Your Dead Eyes - Chapter 3
Summary: Lifeless eyes were what haunted your all life, manu people say that death was lurking around your eyes, Maybe it's true. Maybe you just see things that other people don't.
Pairing: Azriel x Archeron! reader fem.
A/n: I... Well, hello. So, Merry Christmas? I didn't fix this properly...
*English is NOT my native language, this fanfic was translated with a little help. So, let me know if there are any grammatical errors*
Word count: 3k
Warnings: None that I can remember, some humor, tension , Azriel being a dumb mother hen
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Cassian, Azriel, and Rhysand had already left when you came downstairs for breakfast. Nesta grumbled that they hadn't even eaten before spreading their wings to the sky, making everything around them flutter – including the newly planted rose saplings of Elain, to her great displeasure.
Feyre often returned home in hopes that the queens had already responded. The delay was noticeable given how long ago the letter had been sent, and it was a shot in the dark trying to guess what might have happened, though you doubted the letter had gotten lost in transit, and, mind you, you weren't foolish enough to think it was their indecision.
They were making the High Lord wait for pure amusement, and maybe a little bit of sadism. The human queens were in control of the situation, and that made everything even more delicious. A power struggle where, for the first time, the weaker ones were in charge. It must have been painful to even consider discarding this succulent opportunity that had been handed to them on a golden platter—one in a million, truly.
Bringing the steaming cup of tea to your lips, you sipped cautiously to avoid burning yourself; there was no pain worse than burning your tongue – well, maybe stubbing your toe, you mused with a hum. A gust of wind passed through your hair, signaling that someone was passing by in a hurry.
“Don’t run around the house, Elain,” Nesta grumbled from her spot at the table, clearly not a morning person. Your second eldest sister slipped on the floor and turned back to stop by your side, placing one of her delicate hands on your shoulder to alert you of her presence.
Taking a deep breath, Elain spoke breathlessly, “A new batch of letters is arriving today!”
Now, this was interesting. You placed your hand on hers, squeezing her hand on your shoulder, turning your head slightly to show your interest in the topic. Not because of the letters, obviously.
“Why don’t you come with me, sister? We can stop by that little craft shop too,” Elain suggested. She certainly knew how to brighten your day, and even though you were avoiding crowds, especially those zealots who called themselves the enlightened ones – and that made your skin crawl – it was hard to resist the opportunity to get out of the house. God knows this place could be suffocating.
Nesta was irritated with anyone who breathed in her direction, Elain would shudder at the mere mention of meetings and queens, and you missed Merina and her pies. No matter how hard you tried, it was difficult to connect with your sisters as well as with Feyre, who no longer lived a human life filled with nuances like yours.
Taking a deep breath, you pushed yourself off the chair and blindly grabbed your beautiful cane, intending to head for the door alone, but Elain was quicker and grabbed your wrist, guiding you somewhat hurriedly toward the exit without saying goodbye to a very grumpy Nesta.
The morning wind hit your face as you crossed the threshold, and the birds’ song pierced your ears like a sweet melody. However, as beautiful as it was, your brow furrowed at the hurry in your sister's movements. Surely, the letters couldn’t be that interesting, not to Elain, at least. She could barely stand still when the topic was on the table. Ah, the gossip you'd have today, sweet sister.
“Is there anything else you want from the city besides the letters?” Your tone was dismissive, but even the dullest of men would see the curiosity behind the question.
Elain tripped over something on the ground and almost pulled you down with her, making you question who the blind sister really was here.
She cleared her throat and finally slowed her pace. The hesitation was palpable, and the arm linked to yours grew tense as she nervously began fiddling with the sleeve of her dress.
“I... I was thinking about looking at some prettier engagement rings, maybe gold...” It came out like a croak, and that left you a little more confused. There was no doubt that Elain had good taste and could spot something beautiful from afar, so it was strange that she wanted to see new rings when she loved hers so much.
“I thought you were crazy about that one,” the sounds of people talking grew louder, and your nose wrinkled from the variety of smells; sweets, savory foods, pig dung, and, beneath it all, the fresh scent of pine and whiskey filled your lungs with a warm, inviting sensation.
“Steel” and “Feyre” and “shame” were the only words you managed to catch through the intoxicating fog of the delicious perfume you inhaled. But that was enough for no question to leave your lips.
Turning your focus back to the surroundings as your sister and cane guided you through the streets, bodies occasionally brushed past you, nearly knocking you down; shouts proclaiming devotion to the divine; more frantic cries from merchants trying to sell their goods to eat at the end of the day, and other sounds that were impossible to decipher.
