Azriel Shadowsinger - Blog Posts

stay with me pt 5

<azriel x ofc>

warnings: angst. lots of it. SH kinda, mentions of suîćîdë

part one, part two, part three, part four

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Azriel couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t fucking breathe. The overwhelming tightness was strangling his lungs, crushing his already broken heart. And someone was screaming, he couldn’t hear anything over the screaming.

Where was he, anyway?

He tried to take in his surroundings, to see where and what was going on. But his vision was so fucking blurry he couldn’t make out anything other than the outline of people. They were standing over him, trying to haul him up. Apparently he was laying on the ground, clutching something wet and warm to his chest. But the pain, which radiated over his entire body, wouldn’t let him move, even if he wanted to. It hurt too much.

“Azriel!” Someone screamed.

He felt the sting of a slap land across his face, and suddenly the whole world came back into focus.

It was Azriel that was screaming, voice raw. His vision cleared, of what he realized were tears, and the grief stricken faces of his family appeared. And he also realized he was speaking, repeating the same words over and over again.

“No, no, no!”

“Stay with me!”

All consuming anguish slammed into him. Ophelia was dead. Ophelia, his mate. His fucking mate, was dead. Azriel couldn’t feel her on the other side of the bond anymore. Couldn’t feel her chest rise with life-saving air, he just couldn’t feel her. Her beautiful eyes would never open, her mouth would never tip to the side with a cheeky smile, and he wouldn’t ever get to hear his name on his lips again.

Dead.

He held onto her tighter, how he should have all those nights ago. He should have told her everything when he had the chance, should have beared his fucking soul to her. Even if she had rejected him, he still should have told her.

“Madja is on her way.” Azriel heard someone say. He was so lost in his agony he had no idea who was speaking. “Azriel, we need you to let her go”

A primal snarl tore from his lips, and they backed away, hands up in a placating gesture.

“You’re going to have to knock him out.” Another said.

“I know. I’m just afraid of what he’ll do when he wakes.”

Cool hands grabbed onto his temple and Azriel thrashed, trying to throw whoever that was off of him. He was like a raging wild animal, like something out of the Middle. He was no longer the calm and collected male like everyone knew. It was pure carnal rage.

Long, razor sharp claws tore their way through his minds shield, destroying them to get inside. Azriel screamed louder, blood trickling from his nose. The sounds of his family faded away, so all that was left was the sound of soft spoken voices, cooing and hushing him. Lulling him to sleep. He fought, pushing back against those claws. But they only held on tighter.

Slowly, he slumped to the ground, arms falling away from Ophelia’s bleeding body.

And sleep consumed him.

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Azriel woke with a start, like something had scared him out of his deep slumber. That hadn’t been a normal sleep, it was only darkness with him floating forever in the nothingness. But he still felt pain raging all over his body. The pain of the mating bond breaking, slowly fading away into nothing.

Would that be all that’s left? Nothing?

He sat up sluggishly, the joints in his body popping and cracking. He was no longer out in that cursed field, but tucked into his room in the House of Wind. His bloody leathers had been stripped from his body, replaced with leisure clothes. Someone had changed and bathed him, as he saw no signs of her blood anywhere on his body. How long had he been out?

Getting to his feet, he walked towards the door. But he stopped as he passed the mirror, seeing his ghastly reflection. Azriel studied himself, hating what stared back. His wings now dragged behind him, the talons scraping the floor. There were deep purple marks under his bloodshot eyes, like he had been crying while he slept. And he looked incredibly pale, skin taking on a sickly pallor.

The look of someone with an utterly shattered heart. That’s what he looked like now.

A messy knot of emotions rose up his throat and Azriel stumbled, grasping the wood of the dressing table. His shoulders shook with each deep inhale he took, but it just seemed like he couldn’t catch his breath. His fingers gripped the wood so tightly that they turned white. He just couldn’t get his head clear, couldn’t stop hearing her broken cries.

