My request is set during the first century of the batboys' lives. The High Lord at the time is mad at some anonymous author who had gotten extremely popular under her pen name (gender ambiguous) and her stories were being performed across courts but in her latest story she introduced a character who was a caricature of the high lord and it criticized his politics in a satirical manner so he asked Azriel to hunt the person down and bring them to him. He does find her and she charms him, she already was fond of her works and now he has a full-on crush and desperately wants to save her.
Court of Scandal
Part 1 | An Introduction | Azriel X Illyrian!F!Reader
Summary: Anonymously printed papers have begun circulating through the Night Court, poking fun at the Lords who rule it, and their families. Early in their training and their long fae lives, Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel are tasked with finding this Author and snuffing them out before irreparable damage is done to society. But what happens when the writer turns out to be one of the most beautiful women Azriel has has ever met? Love or loyalty is the final question, Dearest Reader.
Word Count: 2,216 words
AN: This request will be broken into multiple parts, likely three. I had so much fun starting it, and I hope you guys love it. I took some liberties with the prompt since I am currently obsessed with Bridgerton. Thank you lovely Anon who submitted it, if there's anything you're not liking please let me know and I'll do my best to fix it in future parts!!
Warnings: There is one gay joke that might be a bit distasteful, but I myself am bisexual and I found it too funny not to include.
Read on Ao3
After Dark, the Velaris Papers
Dearest Readers, allow me to make a first introduction.
You may call me Thorne, for even Velaris’s most stunning roses have them hidden beneath their petals.
You may not know me, but as we approach our Great Court’s annual Blood Rite and Socialite Season, you can be certain that I know you.
I would like to inform you of a most interesting update in our Court’s dealings. A new Lord has been appointed to rule the Hewn City.
Keir, the High Lord’s brother, seems to have earned this title through familial relation alone. The land certainly would not have chosen a Fae so physically disinclined. One must question what qualities, exactly, constitute such a label as ‘High Fae.’ It is this Author’s belief that Keir’s struggle to to keep his flaccid blond hair perfectly coiffed should discriminate him from the species. It is a wonder indeed that such a male could sire a female as beautiful as Morrigan.
Morrigan has yet to be seen outside of the Hewn City since her father’s coronation, causing all of Velaris to wonder why, exactly, our most wise and cunning Lords have hidden her away. Perhaps Morrigan hides a secret much too hideous for even the leaders of the Night Court to accept. Even so, a fate such as Morrigan’s is a nightmare.
This Author wonders whether or not the whole of Hewn City might come to be called a ‘Court of Nightmares’ under Keir’s rule. Only time will tell.
Yours Truly,
Thorne N. Yrside
~~~
“Yrside… that doesn’t sound like a Night Court name…”
“It’s a fake name you twat.” Morrigan rolled up the thick parchment, smacking Rhysand flat on the head with it. “A pen name. Your-side. ”
“Ohhh.”
“My father is… he is enraged.”
“Sounds about right.”
“No, Rhys,” Morrigan huffed. Her pretty face was warped with worry, frown lines etching into her cheeks. “This isn’t just some little thing that ticked him off. This could be really bad. This isn’t all, whoever this person is has been releasing… I don’t even know what to call them. Plays?”
“Plays?”
“Like the skits the minstrels perform, out in the square. They’re out there in wigs pretending to be ‘Lord Mirror.’ My father is vain yes, but…”
“I guess that sort of rhymes with Keir. There are worse words… Fear, quee-”
“Hush, Rhysand!” Morrigan ducked a blonde head around the corner of the rocky alcove she and Rhys were hidden in, checking for eavesdroppers. “This kind of embarrassment is horrible for my family’s reputation. You have to do something, get Tyrn involved.”
Rhysand’s brows rose, gliding up his forehead and all the way to his fine dark hair. “You want me to talk to the High Lord?”
Morrigan crossed her arms. “Is he not your father?”
“He’s even worse than yours.”
“I doubt it,” she hissed. The words bit off at the end as footsteps echoed through the cavernous hall.
Rhysand summoned his magic. He dove into the deep recesses of power within himself. Power that would only grow with time. He threw his hand forward, and a thin wall of shadow sealed their little corner. The shield warbled, threatened to dissipate, but it held until the servant passed.
“Whew…” Rhys smiled with pride at the successful show of magic. Morrigan did not smile back. "I'll- I’ll try Mor. For you,” he added.
“You better.” She looked both ways beside the alcove, then hurried out, leaving Rhysand behind.
~~~
“Rhys, you have to see this!” Cassian practically jumped Rhysand as he wandered into his mother’s cabin. “His hair really does look like that!”
Rhys stumbled back out of Cassian’s chokehold, but he peered out the open window. Morrigan was right. A few Illyrians, males that were not allowed in the training ring for their lack of strength, were being chased out from the town square. They laughed, toupees of fake hair falling down to dirty in the street.
