful male alive, and you wanted him so much it hurt.
Why did it have to hurt?
You turned around to face him, his hands never leaving your hips. Your chest grazed against his, and you met his eyes as he continued guiding your bodies together in a dance that was for the two of you alone. Your eyes never left his, his own eyes glossy in the lights streaming across the room. He had a lazy smile on his face that made your stomach flutter, and when he tugged your body closer you sucked in a sharp breath.
“Azriel,” you murmured. In the back of your head, you thought it should have been a warning, but really it was a plea.
Your arms looped around his neck as his thigh slotted between yours, and you thought you might die when your core grazed the rough fabric of his pants. The hem of your dress was undoubtedly rucked indecently high, but you didn’t care. You just wanted more. You wanted everything.
Azriel slowly ground your bodies together in a rhythm that you thought might have loosely followed the music, but it was hard to tell. It was hard to think of anything other than the building pleasure low in your belly and Azriel’s hands on your waist and his breath against your cheek. You guided his head up with your hand splayed on his cheek, and when he met your eyes he looked like he might devour you there in the middle of Rita’s.
It was exactly how you had always wanted him to look at you.
You wanted him to want you. You wanted him to forget about anyone else that might think they had a piece of his heart, because Azriel was yours.
Azriel’s tongue briefly wet his lips, and you didn’t think before you pushed yourself up on your toes to capture his lips with yours.
And he kissed you back.
Your head was floating, possibly completely detached from the rest of you. You weren’t entirely sure you were even still inside your own body, except for the feeling of an undeniable warmth that flooded through your chest. Azriel’s hands slid from your hips to the back of your thighs, his fingers curling around the hem of your dress and tugging it down, all while his lips chased yours.
His hands gripped your legs tight, his fingers undoubtedly leaving indents in your flesh as he simultaneously tugged you closer and kept your dress from sliding too far up. Sparks of electricity flew everywhere your body touched his, leaving your entire body vibrating. The sounds of the music and the voices around dulled into a muffled buzz, your entire world view shifting to focus solely on Azriel.
Your skin was hot with want, flamed only by inconceivable stores of repressed emotions and desire breaking through the surface. You wanted to curl inside of Azriel and never leave. You wanted this moment to stretch for an eternity, bottling up the euphoria coursing through you and never letting it fizzle away.
One of his hands had migrated to your face, cupping your jaw in a way that you thought might have been reverence. The touch was so gentle compared to the firm grip his other hand still had on your thigh, guiding your body against his lazily as your lips melded with fervor.
Why had you never done this?
Well, you had once—
His teeth nipped your lower lip, making you gasp at the light sting before his lips latched onto the sensitive skin below your ear. Your stomach flipped, and your heart was pounding as he moved down the column of your throat, the drag of his lips leaving goosebumps in their wake.
Someone bumped into Azriel, and the two of you careened to the side a bit, his grip tightening on you as a low growl rumbled from his throat. The floor still tilted beneath you even as he held you upright, and you blinked once, and then twice, willing the feeling away.
Then you were engulfed in darkness that was cool against your skin, and you were stumbling backward until your back met a wall. Azriel started laughing against your neck, his hands still holding your hips, and he was likely the reason you didn’t completely crash into the wooden wall behind you.
You started laughing too, vaguely recognizing that you were outside of Rita’s now, only the moon lighting the dim alley. The air was cool, but it only made you feel more flushed, more exposed now that you were alone with Azriel.
Azriel resumed his kisses along your neck, trailing down to your collarbone as he slotted his thigh back between your legs. The pressure at your core was consuming, traveling upward in shaky tendrils that stole your breath and twisted your stomach.
There was a cacophony of sensations traveling through your body. Azriel’s hands on your waist. His lips on your neck. His whispers that sounded like “perfect” and “beautiful” but you couldn’t be sure because your ears sort of felt like they had been stuffed with cotton. The tension in your core that felt like a confusing blend of impending euphoria smeared with doom.
Your breaths started to grow faster, and fuck, it was really hot.