As you walked, Elain stopped abruptly in her tracks. Confused, you turned your head to look at her but got no answer. Without saying a word, your sister started walking again, leaving the noise of the city behind. You quickened your steps to keep up with her, the wind certainly making your hair a tangled mess. At least you wouldn’t have to see it.
Elain slid a bit in the mud, and with a squeak, you stopped by her side. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and her lungs struggled to keep up with her breathing. Gods, your sister was trying to kill you just so she wouldn’t have to share the inheritance.
“What in the hell-” you began but didn’t finish. The breeze had risen up your legs, making the hem of your dress flutter and leaving a coolness on your skin, only to disappear faster than it came.
“Azriel?” Azriel? He was the cause of your little sprint? Damn him, what was he doing in such an obvious place?
“Elain,” he greeted your sister, and as he turned to you, he spoke your name in a deep purr, sending a chill down your spine with the tone. You nodded in acknowledgment; your voice no longer belonged to you. “The letter. It’s here.”
Ah, he knew. He already knew the queens' letter had arrived today. How? You didn’t know.
“We were going to see it now,” Elain’s voice was syrupy, soft and sweet, almost like she didn’t know how to speak anymore.
A hum left Azriel’s throat. His trained eyes watched your shy form beside Elain, the corners of his lips tugged upwards but quickly disappeared as he turned his attention back to the eldest Archeron sister.
“Could you fetch it for me, Elain?” Azriel asked gently, and your sister nodded quickly, like a soldier. Not letting go of your hand, she motioned for you to go with her to fetch the letter. “Only you, please.”
Your feet stayed firmly planted, and now the air felt thin. Whatever the Shadowsinger had to say to you was making your nerves bubble.
Elain muttered in discomfort, clearly not wanting to leave you alone with someone she barely knew. Her hand squeezed yours lightly, and you pulled your hand free from her grip, distancing yourself from your sister. With your body facing the man, you encouraged Elain to go. He certainly wouldn’t kill you.
Still, your treacherous mind whispered.
With lips set in a line, Elain quickly made her way to her destination, disappearing into the crowd. The faster she went, the faster she’d be back.
Without your sister nearby, the silence was deafening and uncomfortable, and despite your brief interaction with Azriel, you still found the way his presence surrounded you intimidating.
“Do you have something to say? Or did you just make me stay here for your company?” The words came out sharper than you intended, and perhaps challenging such a powerful fae like him in broad daylight wasn’t the best idea. Shifting your weight, you crossed your arms like a shield. Not that you expected it to stop him.
Your ears perked up when you heard a rough chuckle leave Azriel. His lips pressed together; it wasn’t the response you were expecting.
“I didn’t,” he paused and licked his lips, thinking carefully about his next words. “But I feel like I do now.”
Ah, so much for being mysterious. If this non-human man wanted to make you squirm with anxiety, he was succeeding beautifully.
“And…” your voice carried impatience.
“And I don’t think you should be part of the meeting with the queens.”
Your mind stopped. It felt completely empty, focused only on trying to process Azriel’s words. Letting your arms fall to your sides, you lifted your chin, hoping you were looking at his face as you spoke. “Why? Is there a reason for this?
Simple and shyer than you intended.
Azriel was no longer amused. His face darkened into a scowl as he studied you from your structure to your features – sculpted nose, mouth pulled down, and then, eyes. His eyes were windows to his soul, so sweet that, even if not fully functional, could bring legions to their knees.
And that was the problem.
“The queens aren’t trustworthy, and I don’t want you to be a target. They’re bitter and vile with people…” His words rushed out, his wings tightening behind him, letting the weight of what he had to say burn his tongue. “...weaker ones.”
You bit your cheek until you tasted the faint copper of your blood. Indignation wasn’t the right word to describe what you were feeling, but the disbelief on your flushed face certainly expressed it.
Fragile. The Illyrian who barely knew you for more than a week was insulting you so openly, without a shred of shame. You might not see things like other people, but this made you grow a pair of balls like nothing else, and it wasn’t this male who was going to put you down now.
With clenched fists, you took a step toward him, closing the distance to a breath’s length. The smell of whiskey that had been so enticing returned, but now that you knew who it belonged to, it didn’t seem so intoxicating. Or maybe it was, a little, your mind whispered.
“I don’t think I gave you any right to make assumptions about me, fairy.” You spat the words, especially the scornful nickname you secretly used for him and his brothers.
Azriel growled low, and ah, it wasn’t because of your words.
The rustling of leaves made you step back from the winged male, and quickly, his features softened. Elain stopped next to you, breathless, handing the letter to Azriel, as if it were burning her.
“Here, it arrived last night,” she said before taking your arm and walking away as quickly as possible.