In Cassian’s hand was a pamphlet as well, thick and crisp like the one Morrigan had shown him. Rhysand snatched it from his sweaty palms.
He must have finished training early. With Cassian, they had to keep him in the ring until he was exhausted, or he would be up to no good. It seemed he had enough energy to go snooping around today.
Rhysand crumpled up the pamphlet, shoving it into a wastebasket.
“Hey!”
“Where did you even get that?”
“They were delivered to Windhaven today,” Cassian said with a shrug. “I gave the kid a coin.”
“What’s wrong?” Azriel asked Rhys, eyes narrowing in concern.
Rhys sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “It’s nothing. I guess Mor thinks these pamphlets, these… plays, could be bad news.”
“I doubt it.” Cassian ushered into the kitchen, filling a small bowl up with seconds of whatever Lady Selene had been cooking. It smelled good, but Rhysand had no appetite right now. “It’s just some harmless fun,” Cassian drawled, forcing bowls in front of both his brothers. “Keir deserves it anyways.”
“It’s all harmless fun until it’s not about Keir anymore.” At least Azriel understood. He gave Rhysand a contemplative look. “Have you told your mom? The High Lord?”
“Told me what?” Lady Selene came striding into the kitchen, a bashful looking Eira clinging to her black skirts.
“Nothing,” Rhysand said quickly. He wasn’t ready to approach this beast quite yet.
The Lady of Night’s eyes narrowed, searching her son’s face, but Rhys kept it a solid mask, blank and apathetic.
When Rhys did not crack under the pressure of her stare, she turned to a different Illyrian. “Cassian?”
“Don’t look at me,” Cassian said through a mouth full of food.
Her eyes narrowed further, turning to the other. “Azriel?”
Azriel’s shadows froze at her strict attention, his shoulders raising like a disgruntled cat’s.
“Azriel, what should you three be telling me?” Selene questioned more firmly.
Rhysand glared at his brother. He watched Az’s shadows curl and uncurl, nervously fidgeting as he tried to keep his eyes pinned to the floor. Selene’s gaze turned threatening, and Rhys could tell Azriel was about to crack. He reached out to Azriel in his mind, slipping past his meager defenses easily. Shut the fuck up, Az.
Azriel tensed, but it all came pouring out. “Someone handed out anonymous papers in the town square making fun of Keir and his leadership and now the street performers are mocking him.” He took a deep breath, relaxing slightly.
The Lady turned to her son. “Rhys,” Selene snapped. “Don’t you think this is something for me to know? Your father…” she gripped her temples tightly and turned away.
Rhysand watched her bustle to the stove, stirring the pot of root soup and spooning some into a bowl for his little sister. Eira still hid behind their mom’s skirts, shy around the Illyrian boys.
“What do we do?” Rhys asked quietly.
“For now,” Selene said, “we wait, and we see what we can hear.”
~~~
Flex up, flex down.
Now out, and back in.
Curl, now straight.
Rowena repeated the mantra to herself over and over, flexing her wings in the mirror until her back ached. The skin of her clipped and torn wings had healed over the years, of course, but the weight in her mind had not gone away. Picking up a pen was sometimes the only relief she could find.
A week had passed since visiting the printers in downtown Velaris, and Rowena was still reveling in her success. Windhaven had turned temperate and lovely with the arrival of summer, and through her breezy open window she could hear the anxious chatter of Illyrians down in the dark square.
Do you think another pamphlet will come tomorrow?
The writer must be from the Hewn City if they dislike Keir.
I haven’t seen a show this riotous since… I don’t even know when.
After Dark seemed a pot of gold waiting to be struck.
Rowena slipped free a delicate key from around her neck, disentangling it from her black hair and inserting it into the locked drawer beneath her desk. Smooth paper, lightly indented with the friction of a quill, met her fingers. She would need to be fast tonight, and ‘only interested in new community works,’ lest her winnower think her suspicious. At times like these, she longed for the use of her wings. Paying a Fae to winnow her from the mountains into Velaris was not cheap.
A knock sounded at the landing to her cabin on the hill, and she carefully tucked tonight’s final draft into a small bag. Aeron greeted her with a smile. “Where to today, Miss?”
“Velaris, the Artist’s Quarter.”
“Oh no, Miss, Velaris is flooded with Darkbringers.”
Rowena cocked her head. Keir had sent soldiers, then. Foolish, now she knew exactly what strings to play when it came to getting under his skin. “Can you leave me by the Sidra? I’ll find my own way in.”
Aeron’s mouth thinned into a line, but he nodded. “Very well… but I’ll require a little extra.”
She dropped his dues, and an extra silver, into his hand, rolling her eyes at his polite smile.
Wind flooded her ears as he led her into a shadowed portal. She gripped his arm tightly, and Aeron smiled as though he might laugh. She was an Illyrian, built for much harsher methods of travel, yet winnowing still made her sick every time.
