All fae males are absolutely down bad for their females. Especially so for their mate.
This is 100% an Elriel post fyi.
The rage they feel when their female is in danger. They will face death to save them. Without hesitation.
From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I'm getting her back.”
Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows.
Nesta said, “Then you will die.”
Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”
I stood. Met Azriel’s wrathful stare. “I’m going with you,” I said.
Azriel only nodded.
“At least you’re honest.” Azriel smirked. “You and Nesta are wanted down there.”
“Because of the shit with Elain?”
Azriel stilled. “What happened to Elain?”
Cassian waved a hand. “A fight with Nesta. Don’t bring it up,” he warned when Azriel’s eyes darkened.
They dote on their females.
Azriel arrived first, no shadows to be seen, my sister a pale, golden mass in his arms. He, too, wore his Illyrian armor, Elain’s golden-brown hair snagging in some of the black scales across his chest and shoulders.
He set her down gently on the foyer carpet, having carried her in through the front door.
Elain peered up at his patient, solemn face.
Azriel smiled faintly. “Would you like me to show you the garden?”
She seemed so small before him, so fragile compared to the scales of his fighting leathers, the breadth of his shoulders. The wings peeking over them.
But Elain did not balk from him, did not shy away as she nodded—just once.
Azriel’s power gave out on the outskirts of our camp.
The girl, despite the burns and lashings on her moon-white skin, was able to walk.
The gray light of morning had broken over the world, mist clinging to our ankles as we headed into that camp, Azriel still cradling Elain to his chest. He dripped blood behind him the entire time—a trickle compared to the torrent that should be leaking out. Contained only by the patches of power he’d slapped on it. Help—he needed a healer immediately.
Rhys lunged for Azriel, taking Elain from him and gently setting my sister down. Azriel rasped, swaying on his feet, “We need Helion to get these chains off her.”
Yet Elain didn’t seem to notice them as she rose up on her toes and kissed the shadowsinger’s cheek. And then walked to me and Nesta, who pulled back long enough to survey Elain’s clean face, her clear eyes.
But I strode to my seat—nestled between Amren and Mor—in time to see Elain say to Azriel, “Hello.”
Az said nothing.
No, he just moved toward her.
Mor tensed beside me.
But Azriel only took Elain’s heavy dish of potatoes from her hands, his voice soft as night as he said, “Sit. I’ll take care of it.”
Azriel set the potatoes in the center of the table, Cassian diving right in. Or he tried to.
One moment, his hand was spearing toward the serving spoon. The next, it was stopped, Azriel’s scarred fingers wrapped around his wrist. “Wait,” Azriel said, nothing but command in his voice.
They know exactly what their mate needs.
"Is there something wrong with her?” Madja chewed over the words. “I do not like that word—wrong. Different, perhaps. Changed.”
“If anyone can sense if something is amiss, it’s a mate.”
“How.” The word was barely more than a barked command.
I braced myself to warn Nesta to be polite, but Madja said to my sister, as if she were a small child, “The mating bond. It is a bridge between souls.”
“Can I set you up in the garden? The herbs you planted are coming in nicely.”
“I can help her,” said Azriel, stepping to the table as Elain silently rose. No shadows at his ear, no darkness ringing his fingers as he extended a hand.
Nesta monitored him like a hawk, but kept silent as Elain took his hand, and out they went."
“Do you need anything?”
“No. I … I was sleeping, but I heard …” She shook her head. Blinked at our formal attire, the dark crown atop my head—and Rhysand’s. “I didn’t hear you.”
Azriel stepped forward. “But you heard something else.”
Elain seemed about to nod, but only backed away. “I think I was dreaming,” she murmured. “I think I’m always dreaming these days.”
“Let me get you some hot milk,” I said, putting a hand on her elbow to guide her into the sitting room.
But Elain shook me off, heading back to the stairs. She said as she climbed the first steps, “I can hear her—crying.”
I gripped the bottom post of the banister. “Who?”
“Everyone thinks she’s dead.”
I faced Azriel, exposing my palms to him. “What does that mean?”
Azriel’s hazel eyes churned as he studied my sister, her too-thin body. And without a word, he winnowed away. Mor watched the space where he’d been standing long after he was gone. WHAT are you looking at Mor?
But Azriel asked softly, taking a single step over the threshold and into the sitting room, “What other?”
Elain’s brows twitched toward each other. “The queen—with the feathers of flame.”
The shadowsinger angled his head.
Lucien murmured to me, eye still fixed on Elain, “Should we—does she need …?”
“She doesn’t need anything,” Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien.
Elain was staring at the spymaster now—unblinkingly.
“We’re the ones who need …” Azriel trailed off. “A seer,” he said, more to himself than us. “The Cauldron made you a seer.”
It made sense, I supposed, that Azriel alone had listened to her.
But Azriel nodded. “You knew,” he said to Elain. “About the young queen turning into a crone.”
Elain blinked and blinked, eyes clearing again. As if the understanding, our understanding … it freed her from whatever murky realm she’d been in.
“The sixth queen is alive?” Azriel asked, calm and steady, the voice of the High Lord’s spymaster, who had broken enemies and charmed allies.
Elain cocked her head, as if listening to some inner voice. “Yes.”
“Elain is fine,” Rhys said. “Azriel was at the town house.
Elain turned from where she’d been speaking to Nesta. “Oh, that’s from me.”
Azriel’s face didn’t so much as shift at the words. Not even a smile as he opened the present and revealed—
“I had Madja make it for me,” Elain explained. Azriel’s brows narrowed at the mention of the family’s preferred healer. “It’s a powder to mix in with any drink.”
Silence.
Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. “It’s for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often.”
Silence again.
Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed. I’d never heard such a sound, deep and joyous.
This isn't even half done. There's still so much more evidence I didn't add.
Tell me why these two are literally perfect for each other.
Tell me why Mor, whose gift is Truth, seems like she knows something everyone else doesn't.
Tell me why they are literally yin and yang.
Tell me why Azriel gets more of a response from Elain than anyone else.
Tell me why Azriel has more in depth mate behavior than Lucien.
Tell me why. I want to hear it. Actually don't worry I'll answer for you-
BECAUSE THEY ARE MATES. They are meant FOR EACH OTHER.
Blessed by the Mother or whatever being/thing that brings soul-mates together.
A bond, a relationship, like that cannot and will not be ignored.
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