Whimpering with frustration, he lashed out, his closed fist connecting with the mirror. It exploded into a thousand tiny pieces, small shards embedding themselves in his knuckles. Thick red blood seeped out of his wounds, but already his Illyrian healing was trying to take control. He watched numbly as his cuts turned pink with new skin, but was instantly shredded back open by the glass.

Suddenly, the door flew open and Cassian rushed in. He halted in his tracks, taking in the scene of his brother standing there with a shattered mirror and blood running down his hand.

“You’re awake.” He croaked, eyes misty with unshed tears.

Azriel didn’t respond. Instead, he picked up a scrap of linen and wrapped it around his knuckles to staunch the bleeding.

“You’ll need that cleaned out, there’s glass-”

“No.” Azriel snarled.

“Az…” Cassian tried, taking small steps in his direction.

“I said no!” His teeth flashed. “Fuck the glass, fuck everything! There is nothing left for me here, my mate is fucking dead. DEAD. And I might as well join her!”

They both stood there in deafening silence, just staring at each other. The realization of what Azriel had just admitted struck Cassian like a slap. His breath hitched in his chest, and Cassians mouth opened and closed, as if he were a fish out of water, trying to think of something to say. But there was nothing he could say that would take away this hurt.

“But she lives.”

Except that.

Azriels head snapped towards his brother, eyes going so wide that they almost popped straight out of his head.

“What?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Madja brought her back. She’ still unconscious but-”

Azriel didn’t stick around to hear the rest of what he said, because he burst past Cassian, sprinting towards her room. Alive? She was alive? He couldn’t wrap his destroyed thoughts around it. He had felt the bond break, and watched her take her last breath, how could she be alive? This had to be some type of cruel joke his brothers were playing on him, there was no way-

He opened Ophelia’s bedroom door so hard that it bounced off the wall, hinges rattling with the force. He took a step, and then another, before his knees gave out. But Rhys was there, catching him under his arm, and kept him upright.

“Easy, brother.” His voice was soft, softer than he had ever heard it.

What Azriel saw confused him. Ophelia was there, laying on her bed as if she was sleeping. She had been washed and changed just as Azriel had, no traces of blood remaining on her. Feyre and Madja stood on the other side of the bed, and the two stared at him, unsure of what his next move would be.

“How?” Azriel’s voice broke, and for the millionth time that day, tears rushed to his eyes.

“We got to her just in time.” Madja was there, putting various medical supplies back into a bag. The old female turned to Feyre and said something under her breath. But his shadows heard her.

Watch him. The bond hasn’t returned, and I’m afraid he’ll do something…something I can’t heal.

Feyre nodded and thanked the healer before dismissing her.

“How are you feeling, Az?” Feyre asked, and just then Rhys released the grip he had on Azriels arm.

But he didn’t hear her. Instead, he slowly crept towards the edge of Ophelia’s bed. She looked so incredibly peaceful, like the events of the past week hadn't happened at all.

He took her slender hand in his, and it was so cold. He supposed that was normal considering how much blood she had lost. They had been laying in a puddle of it. And still, it just didn’t seem possible that she was alive.

“Why hasn’t the bond returned?” Azriel whispered, scared that if spoke too loud it would wake her.

“Madja said it would take time.” Rhys said, coming to his side.

Time. If there was anything Azriel knew how to do was wait. He had waited his entire life for Ophelia, he could wait just a little bit longer. So, he grabbed a reclining chair and dragged it to the side of her bed, and plopped down in it.

“What are you doing?” Feyre asked softly.

“Waiting.”

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Three things were clear to Ophelia as she laid in the eternal darkness.

One, her mother was Lady of the Autumn Court and her father was Lord of the Day Court, and Lucien was her brother.

Two, her entire body was screaming in pain. It was a never ending barrage, it felt she was being set on fire over and over again. It felt like she was being stripped of her flesh, and someone was sticking needles in the exposed skin.

Three, Azriel was her mate.

Mate.