They stepped out onto a wide brick walkway, the sparkling bend of the Sidra scenting the air with fresh mist. Aeron bid her goodbye, leaving her to venture through shadow.
Between alleyways and beneath awnings, Rowena scuttled through the heart of the city where Darkbringers indeed patrolled the streets. Their black eyed gazes lingered on male and female alike, even children, searching for the dirty rat they had been ordered to kill.
Metaphorically kill, she hoped.
Further away from the river. Closer to the print shop. From the main artery to quiet veins. It took several blocks for Rowena to realize that she could still smell mist in the air, despite her growing distance from the Sidra's watery banks.
The shadows around her seemed tainted with the smell, in fact. And something else, too. Something woodsy. Rowena turned her head, lowering her wings to peer behind her. Nothing. No Darkbringer, no Bloodhound.
She quickened her pace anyway. Rowena cursed herself for not thinking to bring an oil lamp, but then again, it would have brought unwanted attention to her. Not many fae dared to wander the streets right now. The ones who did were drunk out of their minds, and not a threat to Keir’s soldiers.
Rowena may have been without flight, and not particularly strong, but a writer could be just as much of a danger to the Court as any brute.
“Where are you going?”said a low, quiet voice behind her.
Rowena stopped, drawing in a breath as she willed herself into calm.
“The paint shop,” she said, turning around. “I’m out of oil-sss.” Her words slipped. No Darkbringer stood behind her, no. It was instead the most beautiful male she had ever seen. He was Illyrian, which had her hesitating in her mental compliment, but she could not deny that his face was… quite perfect.
“The paint shop is the other way,” he said.
Then he was on to her. His words were a test, to see if she might act a lost fool. But she knew her way around Velaris, every inch of the city, and its people. Except maybe this male. But she would wrack her brain over him later. “I get my paints from Ressina.”
The Illyrian stood up straighter. Four blue siphons glittered along his arm leathers. It took work to earn those, she knew. Four was pretty good. “I didn’t know there were two shops.”
“Well, you don’t seem like the type to concern yourself with such things.”
He bristled, eyes narrowing for a moment, and she felt something cool and spindly brush her arm. The darkness around her had grown… dense.
“Azriel, where did you go?” A voice called. Rowena recognized it, having heard Cassian’s shouts all across Windhaven. Azriel, the Illyrian was called then. She would do some digging in town.
“Az, there you are.” Rowena froze as the High Lord’s son approached, instinctively clutching her bag tighter. Tonight’s drafts… no, he wouldn’t possibly know what she carried with her.
But her movements seemed to trigger the interest of the strange, living shadows that had coalesced in the alley. They dipped into her bag, and she pinched it tighter. Azriel watched the movement, noting it.
“Azriel?” Rhysand asked as he and Cassian caught up with their friend.
“Who’s she?” Cassian drawled. Even in the stifling darkness, Rowena could see the approving glint in his amber eyes as he surveyed her figure.
“You don’t- ah- need anything then?” Azriel asked, forcing his deep tone into something light and… conversational.
“No,” she wracked her brain in a pause, looking for the least suspicious thing to say. “Thank you for your help, I won’t stay out long.”
The Illyrian nodded, much to the confusion of his friends. As they turned to leave the alley, Rowena glimpsed their wings. Three pairs, all perfectly intact and breathtakingly wide. Hmm. Perhaps tonight’s issue required one more re-write.
so you like wing clipping... have you considered clownpierce clipping parrot's wings when he put odysseys in proton, and the feathers slowwwly regrowing but only fully molting in those cold months after the mafia falls.
and then in paragon, we get to add the twin layers of wifies treating parrot exactly like any other captor would—has—and also that not having his full feathers feels sort of... right. familiar. like that's how he's supposed to be, grounded and by wifies' side.
This made me giggle and kick my feet evilly. Yes anon, I love this idea. I love the idea that Parrot's feathers had really just finally grown back right before Wifies traps him in Paragon. Like he was almost healed and then bam. Right back to square one.
What if the punishment for wing clipping wasn’t just killing them, because whilst it does send a message obviously NO ONE IS CATCHING ON,
They just clip their wings. Like you clipped that girls wings, she will never fly again and if done improperly will have constant pain, not be able to move them well, could die. Just clip theirs as well.
It’s basically a Scarlett letter, they won’t be able to fly again, will be ridiculed by other members of camp.
Does anyone know that having a bird's wings clipped isn't permanent? Just asking because people treat it like it's permanent (when the feathers can grow back but it takes weeks and months for molting to happen for them to grow back)
Cassian's healing journey beings, and Emerie tells her story.
New tags include discussions of cycle/period discrimination.
Start reading under the cut or on AO3!
