Author's note: So I am back!!! I am honestly so scared to post this, but it's whatever. Can't be worse than the crap I wrote for Lucien😭 Honestly, I just be daydreaming about ACOTAR and come up with stories that I really need to be writing out. Once again, I am NOT a professional writer. I have only really been doing this for 3 months, even though my first fic came out AWHILE ago... (we're just going to ignore that...) Azriel is pretty mainstream, so all you sticklers for high-quality fics ain't gon find NOTHIN here. You can stay if you wanna though☺️
Summary: For years, you lived in hiding. Your wings concealed by a glamour no one dared question. But one forgotten drop changed everything. Afraid of what your father might do next, you fled your home and offered your own fate to the Night Court. Rhysand has problems of his own: a tense court, a mated female in love with another, and a brooding Spymaster too loyal for his own good. The solution? A marriage of convenience. Their marriage is nothing more than survival… until the quiet between them starts to feel like something more.
Word Count: roughly 2,431 words 🤷♀️
Chapter 1: "Sanctuary"
Everyone knew what happened to Illyrian females. It was a common practice where you were from. Beautiful wings of females were clipped, sometimes young, sometimes brutally, but they were always stripped away to feed the male population's need to feel superior. It was tradition, and tradition was law. But you, your wings were different than everyone else's, and your father hated you for it. Unlike the usual leathery, bat-like wings of the Illyrians, yours were soft, feathered wings that were as deep as the midnight sky. The edges, dusted with silver like starlight that ended in curved talons as dark as obsidian.
The night before your scheduled clipping, set up by your father, you’d snuck out of the house through the backwoods towards the brewmistress’s cave carved into the face of the mountain. This was the place the village girls whispered about, but never dared visit. The woman there wasn’t Illyrian. No one knew what she was. Only that she sold solutions for impossible problems, at a price.
You told her your situation, showed her your wings, and she gave you her price. You traded three silver rings and the memory of your first flight for a vial the color of ash and honey.
“Drink one drop at sunrise,” she’d said. “And they’ll see what they expect to see, nothing more, nothing less.”
The next morning, when your father came to collect you for the ceremony, your wings were gone from view. After that, your father insisted to everyone you'd been clipped young, no one questioned it—why would they?
You hid them every single day. For years.
Until the morning you didn’t. The morning you overslept, forgot the potion, and rushed out the door to help at the village square, where your father found you in broad daylight, wings fully visible, alive, strong, and untouched.
The look on his face wasn’t just fury. It was betrayal. And in the mountains, a betrayal like that was a scandal that didn’t stay quiet for long.
You wrote to the High Lord as soon as you could. There were no goodbyes once the carriage arrived. Scandal was not welcome in a family like yours, and whatever future had been mapped for you was now gone. The letter was sent with haste: an arranged marriage proposal sent to your high lord in the Night Court asking him to tie your fate to someone so that you could avoid your father. You only hoped it was with someone loyal, kind, and understanding. Someone who could protect you in this dire situation.
Before you sat down in the carriage, you took a drop of the potion. That's when you saw a letter sealed in wax next to you. You admired the seal as the carriage took off to meet the person with whom you would soon be married. You took a calming breath as you opened the letter, which was addressed by the High Lord. His handwriting was elegant as he wrote to you the situation that you would soon find yourself in.
"Y/N,
I hope this letter finds you well. When I got news about your situation, as your high lord, I acted before your father could. In itself, you are a blessing in disguise, as I have a situation in the inner court that needs solving. We have a female who is mated to another male and feels bound by expectation, not choice. Given her situation, it is fair that she feels this way. However, she is starting to have eyes for another unmated male in my court. This is causing some to be irritable and uncomfortable. After much discussion, that said male has agreed to have your hand in marriage. He understands your situation and has been made aware. He is very trustworthy, whom I trust with my life. I know he will be able to provide for you and keep you safe. He agreed, knowing it would offer you protection. His name is Azriel.
The carriage is headed to a sanctuary where I, the High Lady, and Azriel will be waiting. I have arranged for a priestess to meet with us to officiate the marriage. I will see you soon. Everything will be alright.