The cauldron had blessed and cursed her with a mate. And out of everyone, in the entirety of Prythian, it was him. Azriel.

His name on her tongue felt like taking a cold, refreshing gulp of water. It felt like life, death, and everything in between. Something as big as ruling the world seemed possible with him by her side, or even just getting out of bed for the day. Knowing that he was there, waiting for her. She could do it all.

But where was he?

He wasn’t here with her, in this endless pit of dark nothingness. But she could sense him, his scent lingering on the tip of her nose. It was smokey and sweet, the boldness of each taste coming together each time, it was intoxicating. Like she could drown in him, but he would be there to keep her afloat.

Ophelia could feel him now. He was so close but yet so far away. It felt like she could reach out and touch him, but when she tried, her body screamed in protest. Everything hurt. Every miniscule movement that was made had her already exhausted mind slip farther and farther into the darkness.

So she laid there, feeling nothing and everything. Waiting for her mate.

Azriel.

stay with me pt 4

<azriel shadowsinger x OFC>

part one, part two, part three, part five

warnings: ANGST, graphic description injuries

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Something was wrong. Azriel didn’t know what, but he could no longer feel Ophelia as strongly on the other side of the bond. Her presence was just a flicker of energy, like a spark that refused to light.

“We’re moving in. Now.” He quietly growled.

Mor, Cassian, and Nesta had all deliberately disobeyed Rhysands instructions to not enter the Autumn Court territory without his permission. They would all surely pay for it.

But at this moment, he didn’t care what Rhysands punishment would be. He could cut off Azriels wings, set his hands alight, and throw him into the Sidra and he would take it. As long as he got Ophelia back. He was beyond grateful that his friends were risking their own lives and Rhysands wrath to find her too.

His shadows cast the corridor in front of them into darkness, snuffing out the fae lights lining the walls. They moved silently, as a unit. Quickly and quietly taking out any guards that they came across. What was more blood on Azriels hands? As far as he was concerned they were all complicit in this crime.

Gaining access to the Forest Palace wasn’t easy. It had taken them entirely too long. They had to wait for changing of the guard and had to slaughter their way through just to get in. It was messy and harsh, but they did it all without raising alarm.

Azriel led them through twisting and turning hallways, going farther and farther down into the lower levels. He didn’t know where he was going, it was just a feeling. He could feel that tug at the bond growing tighter and further down they went.

None of them questioned him, and thank the Mother for that. He wasn’t sure how he would respond. They all were calm and quiet around him since departing from Velaris, as if a single word would set him off.

He supposed it would. After departing the River House, he had flown out into the forest and taken out several acres of trees with his siphons before collapsing. He had been trembling, barely containing the anguish and rage that was crawling under his skin. It was nightfall before Cassian found him, telling him that they were leaving to find her.

Suddenly, the feeling in his chest exploded into a frenzying warmth, spreading across his body. Azriel halted in front of a small, dingy cell, and his friends stopped at his heals.

“What is it?” Mor whispered.

The metallic scent of blood was so overpowering that it almost masked hers. Almost.

He would know that combination of scent anywhere. Jasmine, lavender, and chamomile. With just a hint of lemon. Before it had calmed his wildest nerves. Now, it ramped them up, dreading what he would find in there.

In two strides, he was at the door. He grasped the lock on the cell and the faint blue light of his siphons illuminated the space. He barely heard the metal hit the ground as he flung the door open and rushed in.

What he saw would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Ophelia was slumped against the wall, hands chained above her head. Small, precise cuts littered her mostly naked body. Deep burn scars around her neck, wrists and ankles. The only thing that covered her was a red see-through chemise. No. The chemise was white. It was stained red. With her blood.

And Azriels heart stopped beating at the sight of the dagger embedded to the hilt in Ophelia’s side.

“Cauldron-” Cassian gasped, coming to stand beside him.

“Help me.” His voice was tight, despair laced in every word. Azriels eyes stung with unshed tears. No, he couldn’t do that. Not here, not now.