Tensions were high outside Cassian and Nesta’s room at the House of Wind. Emerie, Azriel, and Rhysand had been sitting in the hall over a day as Madja and a team of her best healers worked on their friend’s mangled wings. Nesta refused to leave his side. Madja allowed her to stay in the room only as long as Nesta agreed to follow all instructions and stay out of the way, which she had. There was no time to fill anyone in on his status. While the camp lords had not intended to kill Cassian, the combination of the paralytic, faebane, and the shock to his system from trauma and blood loss had caused his body to shut down quickly.
Rhysand had never seen Madja call for so many extra healers. Typically she brought along an apprentice or two to train. On particularly bad occasions, like after the King of Hybern had shredded Cassian’s wings and Azriel had been stabbed by Jurian, he and Morrigan had lent a hand. Madja called for six additional highly trained hands, and specifically refused the help of any apprentices or the Inner Circle. Such a thing was unheard of.
As they waited, Emerie leaned against the wall, arms folded and one leg kicked back. Rhysand had slid down the wall several hours ago. Now his legs were bent up to his chest, elbows rested on his knees, and his head hung heavy in his hands. Azriel stood rigid by the window, unable to break his stare from Cassian’s door. Emerie watched him flex his hands and knew what ran through his mind. She knew what he must be reliving after what Cassian had endured because she was reliving it too. Their scars ran deep.
Loss, damage, physical, mental, and emotional pain that no amount of training could prepare anyone to live through. This was trauma in its purest form, and Cassian was not the only one injured. Emerie shut her eyes tight as she tried to push away the memories that had threatened to consume her from the moment Nesta had recognized the agony in Cassian’s wings through their bond the night before. The images and phantom pains that Emerie still fought back daily had only gotten stronger after what she’d witnessed in that tent.
Hours later the door to Cassian’s room opened and Madja, exhausted and flecked in more blood than anyone was comfortable acknowledging, entered the hallway. Rhysand was instantly on his feet. Azriel remained still, but Emerie took a step off the wall, arms still crossed and wings held in tightly to stave off the pains. Rhysand quickly approached the healer, expectation written across the wrought lines of his face.
Madja stared down at the floor. This healer, a female whose skills went beyond all others, one of the only people in all of Prythian who could order the High Lord around, could not meet his eyes. Rhysand’s eyes bore down on her. Emerie tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, tried to remember that he was in pain, but she did not like the way he looked upon his master healer.
With a deep breath, Madja raised her head and squared her shoulders to address Rhysand. Her face was schooled in a practiced calm as she began to speak with a steady voice. “We have stopped the blood loss, and managed to prevent amputation. His organs were shutting down and we almost lost him, but I am now sure that physically he will survive this.”
“His wings,” Rhysand cut in, voice hoarse from lack of use and water. As he continued to speak his tone was harsh as he asked the question Emerie already knew the answer to. “Will he fly again?”
“No,” Madja said, voice firm and sure though it sounded like she did not want to be. “His wings were too damaged and there was noth-”
“You have to do something. He can’t not fly,” Rhysand said, voice rushed and angry as he took one step toward the healer. “He has to fly, Madja. You have to do something. His wings have been bad before, and you’ve always fixed him.”
Emerie watched as some small part of the healer permanently broke, and she stepped forward to try and prevent the crack from growing further. “Thank you, Madja, for saving his life. We are so thankful. Is there anything that you need us to do?”
Madja looked gratefully at Emerie for a brief moment before she responded. “No, thank you dear. Nesta has all the instructions and we will visit again soon. He needs rest before we work again.”
Emerie smiled warmly at the female as she kindly nodded her response. Madja ushered the healers, all in various states of dishevelment, out of Nesta and Cassian’s room before they left the House of Wind together as one with Morrigan as their guide. Em watched them leave as she used her body to create a barrier between the healers and the High Lord. Azriel still had not moved from where he stood, eyes locked on the door that was once again shut. When they had gone and she was certain they were out of ear shot, Emerie turned angrily upon the males behind her.
“Are you proud of yourself,” Emerie spat at the High Lord, who was still fuming mad about the now undeniable fact that his friend would no longer be able to fly.
“I’ve done nothing wrong,” Rhysand retorted as anger rolled off of him in dark waves.
Emerie cocked an eyebrow at the High Lord, her hands on her hips. “Oh yeah? Nothing wrong? You do know that your words have an effect on people, correct? You had no right to guilt her like that.”
“I did no such thing. I simply asked-”
“No,” Emerie said back. She wanted to shout, but she knew that Cassian and Nesta did not need to hear this right now. To try and preserve their peace, Emerie worked to keep her voice low, yet strong. “By bringing up the past times she was successful, you just confirmed to Madja that you believe this was likely her biggest failure to date. And it’s not. There’s no way to recover from the wounds he received. He’s lucky to be alive right now.”
i get irritated everytime one of the batboys says theyd rather die than lose their wings
it feels insensitive considering the majority of Illyrian females are clipped, and its so normalized that they dont even openly protest or complain about it
Summary: A new pamphlet is released, putting Azriel under fire. Rhysand faces the heat of his father's rage at his continued failures, and Azriel must convince Rowena to stop her publishing. After a heated moment, Rowena learns it is pride stopping her. She must either put her pride aside and stop writing, or die for the cause.