Your High Lord,
Rhysand"
You reread the name. Azriel. The Spymaster. The shadowsinger. Your soon-to-be husband. Cauldron save you. The last unmated male in the Inner Circle, and perhaps the loneliest. Well, from what you read, it seems like he wasn't all that lonely. You hadn’t expected Rhysand to court you to someone so high up, but he did. You could not believe it.
The carriage slowed, and you arrived at the sanctuary. Not as a guest, not as a prisoner, but as the soon-to-be wife of Azriel. Bound in name to him whom you have never met or seen. You only heard stories of how hauntingly beautiful and lethal he was. What if he's a slob? What if he backs out last minute? What if he thinks you're ugly?
You shook your head to try and stop the "what-ifs" as you exited the carriage. This was not going to be love. It was an arrangement made hastily. One where you could avoid a scandal and have safety, and one where he could stop the advances of other females. As you stood on the pavement, the High Lord and High Lady walked out of the sanctuary to meet you.
"It is very nice to meet you, y/n," Rhysand spoke.
"You as well, my Lord," you responded as you curtseyed.
"Oh, no need for such formalities. You can call us by our names," Feyre spoke, causing you to rise. "We'll be family soon," she offered you a kind smile.
You returned it, "Thank you for everything, this is more than I could have wished for in this situation."
Rhysand only hummed, "Let's go in, shall we?"
When you entered, the priestess stood waiting beneath a flowering archway. The night's chill was in the air as the sparkling night sky lit up the room. Your hands trembled, not from cold, but from the weight of it all. It was not the wedding you’d imagined as a child. There were no guests. No music. Only Feyre, whose expression was a quiet kind of sympathy, and Rhysand, unreadable as ever.
And then you saw him.
He landed without a sound, shadows curling around him like smoke. He stood tall, dressed in a dark tunic that matched the solemn look in his eyes. His hair was wind-blown from the flight, as his siphons glinted faintly in the night sky. Your breath caught in your throat as he walked towards you, stopping right in front of you, your future husband.
“Y/N,” he said, voice quiet. “It’s… good to meet you.”
You hesitated, searching his face for something like regret, but all you found was a stoic glance. He was hard to read, and just as hard to look away from. He really was hauntingly beautiful.
“And you,” you said softly.
Rhysand cleared his throat. "We will let you two get acquainted, we'll come back when it's time for the ceremony," he and Feyre left with a small nod.
The two of you stood in silence looking at each other for cauldron knows how long. The air stilled as you both waited for someone to say something to break the silence around you.
You spoke first, “Now that you’ve met me… has your mind changed?”
You saw his shadows stir slowly around him at your question, a ghost of a smile touched his lips, “No,” Azriel said. “It hasn’t. Has yours?”
You stared at him a second too long, trying to detect any sound of uncertainty in his answer, but found none. "No, I suppose not," you spoke honestly. He hummed in response.
"Alright, are you two ready?" asked Rhysand just before any awkward silence could happen.
The look you exchanged said what neither of you voiced: "Are we really doing this?" When neither of you moved, Azriel responded with a curt, "Yes."
The ceremony was short. The priestess asked you two to hold hands as she blessed the marriage. Azriel didn’t flinch when he took your hand. His hands were calloused but warm, causing you to take a small sharp inhale from his touch. She spoke of honor and commitment to one another, as Rhysand and Feyre watched from a small pew. Then she pronounced you husband and wife. There was no kiss, just a simple smile as you two held hands for a second longer before turning to Rhysand and Feyre.
"Congratulations, brother," Rhysand clapped Azriel's shoulder lightly as he and Feyre went to sign as witnesses of the marriage. After that, everyone left. You stood beside Azriel on the balcony of the sanctuary overlooking the hillside of Velaris. It was quiet.
“I have a house just beyond the river,” Azriel said. “Two bedrooms. You’ll have your own space. I don’t expect anything from you.”
You turned to him, studying the stiffness of his shoulders. “Thank you, Azriel."
He glanced at you, "You're welcome. Are you ready to fly out there now? We will meet up with the others tomorrow."
You hesitated as you spoke, "Fly-out?"