If she didn’t make it-

Cassian braced Ophelia up, mindful of her wounds, as Azriel broke the chains around her wrists. He stooped down and took her small broken form from Cassians arms, careful of the dagger. A soft, broken whimper came from the bloody mass that was Ophelia. It shattered his heart even further.

But she was alive, she was still alive.

“We have to get her back to Velaris.” His voice was raw, full of the promise of death and bone deep despair.

“Winnowing could move the dagger around.” Cassian responded quietly, looking down at her.

“We could take her to the Winter Court-” Mor started.

“No.” Azriel snarled. “She needs to be home, not in some frozen waste land.”

“But the risk-”

“I know the fucking risk!” He was starting to panic now. It was rising to the surface, the pressure building and building against his too tight skin.

“Whatever the decision, it needs to be made now. We have company.” Nesta hissed from the front of the cell.

“Go to them. I’ll meet you back at the River House.”

His shadows swirled around them, Cassian disappeared from sight, his brothers eyes full of sadness and quiet rage. He knew he would make them pay for what they did.

In the cold emptiness, he brought Ophelia closer to him. Praying to the Mother that she would make this, she had to make this. If Azriel needed anything in his life to go right, it was now.

Azriel swore to the Mother and to the Cauldron that when she had recovered, he would tell her everything. About his messy emotions, the feeling of how unworthy he was to her, and that they were mates. He was hers.

But oh, the Mother was cruel.

His feet hit the solid ground just outside the River House, the world swimming back into focus. Panting, he looked down at Ophelia.

His mate.

She almost looked like she was sleeping, if it wasn’t for the agonizing pain he felt on the other side of the bond. It was so intense that he momentarily swayed before reality gripped him by the throat. The dagger was no longer there. It laid several feet away in the grass.

The panic he had been barely keeping at bay finally bubbled over.

Blood was pouring from the wound, fast. Too fast. Gasping, he went to his knees, laying her in the damp morning grass. His scarred hands pressed into her side attempting to staunch the bleed, but it was no use. Blood seeped past his fingers, coating his hands.

Rhys. Rhys I need you.

“Phia? Phia, I need you to open your eyes.” He whispered.

“It hurts.” She whimpered. The pain he heard from her snapped something deep and vital in his head.

“I know, I know sweetheart.” Azriels cheeks were wet with the tears he had been holding back for weeks. No- years.

“Azriel?” Her eyes fluttered open, squinting up at him. “You’re here.” She sounded so relieved, he wondered if she thought this was a dream.

“Yes, Phia. I’m here with you. Now stay with me, help is coming,” He sobbed.

Rhysand!

She muttered incoherently, and it wasn’t til later til Azriel would realize what she was saying.

Stay with me.

The familiar scent of Cassian, Mor, and Nesta invaded his senses, momentarily taking over the smell of blood. He heard one of them cry out, felt their grief slam into him. But he couldn’t look away.

He whispered small encouragements to her, begging and pleading with Rhys in his head to fucking hurry.

Almost there.

“He’s almost here Phia. Just hang on.” His eyes swept down her body, examining the wound. It was ghastly, deep and jagged with infection just starting to set in. Mother, how long had that been in there?

He looked back up to her face and his gut twisted. Her eyes were shut, her lips unmoving. “Hey, hey! Do not shut your eyes. Please,” A painful sobbed ripped from the depths of Azriels chest. “Please open your eyes!”

“So tired.” She whispered, struggling to open her eye lids. “Az, I’m so tired.”

Hands suddenly replaced where Azriels were. Someone was talking, shouting at the others but he wasn’t sure who it was, and he didn’t care. Maybe it was Rhysand, or was it Feyre?

Moving carefully, he cradled her head in his lap. The back of her scalp was sticky with blood, the entire ground around them was drenched in it.

“Stay. Stay here with me.” He whispered to her, smoothing her hair away from her sweaty and sallow forehead.