“Thank you,” Azriel acknowledged with a nod. Elain smiled tightly, already guiding you away. His voice came again, but this time as a warning, making your shoulders tense. “Don’t forget what I said.” And then he was gone, swallowed by his shadows as if he had never been there.
Elain furrowed her brow and turned to you, questioning what Azriel had meant.
“Nothing, he didn’t say anything.” Nothing you cared about, at least.
“Hold your breath,” Nesta reprimanded you, her fingers pulling tighter on your corset strings, her delicate fingers and the crushing leather threatening to break your ribs.
“Tighten it any more, and watch me turn purple on this floor, sister.” You gasped out the words with difficulty. Nesta clearly wanted to kill you. You knew she was against you exposing yourself at the meeting, but you never thought she'd deliberately try to kill you.
“Stop whining, it's ready.” Nesta grumbled, and then her presence pulled away from you, her footsteps echoing as she walked to the vanity in front of you. Your head tilted to the side at the sound of objects clinking. She was making a mess, no doubt.
Nesta's heat returned as she stopped in front of you. Her warm hand held your chin firmly but gently, and the bristles of a brush tickled your lips. It was soft, sticky, with a faint scent of roses. Lipstick.
Nesta was dressing you up like a doll. Your chest warmed at the feeling. Having your sister care for and pamper you like this was a delight. It was fleeting, but so appreciated when it happened.
Pulling the brush from your lips, Nesta glanced at you. Long, trembling lashes, cheeks rosy with powder, angelic features. You were beautiful. A slight tug appeared on her lips, satisfied with her work.
“If you keep staring at me, I’m going to start thinking you like me.” Your playful voice earned an eye roll from Nesta, who, with a huff, stepped away from you, already missing the warmth of her presence.
"Don't be fooled," Nesta retorted playfully, you expected it to be a joke as she took your arm in hers and began guiding you out of your room and into the living room. The shrill creak of the door alerted you that you were passing through the main hall, just a few steps away from the comfortable armchairs that Elain had arranged for you. "Sit down, they should be arriving soon."
Groping for the armchair, you slowly lowered yourself until you were seated. Your sister settled beside you, and barely half a second later, a knock echoed on the door. Nesta took a deep breath beside you, and abruptly stood up, walking toward the door. As much for a brief break, a laugh escaped you. Hopefully, she wouldn't hear it.
The sound of what seemed like a crowd of footsteps approached where you were, low, nervous murmurs could be heard, and a melodic voice, different from those you already knew, made your eyebrow raise in curiosity.
"Sister, you look beautiful," Feyre greeted you warmly, her hands on your shoulder for a hug. A little awkwardly, you stood to hug her better. Nestling your face into her neck, you squeezed her tighter. It felt like you hadn't seen her in a decade. The sound of someone clearing their throat made your sister pull away from the hug, to your disappointment. "Sorry. Mor, this is my younger sister."
Mor? Another fae? You turned to where you thought she was. Mor smiled and approached, taking your hand in hers. Her sudden action made you jump slightly.
"It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Feyre has told me so much about you." Her voice was gentle, her shoulders relaxed, and you let yourself return her smile. She seemed like a woman with a strong spirit. Perhaps Nesta could find a friend in her.
"I'm happy to meet another one of my sister’s friends." You greeted her properly with a nod.
"That's enough, Mor. You're suffocating her." A cold shiver ran down your spine when Azriel's rough voice reached you. The memory of your last encounter still vivid in your mind. Your face twisted into a grimace. Mor huffed and pulled away, muttering about how Azriel was a joy-killer. You could agree with that.
Feyre, beside you, looked at the two of you with suspicion. Since you entered, Azriel hadn't taken his eyes off you, following every movement like a hawk. Your reaction to him only seemed to intrigue her more. With a kiss on your forehead, she guided you to sit again.
It seemed everyone was settling into their places, Elain arriving elegantly late and sitting to your right, Nesta a little farther to your left. You couldn’t tell exactly where everyone else was, but someone was behind you. You could feel the warmth of their presence.
"Stubborn artisan." Damn fae.
Azriel teased you with the nickname. If you could give him nicknames, why not? He took a step closer, leaning against your chair, ignoring the sharp look you shot at him. He bent down slightly, just enough for you to hear, his velvety tone making your hairs stand on end.
"You seemed more inclined to listen that night." Your face heated with the memory. With a small grin, Azriel stood up and turned his gaze away, completely satisfied with himself.
Before you could think of a witty retort, a loud bang echoed through the house, making everyone tense. They’ve arrived. The human queens were finally here. It was time to begin the meeting that would put everything at stake.
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