Word Count: 3,782 words
AN: SMUT ALERT. I was asked to write spice for these two and I delivered. I'm lowkey soooo proud of this chapter, and I hope you guys love it. This series will probably close out with one more part.
Warnings: depictions of parental abuse, wing clipping mentions, tension and arguing, mentions of death.
Tags: yearning, protected sex, finishing inside, wing play, shadow play :), angst before and after
Read on Ao3 / Part 1 / Part 2
After Dark, the Velaris Papers
Dearest Readers, those of you in Velaris may have noticed an increase in military presence. Rest assured that I am alive and well, and watching just as closely as they are.
I am here to make you aware of the far more unsettling undercurrents happening within our ‘great’ court. Do not fear Keir’s Darkbringers, no, it is not they who bring the darkness.
They say that the High Lord sees all, but the truth is he has creatures to see for him. Be careful, readers, how far you stray from the well trodden paths of Velaris. The shadows are not so innocent anymore.
Strange magic haunts this city, beings of old called ‘shadowsingers,’ and their songs are only as fair and lovely as the siren above her waters. Do they seek to protect their court from scandal? Or are they agents of censorship, a far more ugly beast? My money is on the latter.
Yours Truly,
Thorne
“Az…”
“No, I said don’t tell him!” Rhysand whisper-yelled at Cassian.
“Don’t tell me what?” Azriel crossed the room in three steps only. In Cassian’s hand was one of the nameless author’s scandal sheets.
Rhysand had not yet expressed the desire to punish her, but he also hadn’t agreed to protect her from the High Lord’s forces. Azriel had a feeling that whatever this pamphlet contained, it would have Rhys ready to make his final call.
His hazel eyes read through the cleanly printed script, widening as they went.
“I’m sorry, Az,” Cassian murmured.
“Why? It’s not as if she wrote my name.”
“I don’t think she had to, Az,” Rhys said, disdain dripping from his words. “The living shadows that surround you at all times kinda give you away.”
He shrugged. Nights of thinking, considering, and perhaps pondering had convinced Azriel that this was for the better. These scandal sheets were not mere figures of gossip, they were works of art and revolution. “I don’t care.”
Rhys and Cassian shared a glance. “Look,” Cassian started, “I know what it’s like to have the hots for someone. Of course I do. But I think maybe Rhys is right…”
“About what? Sending her off to be tortured in the Hewn City? Or worse… by the creatures in the Prison?”
All three males shivered at the thought. Just recently one of the strange females within had escaped her cell. Being put there was living hell, a death sentence, or both at the same time.
“Surely it wouldn’t be that bad…” Cassian smiled nervously. Azriel knew he was trying to find compromise. Tensions had been high between Rhys and himself, both on opposite sides of a very complex issue. Cassian didn’t like these kinds of courtly politics, and refused to side with either male on principle. Generally, he was useless in any situation that couldn’t be punched in the face. “Rhysand can just ask his father-”
“My father?” Rhysand’s harsh laugh was empty and cold. He went to say more, but no, there was nothing left to be said about Tyrn.
“Please Rhys, don’t tell him.”
“Azriel…” The days after confiding in Rhys and Cass about Rowena’s identity had only grown stiffer. Each day the pressures on Rhysand to find and destroy the author became more pressing. The bruises on his arms had gone darker, as had the shadows under his eyes.
“Maybe she just needs a different creative outlet. Watercolors, perhaps?”
“Not fucking funny, Cassian.” Rhys cradled his face in his hands. “I don’t know what else to say. Obviously I have reservations about sending her to her death, and about ruining a chance at happiness for you, Az.” Azriel swallowed as Rhys finally met his eyes. His violet irises were dull, watery and tired. “But I can’t keep doing this. I can’t- I can’t keep failing him.
“The Darkbringers fail Keir everyday and yet you only find them out celebrating, not being abused.” Azriel crossed his arms defensively and his shadows clung tighter to his body.
“Keir is just a figurehead! Someone else for my father to manipulate. But I am Tyrn’s son. I will be his heir, not Keir.” Rhys was breathing heavy now, panic trembling within his clenched fist. “And even if none of that were true, the reality is I have been tasked to find her. We have been tasked to find her but I will continue to take the brunt of all of my- and your- failures.”
“Rhys-” Azriel reached out a hand.
“No,” Rhysand shoved it away, covering his eyes as he turned away, voice wobbly now. “Go- go speak to her. Do whatever you can to get her to stop and then this can all be put behind us.”
“Rhys-”
“I said go .” He left the room, voice breaking and cheeks flushed with shame.
Cassian looked speechless. “Should I-?”