Azriel responded, "Yes, I will fly us there. Is that okay?"
You nodded your head, "Yes, sorry, I just never have flown before."
"Ah, well, I'll take it nice and easy," he smiled softly.
"Thank you," you spoke as he wrapped his arms around your frame, his warmth instantly spread through your body, making your cheeks warm. If he noticed, you didn't know.
"Just hold onto me and I'll do the rest, " he spoke with reassurance as if he could sense your nerves.
You offered a nervous-sounding "Okay," as you wrapped your arms around his neck and interlocked your hands. His shadows stirred as you felt his muscles tense at the feeling of your uncovered hands. "Good," you thought, "you weren't the only one feeling the intimacy of the situation."
"Alright then, here we go," he said as the wind instantly touched your face with the first beat of his wings. You closed your eyes and tightened your grip around his neck as he took off higher. Azriel flew like it was second nature. His wings cut through the air, gliding easily on the wind as the sanctuary disappeared beneath you. You said nothing during the flight, and neither did he. You assumed he was too focused on flying to say anything; besides, you didn't want to distract him either.
The moon was almost at its peak when you spotted a modest cottage tucked into tall trees near a river. It was stonewalled with vines growing up it. No neighbors, no nothing. Just the presence of nature around you. As you got closer, the feeling of magic was wrapped tightly around you. He had warded the perimeter, which was comforting to know. He landed carefully, setting you down before his feet even touched the ground.
“This is it,” Azriel said, voice quieter than before. “Home.”
You took it in slowly. From the outside, the house looked... quaint. He led you to the front door as he turned to you.
"I have added you to the wards so you should be able to come and go as you please."
"Thank you," was all you could think of as a response.
He opened the door, and you quietly followed. It opened into a singular common room with a couch, fireplace, and a chair. Only one book on the shelf, one coat on the hook, one pair of tactical boots by the door. The kitchen was clean but bare. No fruit in a bowl. No spices on a shelf. Just enough plates for two people. There was a teapot, and a blade stashed behind the breadbox. He led you down the short hallway.
“This is your room,” he said, pushing open the first door. “Fresh sheets. You can change anything you’d like. I won’t be offended.”
You smiled as you stepped inside, trailing your fingers along the windowsill. The room smelled like cedar and fresh linen.
“Thanks,” you murmured.
He paused outside the doorway. “I know it isn’t much.”
You turned toward him. “It’s just fine, thank you.”
The next door he brought you to was his. Not bothering to show you what his own space looked like, but at least you know where he would be if you needed it. The last room he showed you was the bathroom, at the end of the hallway.
Everything was neat, almost impossibly neat. A thick black towel hung perfectly folded on the rack. A razor sat on the sink counter next to a comb and a bar of soap. There was a half-used candle sitting at the end of the tub. The scent was foreign and faint, but you could smell it. It smelled of smoked cedarwood and leather. The tub itself was deep and well-used, which surprised you. There's a small window with sheer curtains that was cracked open just enough to let in the night breeze.
Azriel cleared his throat. “I get up early to train, so don't worry about waking up on time. You can sleep in.”
You nodded. “Sounds good.”
"There’s tea if you want some, help yourself to anything. I'll go to the market later this week if you want anything."
"Thank you, Azriel."
“Y/N,” he said softly.
You met his gaze as silence filled the space around you, his mouth pressed into a thin line as if he wanted to say something. You waited, the anticipation slowly eating away at your conscience.
He cleared his throat softly, “Uh- sleep well."
Your chest tightened. “You as well," as he wished you one last good night before retreating to his room.
That night, on your wedding night, you slept by yourself. Alone in a bed where the sheets were cold and untouched, inside a room that doesn't feel like your own quite yet. You lay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to the trees blow in the wind, thinking about where you now live. He calls this home, yet everything is so neat and pristine. No decor on the walls, no homey furniture, or any signs of living other than the well-used tub. The thoughts of "will this ever feel like home?" are plaguing your mind and preventing you from sleeping, so you tossed and turned all night. And somewhere beyond your door, in the other room, Azriel didn't sleep either.
If you’re interested in being on my taglist, please let me know!