The world was spinning.
You gripped Azriel’s shoulders, and at first he sank further into you, his body melting into yours. Then your motions slowed, and your mouth was watering, and you must have pushed him back a bit, because his lips were no longer on your skin, and his hands were cupping your face.
“Hey,” he said, squeezing your face slightly to drag your eyes to him. You blinked, trying to focus, but the high you had been riding was crashing down fast, and your head was no longer blissfully floating. “Y/N,” he said, and you pulled your gaze back to him again. “Are you okay?”
He sounded worried.
Maybe you should be?
Maybe you shouldn’t have drank that last shot Mor gave you, or the one before that.
You might be really drunk.
You might—
You threw up.
Everything came rushing up, and you crumbled to the ground, knees hitting the stone hard with stray pebbles biting at your skin. You heaved, and heaved, expelling the monstrous cocktail of alcohol you had tossed down throughout the night.
Gentle hands brushed your hair away from your face, rubbing your back soothingly as you shook, irrational fear coursing through you. Maybe you were dying.
But eventually the nausea passed, and while your head still spun and your thoughts were covered in mud, you knew you were not, in fact, dying. You were just drunk.
Far drunker than you had ever been, but still just drunk.
You were also crying, but your tears were quiet and quickly wiped away by Azriel with gentle hushes. “You’re okay,” he murmured. “You’re okay, sweetheart.”
“I’m sorry,” you said, or maybe it sounded more like a whimper. Your throat hurt. You weren’t sure what exactly you were apologizing for, but you felt like it needed to be said.
“No,” Azriel choked out, wiping his thumb under your eye again. He swayed a bit, or maybe that was you. “My turn to take care of you, right?”
You closed your eyes, smiling a little, leaning your head back against the wall that you somehow had ended up sitting against. Your chest pulsed with warmth again, washing away the chill that had crashed inside you, and replacing the uncomfortable heat you had been washed in moments ago.
Azriel lifted you, your body curling into his chest with ease. You hid your face against his chest, the thump of his heart calming your still racing one.
Azriel would take care of you.
You loved him.
~ ~ ~
part 4
~ ~ ~
a/n: I won't lie this part was a little hard for me to write because it felt it little bit like a filler but I needed it to get to the next part which I'm excited for!!
“I offer you my hand, my heart, and my immortal soul.
Before the stars that watched our beginning and the earth that shall witness our end, I swear myself to you.
I will stand beside you in times of peace and in times of war. I will shelter your heart as fiercely as I would defend my court. Your joys shall be mine to celebrate, your sorrows mine to carry.
When darkness finds you, I will be your light. When the world turns against you, I will be your refuge.
In this life and every life the Mother grants us, I choose you.
From this day until the stars fade and the sea runs dry, you are my home, my greatest adventure, and my most sacred oath.”
-
There were people dancing, there were some stood idly near the banquet tables waiting for their turn to serve themselves, and there were some simply gaping at you and your new spouse from some forgotten corner of the large room inside the moonstone palace. It was strange to be looked upon like so.
You didn’t dare glance up at the Spymaster sat beside you; you hadn’t looked at or spoken to him since you had exchanged your vows. Vows he had informed you that, had been written for the two of you for the sake of this appearance. It wasn’t public information that this was a marriage of convenience, no. To everyone else, this was a love marriage. The two of you couldn’t resist one another. You hadn’t been doing a good job of convincing the masses yet, with how far away from him you were sat on your shared seat.
Something had shifted between you, then. Nothing bad, but nothing good either. It was a humbling feeling. It had suddenly all become real, and you no longer felt like your lighthearted witty humour. Much to the High Lord’s appease, you supposed. No more interrupting customs, no need for his discipline then.
“Could you perhaps try to look like you wouldn’t rather be anywhere else, at your own wedding?” Azriel spoke lowly, and kept his gaze trained ahead.
You felt a slight flush creep up your neck. You didn’t think you’d made your indifference that obvious.
“I don’t know where I’d rather be.” You whispered honestly, yet somewhat vacantly.