Azriel shook his head, wings curling back as he stormed toward the landing of the cabin. “I’ll be back.”
~~~
Rowena saw Azriel’s shadows before she saw him. Her steaming kettle squealed, puffing alarming clouds into the air, and she quickly pushed it aside before grabbing a frying pan. A mighty weapon to wield.
“I know you’re here,” Rowena called. “I’ve learned your tricks.”
She probed a patch of darkness with the pan, but only managed to chip the paint on her beige walls. “Coward. Come out.”
Something moved in the corner of her eye and Rowena swung her pan at the shadows with a surprising strength that only adrenaline could foster. Her motion was halted abruptly, a scarred hand reaching from the dark to stop her swing.
She stumbled right into it.
“Let go.”
“No.” Azriel grabbed her tighter, almost squeezing her at the arms. “You need to stop.”
“What, you couldn’t handle a little gossip-”
He squeezed her tighter, the desperation in his eyes silencing her instantly. “You need to stop. They are going to kill you and I will not be able to stop it.”
“So then I can’t trust you after all.”
“You can’t,” he mumbled, pained. It struck Rowena as the sound a wounded animal might make. “You could never trust me. I couldn’t keep it from my brothers and now you’re in danger.”
Rowena’s face hardened. “Then why haven’t they turned me in yet.”
“Because I- I can’t bear to see you harmed.”
“You don’t even know my name,” she scoffed.
“And it would be my biggest regret to leave here without knowing it.” Azriel’s face was haunted. Something had changed in him so suddenly. Since their meeting in the alley, that pathetic little charade of lovers, Azriel had gone wild and feral.
His grip on Rowena’s arms never loosened, and she looked at him, bewildered. A strange panic overwhelmed her from deep within her bones. “I don’t understand.”
“How else can I explain it to you? You are going to die. Stop.”
“I can’t,” she breathed.
“Why not?”
“Because I am finally doing something.” She looked around her little cabin, a house that had just begun to be her home. Refuge, instead of a cage. She swallowed hard. “I am doing something. People are having conversations that we should have been having years ago, our future is being taken seriously!”
“It is not worth your life!” He screamed at her, so furious now. His eyes were wide and frantic. Azriel did not look away, fearing that any moment she could be taken from him. Rowena gripped his shoulders gently, moving closer.
“Nothing else could ever be worth my life more than this.”
“And if you die, the papers will cease anyways. You will be turned into an example of what happens when you question Tyrn. No one will take up where you left off, and no changes will be made anyways.”
Maybe he had a point. But maybe he didn’t. Maybe her death would cause an uprising. But that was too much to hope for. Too unrealistic and masochistic. “I will think about it.”
She went to turn, but he grabbed her wrist. Not tightly, just enough to stop her. “Tell me your name.”
Her lip curled. “So that you may have your eyes on me at all-?”
“So that I may cherish it,” he hissed, eyes purely animal. “So I have something of you to hold onto if you continue to risk yourself.”
“I-”
“ Please. ”
“Rowena,” she blurted, not quite understanding her own honesty. “My name is Rowena.” They stood there, Rowena’s wrist still in Azriel’s grip, for a few long breaths and many quick beats of the heart.
Slowly, Azriel slid his hand down from wrist to palm. He pushed his fingers between hers, a strange mockery of intimacy, she thought.
“Rowena,” he whispered, testing the sound on his tongue. “Beautiful.”
Her mind told her to pull away, to run to Velaris and never look back. Instinct would have her stay. Her throat went tight, cutting off her lungs. All she could do was look at him.
Azriel ducked his head down until his mouth was a breath away from her ear. “Don’t go,” he whispered, brushing his lips against the outer shell. “I can help you. If this is about supporting yourself, I can find some way…”
“It’s not.” She wanted to yell and to scream that he didn’t understand, but at the same time, she wanted nothing more than to fly off with him. Maybe live some quiet life in a place null of civic duty and money. He would protect her, she was sure. Rowena did not know why she was so certain, but she was nonetheless.
“Selfish girl.”
“How could you ever see me as selfish,” she said, pulling back, but not far enough. Anger crinkled her eyes into a glare, and yet she would not draw further from him than a few inches. “I am doing this for others-”
“You are doing this out of pure personal need. To believe you have some power over this- this court. You would have everyone lose you for this cause that may be snuffed in an instant by those not as brave as you.”
“Everyone?” Rowena’s eyes silvered a bit, and she cleared her throat. “There may be a great many people invested in the life of Thorne, but not in me. I have no family, no one to mourn me.”
“Me.”
“Azriel, you do not know me, you do not know anything personal about me.”
“And you would rob me of the chance?” His gaze was imploring, so pathetically yearning that Rowena bit her lip in guilt. She was cracking, beginning to believe that this self-martyrdom may not be what the Night Court needed at all.