“You’re my mate.” Azriel choked out in broken sobs. “Ophelia you’re my mate.”

She inhaled to speak, but her chest stilled

The bond went silent.

And Azriel screamed.

stay with me pt 3

azriel shadowsinger x OFC

part one, part two, part four, part five

warnings: torture, violence, gore, angst

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It had been a week since Ophelia left. A week since he heard her laughter, saw her smiling at him or swooning at her dizzying scent. It was already starting to slowly fade from the House of Wind. Without it, Azriel thought he might go crazy.

Even more than usual.

His shadows had told him that the day after…the day after Rita’s, Rhys had picked her up from the balcony outside her room. So, he figured she was out running a mission. But a week was unusual. She was normally gone for a couple days before she came back. Yet something just wasn’t sitting right with him. She had always checked in if she was going to be gone longer than what she said. And as far as he knew, she hadn’t.

And if he asked about her, he would seem desperate.

Okay, he was desperate. Desperate for her. For them to finally happen. Azriel was finally ready to tell her everything that he had been holding back all these months.

When she finally let him kiss her, he thought everything would fall into place. Things would work out, just as they worked out for his brothers. But of course not, nothing was that simple when it came to Azriel. The cauldron had cursed him, it was more than obvious now.

Had he done something wrong? Maybe he had misread the entire situation and took it too far. But she had wanted him, she was just as greedy to touch him as he was her. Everything had felt right, perfect, up until the moment Cassian had interrupted them.

Azriel was still pissed at him for it.

“You alright?” Feyre asked as Azriel stormed through the doors of the River House.

“Fine.” He spat back. As soon as the words left his mouth, he winced.

He didn’t mean to come off hateful towards his High Lady. He stopped walking and sighed up towards the ceiling, before turning around. “I’m sorry, it’s just-” What the fuck could he tell her? “Been a rough week.”

“I understand.” She smiled softly at him, her blue-grey eyes full of knowing. “Come, Rhys said he had something important for everyone.”

It was true, Rhys had summoned everyone to the River House. Maybe it was something Ophelia had relayed back to him and something was finally happening between the Human Queens and the Autumn Court. But as he and Feyre entered one of the sitting rooms, he could tell it was something much worse than that.

Eris was here.

“Now that Az is finally here, we can get started.” Rhys shot Azriel a accusatory glare from across the room.

“As you all know, Az and Phia had been gaining intelligence from the Autumn Court. It has been hard but every piece of information counts.” He began.

Rhys took a steadying breath, place a hand in his mates lower back. “Last week, I sent Ophelia out on a solo mission.”

A knot took form in Azriels chest. His knees felt weak and unsteady.

“She told me she would only be there for a couple of days, but obviously hadn’t returned yet.”

The knot tightened, it was getting hard to breathe.

“Feyre and I thought she may have found out something important and was still running reconnaissance, but when we traveled to the mountains in the Winter Court to see if the mental link would work if we were closer. Yet…nothing.”

The wood of the door frame shattered in Azriel’s hand, splinters embedding themselves into his palm. Many turned to look at him, but Rhys pressed on, ignoring his outburst.

“That’s when Eris returned, and told us.” There was a harsh moment of silence, and Azriels anxiety grew to a tipping point.

“She’s being held captive by my father and brothers.” Eris finished for him.

The room exploded into darkness.

Azriel couldn’t breathe, it felt like his breath was being sucked out of his chest. His ears were ringing, and he could have sworn there was blood on his hands. Whose blood was that? Was it his? When had he ended up on the ground?

Azriel!

His shadows receded back into him, only a little. He shook his head clear of that voice. He could only hear Ophelias. Could only hear her laugh, see her smile, see her.

Azriel!

Another voice. Female this time, he knew that voice. It had shown him kindness and compassion. Tried to look beneath all the scars. Just like Ophelia tried.

Black and red was all he saw.

Suddenly, someone was behind him, gripping him so hard from behind he could have sworn one of his ribs cracked.