Azriel looked to you this time, and his brow furrowed slightly. “Would you rather go home?”
Images of cacti, white airy linen dresses and hot cardamom tea flitted into your mind. You loved those things, they felt familiar, but the Day Court wasn’t home, no.
You looked to the nearest window, and watched as tiny little rhinestone-like flakes of snow landed on the sill. Was this to be your home now?
You turned your head and met his gaze. “Where is home, Azriel?”
If you had blinked you’d have missed it—his eyes widening ever so slightly at the first time you’d ever addressed him by his name. The first of many times, perhaps, he had wondered. Or perhaps not many at all.
“The Day Court?” He offered, and you scoffed softly. You should have known he’d assume it.
“Not anymore. Prison, more like.” You blew out a breath.
“You don’t like it?” Azriel tilted his head curiously.
You shook your head. “I like it. I like lots of things about it. But I loathe the role I was made to play when I lived there.” You muttered.
Azriel smiled knowingly. “Ah. I know someone who went through something similar before she came to the Night Court. I think you’ll enjoy your freedom here, just as she did.”
“So that’s it then. In order to gain freedom outside of the Day Court, I have to live in the Night Court forever?” You idly picked at a gemstone sewn into the white silk of your dress. “Am I really free anywhere, then?”
His expression turned somewhat stern, as he frowned at you. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” He said, stern again yet still soft. Still gentle. His eyes raked over you slowly, landing on your tawny arms; arms that had spent years baking under the blistering Day Court sun.
“I guess those will get a lot paler here.” You offered a half hearted attempt at a joke. “Perhaps I’ll turn the colour of my dress.”
The Spymaster smiled fondly, looking up from your arm. “You know, the sun does shine here. It’s unforgiving too, especially in the mountains. It just happens to be freezing cold too.”
“Hmm.” You semi-acknowledged. “When can we help ourselves to the banquet table? I’m starving.” You rubbed your stomach dramatically.
Azriel laughed. “It’s your wedding. Your plate is brought to you.”
You crinkled your nose in something that resembled disgust. “How will they know what I want?”
Azriel shrugged. “You tell them?”
“But nobody is going to get the exact portions of each dish that I had in mind.” You pressed further.
“Then tell them to give you extra of each and eat as much as you want, and leave the rest.” Azriel sighed.
“Then that’s wasted food.”
“Food gets wasted all the time.” Azriel seemed a few facial muscles short of rolling his eyes at you, and this did not bode well.
People starved all over Prythian, and they were this wasteful here? You stared at him in disbelief for a moment, before you said “Whatever. I don’t have to listen. It’s my wedding, after all.”
With that, you slid forwards on the cushioned wooden seat and hopped off, your heels landing on the small dais with a click. You adjusted your skirts, lifting a bit, and made your way towards the banquet table where most attendees were queueing up to fill their plates.
AZRIEL
He groaned internally, rubbing his face with a hand as he felt his High Lord’s presence creep into his mind.
“Azriel.” Rhysand said quietly.
“No.” Azriel sighed exasperatedly.
“Azriel,” He repeated. “What on earth is your wife doing?”
Azriel froze. That word, he knew it was what you were. But nobody had addressed you as that yet. Said it out loud. You certainly hadn’t acknowledged it, and he didn’t know if he should feel a certain way about that or not.
“I’m not responsible for her movements.” Azriel exhaled sharply.
“Except for the part where you most definitely are.” Rhysand chided.
“I’m married to her. I don’t own her. You of all people should understand that.” Azriel spoke to his High Lord carefully, inclining his head in Feyre’s direction.
Rhysand’s own face softened slightly when he followed Azriel’s gaze. His weakness, and a very easy way to get him in an agreeable mood, Azriel thought.
“Even Feyre allowed herself to be served when she became High Lady.” Rhys turned back to Azriel.
“It’s just food.” Azriel shrugged.
“She’s supposed to give—.”
“No.” Azriel spoke sternly. “We are not mates. That’s a tradition for mates, not marriages of convenience.”