Something cool and soft touched her arm, slid up the sleeve of her navy gown to cling to the bare skin beneath it. His shadows had grown stronger with the dimming light of day, and more restless with their conversation.
“I hardly think that’s appropriate,” Rowena said, but the words did not have any strength.
Azriel did not stop them. His shadows slithered under her dress to curl around her middle, her waist and slim calves. They felt so light and yet so alive, and heat radiated from her very core. Rowena praised the cauldron that it was night, or Azriel would have been able to see the growing flush on her cheeks.
“Rowena,” Azriel said again with pure self indulgence. She began to feel her name meant more to him than her personhood.
She patted down the front of her dress, trying to coax his shadows out from beneath her bodice, but their incorporeal forms did not budge. They were skin tight, and now anxiously coiling higher.
“Azriel-”
“Whatever slander you are thinking about me,” he breathed. He was panting now, she realized. “I’ll correct it myself.”
His lips found hers, and shock had her freezing. He must have expected the sudden weakness in her knees, because the second she stumbled he was already catching her around the waist. Azriel pulled her so close that she could feel every cord of muscle beneath his tight shirt. Thoroughly.
She could feel everything below his belt, too, and a tingling current of electricity sparked through her blood. He was growing hard for her very quickly.
Sense came back to her and she kissed him back, coaxing his lips to slow down. He was kissing her like a beast starved, certain that this would be the first and last time. The only time.
As her tongue met his, softly and without hesitation, Rowena knew that she did not want this to be the only time. After all, why should the Night Court be allowed to make a monster of her victimhood?
Azriel opened his eyes, pulling back a bit. His shadows crept higher, just beneath her breasts, and she realized he was looking for permission. She could feel the tension writhing within his tendrils of shadow. She could also see the tension in his body from holding them back from ravishing her.
“Let me,” he begged.
“Yes.” It was the shortest answer, and the only one she could give.
He kissed her again, and she gasped as Azriel’s shadows crept beneath the boning of her corset to coil around her nipples. Their ghostly forms suckled the flesh until it stiffened and Azriel groaned.
“They love touching you,” he said into her mouth.
Everything in Rowena’s head went blank. She could say nothing, think of nothing. Gentle hands slid up her back to tug at her laces. His scarred fingers brushed against the base of her wings as he untied them, and she breathed a shuddering moan.
Azriel smirked against her neck. He rolled down the top of her dress, watching her every moment to make sure she was certain he could continue, and after the silky blue satin hit the ground, he was touching her wings again.
Rowena stood as still as she could, though she trembled as he moved behind her. Her wings were not ragged like his own. They were damaged with methodical purpose, crimped to look like living swaths of lace. He gently rubbed the perforated skin between a thumb and forefinger, feeling the thickness of the scarred tissue. That place on her body had never known such pleasure before. Though the memory of horrific pain still haunted the back of her thoughts, she could not think of anything but how good Azriel’s hands felt.
He did not pity her, or offer her any needless apologies. The shadows hugging her body moved, tracing every band of cartilage in her wings until she could no longer stand.
“Azriel-”
Rowena’s knees shook and Azriel swept her into a bridal carry, a knowing look on his face. “For all the strength in how you carry yourself, I never imagined it would be this easy to make you fall apart.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You of all people should know how sensitive wings are.” She reached above his shoulder, grazing the limb that held his massive wings aloft.
Azriel nearly dropped her, laying her out on the bed with a wild gleam in his eyes and a growl on his tongue. “There are consequences to your actions.”
“Like what?” she challenged.
He ducked down to her neck, dragging long canines down her neck and across her breast. He bit down until she whined, leaving little marks across her skin. As he turned her into a canvas of night-dark bruises, she realized just how bare she was- and how clothed he was.
She clutched at his shirt, pulling the skin-tight fabric. He laughed and settled back onto his haunches, pulling the shirt over his head. “Needy.”
His body was mouth watering. Broad and muscled, scattered with tattoos of glory and honor on the battlefield. Rowena traced her fingers over them, reading the intricate coils of Illyrian on his big arms.
“You’re a more decorated soldier than I thought…”
He smirked. “Impressed?”
“No.”
“Yeah, right,” he nuzzled into her neck. “You would never admit it.”
“I guess you do know me, at least a little.” She smiled, but his eyes flashed with heat.
“What I really want to get to know is this beautiful body,” he smoothed over her curves with hands that spanned deliciously over her waist. She nearly purred at the feeling, but tamped it down, knowing it would only feed his ego.
A second later his pants were on her floor and he was pushing apart her thighs, slotting his hips between hers.
His wings drooped, cocooning her in warm darkness as his shadows swirled around their bodies. She felt them sneak between her thighs and Azriel sucked a breath between clenched teeth. “They want me inside you…”
Rowena’s cheeks went hot. Azriel’s tip bumped against her core and she felt a warm aching stretch as a shadow entered her pussy. It crept deep inside her, pushing on every soft spot that made her body twitch as it stretched her out for him. “Az-”
“May I?”