His shadows finally dissipated and he was staring down at the wreckage that was Eris. The males face was beaten so badly he was hardly recognizable. Had he done that? He looked down at his hands, knuckles busted open. Hands coated in blood, a mix between his own and Eris’s.

He had definitely done that.

People were shouting at him, shouting at each other. But he couldn’t hear them, couldn’t see them. All he saw was Ophelia sitting on the counter, smiling at him. He had lost her before he even had her. Now, she was a captive. In the cauldron cursed Autumn Court.

The world suddenly snapped back into focus is a dizzying rush. He spun towards Rhys, teeth bared, pushing who he now realized as Cassian, off of him.

“You sent my mate to die!”

Silence.

Utter silence.

Feyre was the first one to speak. “Your mate is alive, Azriel.” Her tone was calm and steady, how he figured she would have talked to a wild animal who was cornered and scared. “You would have felt…” She trailed off, glancing at Rhysand. “You would have felt it.”

Azriel snarled again, turning on his heel.

“Where do you think you are going?” This voice was not Rhysand, his brother. This was the voice of his High Lord.

“Getting her back.”

“I cannot let you do that, shadowsinger.” Power rumbled throughout the room, the entire house.

A dark, humorless laugh came from Azriel. “You tore half of Prythian apart for your mate.” His voice was as cold as the steel of a blade. “I will do worse for mine.”

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A cold splash of water woke Ophelia up. Gasping, she looked around wildly and found the sneering face of Beron staring down at her, eyes alight with barely leashed rage. She now knew why he was called Lord of Fire. It was evident in those deep-set brown eyes.

Great, she was already starting to go insane.

“Sleep well?” He chuckled, taking a few steps back from her. She didn’t know why, it wasn’t like she could reach him with her arms chained above her head.

“Go fuck yourself.” She spat, spittle flying from her chapped lips.

“So much fire in you, even after we’ve put most of it out.” Beron hummed. “Be good and listen, and maybe my sons won’t visit you tonight.”

Ophelia shut her mouth, biting down on her tongue so hard it drew blood. She didn’t think she could stand another visit from his twisted sons. That would be her final breaking point.

Her fae healing could only do so much to the burn scars around her wrists and ankles.

“Very good. Now,” He cleared his throat. “There once was a little flame princess, who stole the heart of her entire kingdom. She was the youngest of the king's children, having several elder brothers. And when her powers started developing, there was something different about them. They were too bright, burned too hot. So the king went to the queen, asking how this could happen? How could his daughter have the power of light when they were fire?” He took a deep breath, his eyes scanning her face.

“That’s when the king learned that the little flame princess was instead, a little sun princess. That his queen had tricked him into raising not one but two bastard children, right under his nose.”

“So your wife fucked another male, what does this have to do with me?” Ophelia muttered.

Beron inched towards her, a sick and twisted smile spread across his face, unnerving her. “Everything.”

She laughed. Yeah, Ophelia was definitely going crazy.

“The king was torn on what to do. See, he had come to love his little sun princess. But her blood was not his. So, he locked her in a tower, high away from everyone. Determined to keep her safe and secure. He would send his true children in to keep her company from time to time, but soon the king learned that they had scared his beautiful sun princess. She was ugly, littered with hideous scars that no magic would heal or hide.”

Ophelia felt like she was going to be sick. She tried to squeeze her eyes shut to stop the room from spinning but images flashed behind her eyelids. Images that were too bright and vivid to just be her imagination.

“To end her suffering, the king finally set the little princess free. He let her roam his kingdom for a bit before setting his hounds out. But alas, she has been spirited away to the kingdom of his enemies, a dark and nightmarish kingdom.”

“Stop.” Ophelia wheezed.

“And just when the king was almost done healing from his pain, he found her on the outskirts of his kingdom. A spy.”

The hot hands of the Autumn Court Lord wrapped around her throat, cutting off her airway. Heat danced at his finger tips, searing her skin, charring her pale flesh.