Rhys narrowed his eyes, before stepping off the dais. “Very well then, Azriel.” He nodded before walking back to his seat beside Feyre.
Azriel observed carefully as you conducted your detailed scrutiny of every dish laid out on the table. He even chuckled to himself when he spotted you scrunch your nose in disgust at what appeared to be some form of roast pork. Not a fan of pork, then, he thought.
But he watched your eyes light up when your attention landed on a lamb shoulder encrusted in all sorts of comforting and fragrant spices. You had clearly believed you lucked out here, Azriel figured. He chuckled at your excitement.
You returned shortly after with, to Azriel’s surprise, two plates. His eyes widened as he spotted identical foods on both. Did you…
You pushed a plate of lamb, vegetables and potatoes towards him on the lowered table atop the platform.
“Eat.” You said, matter of factly, yet he continued to stare at you. “What?” You frowned. “You aren’t hungry?”
“Starving.” Azriel murmured, but he wasn’t looking at the food. He was looking directly at you, and swallowed hard.
“Oh…kaaay.” You frowned again at his behaviour, and then reclaimed your seat next to him, and began tearing into the lamb with your cutlery. It was rich, juicy and tender, and the flavour was like nothing you’d had before. “Fuck,” you muttered. “This is amazing.”
“Of course you’d enjoy the food brought from the Day Court the most.” Azriel scoffed.
You turned to him mid-bite, some of the juices spilling over your lip as you spoke. “This is from the Day Court?”
Azriel chuckled as he began spearing into the vegetables on his own plate. “From your uncle’s servants themselves. “You don’t recognise the traditional food of your own court?”
“It’s out of context, it’s on a table in a room decorated to match the Night Court. To me it just looks like lamb. Anyone could catch and cook a lamb.” You rolled your eyes, inhaling another mouthful.
“We don’t eat a lot of lamb in the Night Court.” Azriel spoke softly.
“Well I didn’t know that, did I?” You huffed.
Azriel turned back towards you with a grin, clearly inclined to tease again. But his smile faltered when he noticed the liquid that had dripped ever so slightly down your lip onto your chin. Broth from the lamb, it seemed like.
You watched as his arm twitched at his side, his forearm lifting from beside his plate ever so subtly, index finger inclined to point.
“What?” You raised an eyebrow.
He lifted his finger slightly. “May I?”
Your brow furrowed. “May you what?”
“Touch you.” He breathed.
You put your fork down. “Huh?”
He put his own silverware down and rubbed his face exasperatedly. “For Cauldron’s sake.”
Then, he brought his hand up beside your jaw and gently brushed off the smeared lamb broth on your chin.
“There.” He nodded, looking somewhat pleased with himself.
You stared at him dumbfounded for a few moments, before finally opening your mouth to speak.
“Why didn’t you just tell me I had food on my face?” You threw him a quizzical look.
He gave you solemn back. “Where’s the fun in that?”
“You don’t…” You trailed off, eyeing him. “seem like a male who chases fun.”
This time it was his turn to frown. “I do a lot of fun.”
“You do a lot of fun…” You repeated, waiting for him to continue.
“Yes.” He nodded.
“That’s the end of the sentence?” You looked at him incredulously.
“Yes?” Azriel spoke.
“You’ve just proven my point.” You held both of your palms up. “Nobody says “I do fun”. It’s “I have fun.”.” You shook your head in disbelief.
“I have a lot of fun, that’s what I said.” Azriel nodded earnestly.
“That is not what you said!” You exclaimed, before a wave of midnight sky engulfed your senses and you turned to find the High Lord of the Night Court standing on the dais in front of your lovers’ table.
“Greetings,” The High Lord purred. “Is the party to your liking, Miss?” He tilted his head to the side.
“Sure,” You nodded, but you were sure he could see straight through you.
“Azriel?” Rhysand questioned.
“It’s perfect.” He gave a curt nod.
“So then WHY, are the two of you bickering at the dais where you know everyone will be watching you at YOUR wedding?”