“I need you,” she answered, voice breaking as he pushed inside her.
The shadows moved to her clit, stimulating her until eyes rolled back in bliss. Azriel’s grunts echoed distantly in her foggy mind as he pushed her thighs back and fucked into her with rabid desperation.
He moaned so sweetly, and her eyes flew open to look up at him. She hadn’t realized how hard she was digging into his shoulders, but the red lines raking down his back seemed only to stir him on.
Azriel’s shadows pinched her clit, swirling more insistantly as the Shadowsinger got close to his climax. Every flutter of Rowena’s muscles sucked him deeper inside until Azriel was shuddering and slowing down.
“Don’t, stop,” she whined. “I’m so close…”
“Where do you want it?” Azriel grit his teeth together, refusing to spill just yet.
“What do you mean?”
“My seed.” His voice was ragged. “Do you want it on your belly, or these pretty tits…”
“No, inside.” His eyes widened and she laughed, almost a giggle. “No, I’m protected, don’t worry.”
He nodded she grabbed the sheets tightly as he resumed pounding her. Her groans bounced off the walls, likely sailing out through the windows of her cabin and roaming through the town. Luckily, she was a nobody, and no one would expect the echoes of coupling to be the Shadowsinger and famed Thorne.
He pushed her thighs further back, down to her chest, opening her up to more violent thrusts as she neared the edge. Her eyes rolled back and she was falling over, crying out his name and a whole slew of words most inappropriate for an author, and a lady. Sometimes exceptions could be made.
Azriel quickened his pace, feeling her clenching heat tighten on his cock. He lowered his face to her neck as his hips stuttered and pressed kisses over her smooth, sweaty skin. Every inch of her tingled as warmth seeped into her body.
“Rowena…” the sound came muffled in her neck, and she pushed her fingers into his hair with a little grin.
“That was perfect.”
“Don’t leave me… please.”
Rowena’s smile dropped. Cauldron, she had forgotten why he had come in the first place. She sat up a bit and Azriel pulled out of her. He searched her face as he waited for an answer, but she didn’t have one.
“If I give up now, it means they won. They silenced me.”
“No, Rowena. Playing into their trap and getting caught, that’s how they win.”
She couldn’t tell if he was making sense or not. Her brain was still foggy with the pleasure of release, and his heavy cock still lay against her thigh. This seemed like the future she wanted, even needed.
Azriel rolled over, carefully pulling his shirt and pants back on.
“You’re not staying?”
“I can’t. They- my friends- only let me come here to convince you one last time.”
Something clenched in her chest. “Is that-” her voice broke, lower lip trembling. “Is that why we had sex? You were seducing me so I’d follow orders?”
His eyes went wide. “Rowena, absolutely not. I wanted you to see how much I cared for you.”
“And yet you want to leave only moments after spilling inside me.”
He sighed, “Ro, it’s complicated.”
“Don’t call me that.”
A muscle in Azriel’s jaw tensed, and he crossed his arms. “Don’t be like this. I am a spy for the Night Court. All of my movements are carefully sanctioned. Being away from my brothers for too long will draw questions. Questions that could lead people right to your little cabin on the hill.”
“So, what, you’ll never see me again?”
“Rowena, if you publish another pamphlet, no, I won’t ever see you again. Cauldron… what don’t you understand?”
“And what if I stop? If I promise to stop, then what-?” For some reason, tears were building in her eyes. Anger, sadness, panic, she felt them all in one big jumble.
Azriel drifted closer, kneeling just before the bed. He took her hand, eyes passing over her still naked body to admire the trail of his teeth. “Then I lay low for a bit until this passes. We keep very quiet, very. And then, we run into each other at the markets of Velaris. You’re out buying ink, and I’m getting my siphons polished. And I knock over your bag.” Rowena’s brows furrowed, but he did not stop.
“I knock it over and all your things spill out, but you’re so beautiful that I offer to make it up to you and we go to dinner. And no one will know anything more than what we tell them.”
She swore her heart paused at the singular hope in his eyes. It was a dreamer’s fantasy, but also close enough to touch. But it meant giving up everything she had built. “Can I- can I even do that?”
“Rowena, don’t let pride keep you from happiness. From me.”
“They know, though. Your brothers.” To her, it felt there was no other option than seeing her choices through. Cowardice was the bane of Illyrian culture. “How can I trust-”
“I know I said you couldn’t. But- but I didn’t mean that. Rhysand has pressures to find you and that is the threat that hangs above us. But if Thorne is gone, then that will be gone with it.” Azriel’s hand squeezed her own tighter.
When she didn’t speak, his wings drooped. “Think about it. Please. If you need anything, speak into the darkness. I’ll hear you.”
Azriel let go of her hand reluctantly, and vanished through the corner of her bedroom, leaving Rowena with her thoughts, and a decision to make about her latest draft.