“We weren’t bickering.” You scoffed.
Azriel gently nudged you with his elbow. “Please speak to the High Lord with more respect.” He whispered.
Your eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “He’s not my High Lord.” You whispered back.
“Was this marriage forced upon you?” Rhysand crooned.
You swallowed, and turned back to look him in the eye. “No.”
“So you agreed to come here?” He continued.
“Yes.”
“Thus, I am your High Lord.” He gave you a terrifying smile, baring his elongated teeth.
Then, a silky voice slid into your mind. “Look, Day Court.” the voice was less harsh. “Hierarchy is mostly just for show in the Hewn City, where we hold our multi-court events. Help me up the act, and I promise you’ll find I’m not such an asshole when we get home later.”
Home.
You simply gave the High Lord a nod. “Very well, my Lord.”
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥
A few hours later, the celebration was reaching its close. You had stifled a few yawns, and tried to make rubbing your full stomach as subtle as possible. A group of young fae sat to the side, playing various different instruments and producing a lilting melody. The instrument that caught your eye was the large, rounded wooden structure that had an array of strings running through it.
You pointed carefully towards it. “What is that?”
“The instrument?” Azriel asked curiously, as the two of you hadn’t spoken in a little while.
“Yes.” You nodded, a small smile etched onto your face. You were absolutely loving the sounds coming from those strings.
“That’s a harp.” Azriel spoke softly.
“It’s beautiful.” You breathed, entranced by the music.
“The structure? Or the music it produces.” He asked.
“Both.” You nodded. “I could listen to it for hours.”
“Do you like music, then?” The Spymaster queried.
“I love music.” You admitted shyly. “All kinds of music.”
Suddenly, he stood up, and extended an arm to you. You blinked up at him in confusion.
“Dance with me,” He inclined his head towards the clearing in the hall where several other fae stood hand in hand, arm in arm, swaying to the music. “To the music.”
You felt a slight blush creep up your neck. “You dance?” You deflected the attention from yourself.
“No.” He said truthfully.
“Then?” You blinked at him, surprised by his answer.
“You like the music, don’t you?” He held out his hand adamantly. “So let’s dance.”
“Why?” You raised an eyebrow, trying to seem indifferent but the blush still bruised your cheeks.
“Do we need a reason to dance at our own wedding?” Azriel raised an eyebrow back.
“It’s not a true wedding.” You whispered lowly. “We do not have to partake in such customs.”
“They don’t know that,” he nodded towards the others dancing. “It’s our job to convince them otherwise. Last offer.” He waved his upturned palm.
You looked him up and down with an exasperated sigh, before placing your hand in his. You could have sworn his cobalt siphon glinted ever so slightly when your hand came into contact with his. Perhaps, maybe just perhaps, his breath hitched when his fingers closed around yours.
Azriel lead you towards the clearing in between the rest of the Fae dancing. Rhysand looked somewhat surprised to see the two of you take to the dance floor, but not unpleasantly.
“Hand on my shoulder,” Azriel murmured, using your entwined hands to pull you from his side to now stand opposite him. Your skirts swished at the sudden movement.
You placed the hand that wasn’t in his on his shoulder, and he brought your joined hands up beside the two of you. At last, his remaining free hand hovered over your waist. His eyes searched yours for permission, and you studied him for a moment, lips parted before you nodded.
His large hand settled above your left hip, and he began to pull you with him to the beautiful music. One step, two steps, you tried your best to keep up with the music despite not having danced in a very long time. You were certainly out of practice.
A few minutes passed, and not a nudge or a squeak from any of your fellow dancing Fae could tear your eyes away from his. There was something strangely intimate about this dance, your hands clasped on one side and holding each others’ body on the other, while looking directly into each other’s eyes.
“What’s on your mind?” You whispered to Azriel.
“Simple answer, or honest answer?” He murmured, not taking his eyes off you.
“Simple answer,” You exhaled sharply, slightly breathless from being out of practice.
He looked somewhat disappointed at your choice, but answered all the same. “The music.”
“Now honest answer.” You grinned, and his eyebrows shot up in surprise before he regained his composure.
“You.” He breathed.
And this time it was your turn to be caught off guard.
“Well of course, you’re dancing with me.” You laughed shakily. “How can you not think of me when I’m dancing with you.”
“Yes,” He agreed, yet seemingly unconvinced by your recovery. “How can I not?”
Dinner was… something else. Right now there were four fae and three humans, it seemed like a joke, but that was the reality of her life. Nesta sat at the head of the table like a monarch without a crown, Elain beside her with Feyre and her. Feyre was the barrier between them, between the war that could start if any of them said anything bad towards Feyre. She didn't care for the three males that sat on the other side of the table, she had seen the way Rhysand, the High Lord of the Night Court looked at her sister and knew that nothing bad was going to happen to her while she was at his side. And could say the same about his other two companions.
Warnings ;; finally we have no warning!! (we celebrate)
Author note ;; in this chapter we finally see more of her healing and more of what will be her relationship with Az and little more of the relation with Elain and Nesta, nore of Elain. I'm currently writing Chapter 6 and I can't wait for you guys to read it, I'm still in the middel of it and i think you guys can expect a 2k fic for that part, it is full of love i nearly cried one time while writing it, but for now enjoy this part. love you and thank you so much for giving this series so much love <3 it means the world to me <333
Word count ; 1489
Dinner was… something else. Right now there were four fae and three humans, it seemed like a joke, but that was the reality of her life. Nesta sat at the head of the table like a monarch without a crown, Elain beside her with Feyre and her. Feyre was the barrier between them, between the war that could start if any of them said anything bad towards Feyre. She didn't care for the three males that sat on the other side of the table, she had seen the way Rhysand, the High Lord of the Night Court looked at her sister and knew that nothing bad was going to happen to her while she was at his side. And could say the same about his other two companions.
Cassian was the General of the Night Court, with the hair tie back, he looked like the guy who loved to tease people into fights and win in a moment, but also looked loyal, fiercely loyal, like he would die and kill for the people he loved. She knew he had done the latest the most.
And then there was Azriel, the Spymaster. Shadows danced on his shoulders, his hazel eyes scanned the room as if he was looking for danger to attack any moment now. But she had also catched him looking at her, and when she had looked him back, she felt stuck, she felt safe, she felt a fire burning inside her whenever they locked eyes, like right now. Rhysand was talking to Nesta with a calm and patience that only someone who has been ruling for over 500 years could master.
In that moment Nesta looked at Feyre, who was moving her food from side to side. “Is there something wrong with our food?”
She tensed beside her sister just as Rhysand set her fork down and Elain made a sound of distress, she even thought she was prying for help. And just as she was ready to defend Feyre, she talked. “I can eat, drink, fuck, and fight just as well as I did before. Better, even.” And hell took her right now, she laughed, loud and free, like she had never laughed before.
“I’m so- sorry-” she tried to talk between breaths, but she couldn't stop, because that had been brilliant and didn’t care if there were people around her who could kill her, didn't care that maybe when everyone had gone to sleep, Nesta would lecture her for that. She felt Feyre’s knee bump onto her, her sister trying to repress a smile too. “I’m really sorry.” she said to her guests. She looked up at them and found Azriel looking at her, the eyes that had been cold and sharp were now warm and something else she couldn’t decipher, but he was repressing a smile too, while Cassian was cleaning his shirt from the water he had spilled, Rhys was talking again with Nesta, Elain was blushing and eating her food, but Feyre was looking at her.
She looked at her with love, she looked like she was relieved that she was laughing. With a smile and her cheeks hurting from all the laughter, she took her sister’s hand. Whatever was to come, she could make it, if she had her by her side.
She knew she should let Feyre sleep, she should, but having her in the room at the end of the corridor and not talking to her was as cruel as a hit. So, after dinner, she entered the room Feyre would share with Rhysand. “Sorry Rhysand, I’m going to steal your girl for a moment.” and didn’t give him any time to respond as she dragged her sister to her room.
Letting herself soak at the feeling of having her sister back even for a few days, her mind wandered to the last time they shared a room. How sad and depressed she had been at that moment, but that was the past, she was a new person, Feyre too. There were two women in that room, who would fight for the people they loved. And so they talked and talked, until 2 a.m.. She tried to sleep but she felt restless and walked down to the kitchen to make some tea.
With only a robe to hide her nightgown, she moved in the kitchen with precision and a quiet she loved sometimes. Having spent so much time alone, she had started to cherish her time alone, and with that came a sixth sense of going unnoticed and also listening to the small things. That’s how she knew someone was coming to the kitchen and she had a feeling she knew who he was.
“Care to share a cup of tea?” a deep voice came from behind her.
Pouring another cup of tea, she turned around just as he took a place on the small kitchen table. “Feeling restless Spymaster?”
“Could ask the same, Archeron.”
“Actually I am.” and drank the warm tea, needing to do something other than stare at the beautiful male sitting in front of her and her eyes went to his magnificent wings. “How is it?”
“What?”
“To fly. How is it?”
“It’s another way of freedom, to be able to go whenever I want, to feel the air in your face and the clouds wrapping you like a soft blanket, it’s perfect.”
“That’s beautiful.” Please take me with you.
“That’s how we feel, we were born to fly, it’s in our blood to do it.”
“What about you? Have you traveled?”
Looking at her cup of tea, she bit her bottom lip, looking for an answer, to lie or tell the truth.
“No, I haven’t. But I would love, to be honest.” taking the courage to look up, Azriel was already looking at her, but she noticed something she hadn’t before.
“Your ears are normal.”
Azriel smiled at that. “Yes they are.”
“Why? You’re immortal, aren’t you?”
“Yes but Cassian and and I are from a different kind of immortal, they are called the Illyrians, that’s why we have wings, Rhysand has them too.”
“But I haven’t seen them.”
He chuckled, and something moved inside her at that sound, she wanted to hear it everyday of her short life. “That’s because he is the most powerful fae in Prythian, he can call his wings whenever he wants.”
“And you?”
Azriel’s eyebrows went up as if encouraging her to continue. “Are you powerful?”
“Why do you think this is for?” he said while pointing at the gem on his left hand. “For decoration?” he chuckled again, and she felt smiling too. “This is for channeling the power inside of us, it’s a way to not drive us insane, Cassiand and I have 7 of them.”
“You have that much power?”
“You don’t look surprised.”
“Why? Is that your quote to take me to your bed Spymaster?” What the hell are you doing?! Are you flirting with him?! No I’m not! Yes you are!
“Do you want me to fly you there?”
He 's flirting back!
With a chuckle, she stood up and placed the cup on the counter, she was going to leave him like that, but she felt the need to say something more. Leaning down, her mouth was close to his ear, and with her heart beating fast, knowing he could hear it she said. “Maybe one day I’ll let you fly me somewhere else, Spymaster.”
Azriel.
He had expected Feyre’s twin sister to look exactly like her, and she did, except for those eyes. A dark blue gray that had captivated him from the start, and he found himself unable to look away from her.
There was something about her that made his shadows move uncontrollably, that made him uneasy. Late that night, with Cassian sleeping soundly beside him, he felt unable to sleep, his mind wandering to the girl down that same corridor, whose eyes hunted him. There was something about her that made him want to know her, made him want to keep her safe, to fly away with her from here. He had sensed the tension between the twin sister’s and the older’s, he knew that feeling, and had seen it in many war camps during the centuries. Feyre and her sister were one unity, if you took one, the other had to come too, while the older’s were another unity, four girls, two bands.
And that night, when she had laughed so hard at her sister’s words, she looked younger even though she was only 20 years old, she looked free. He wanted to take her to Velaris, to watch her be herself, be free. He wanted to keep her like a dragon with a chest full of gold, and maybe she didn’t want that, maybe she wanted a distraction from her life, and he would give her that.