“A spying whore for the Court of Nightmares.”

His hand curled tighter around her throat, and she was sure he was going to break her neck.

“You’re insane.” Ophelia gasped, eyes meeting his. They burned with such hatred that she was sure this was it. He would bring her death.

“Little princess, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

With his free hand, he reached toward his jewel encrusted belt. He pulled on the hilt of a dagger, which had the pattern and swirls of the Autumn Court sigil on the gleaming blade. A blade made of ashwood.

Without even blinking, he plunged the dagger into her side, to the hilt. Pain exploded from the area, her vision going out momentarily. Her instincts kicked in, trying to overwrite the pain by blocking it out. But it was too much, too overwhelming.

Ophelia screamed, her voice going hoarse as she thrashed against the pain, and against his hold on her throat. Her body went into survival mode, bucking and kicking the best she could to get away, to get away from the pain.

“You will die here, just as you were born here.” Beron snarled, finally releasing her throat.

Gasping and sputtering, she tried to reach for the dagger with her bound hands. But she couldn’t reach it. Blood poured freely from her wound, coating the floor. A sliver of thought returned to her and she glared up at Beron, her entire body twitching.

“I…” Blood bubbled out of her mouth and dribbled down her chin. “Will fucking kill you.”

The last thing Ophelia heard was the sound of laughter as Beron left her cell, the sound echoing in the darkness.

stay with me pt 2

<azriel shadowsinger x OFC>

warnings: mentions of trauma, physical harm, violence and gore(ish)

part one, part three, part four, part five

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Ophelia was only slightly hung over the next morning, thankfully. She was up early, earlier than normal. To be honest, she hadn’t slept at all. That moment she had shared with Azriel kept replaying in her head. Her thoughts kept tossing between she should have stayed and she should have pushed him off sooner. She had let it get too far and it didn’t go far enough.

She stared at her naked reflection in the full length body mirror. Ugly scars littered her body. Fae healing rarely left scars, but when they were severe enough they stayed. Madja had tried telling her that it was the scars of the mind that kept the scars of the body from healing, but she brushed her off.

The ones that had seen her naked had tried to ask, but when she felt their thoughts lingering too long, she was already out the door. Ophelia didn’t feel like sharing her traumas with strangers anyway.

As her eyes tracked up her body, they landed on the already fading purple and yellow marks that Azriel had left on her. These…these weren’t ugly. These were beautiful, these were made from him. Carefully, the pads of her fingers grazed one and instantly felt a rush of heat pool between her legs.

Gasping, she turned away from herself, shame dampening the rush of desire that took over her entire body. She was so stupid, so stupid that for a second she actually let herself believe that she could have someone. She had felt alive with Azriel holding her so close. It was like breathing the first breath of fresh air after being held under water too long.

Shoving those thoughts out of her head, Ophelia dressed herself. A simple black turtleneck with matching black pants. The turtleneck was the only clothing that would cover the marks Azriel had left. She didn’t need her busy body friends asking questions, if Cassian hadn’t already told everyone.

Rhys?

A moment later, she got a reply.

Phia? You’re up early.

She rolled her eyes at the invisible response. She did not have the energy to bicker with him this morning.

Could you come get me? I have some things I’d like to go over with you.

Can’t you have Cass or Az? I’m currently…indisposed.

Gagging to herself, she took a deep breath and pressed him harder.

Cassian has training with the priestesses, I don’t want to bother him.

Okay? What about Az?

Rhys!

Fine, fine. I’ll be there soon.

You better not smell like sex.

She could have sworn she heard laughter as Rhysand slammed the walls of his mind shut. She loved Rhys like a brother and now Feyre as a sister. When he came back from Under the Mountain rambling about how he had found his mate, she couldn’t have been happier. He deserved it, after all.

The day Rhys welcomed Ophelia into his court with open arms was both fuzzy and crystal clear in her mind. Her and Mor had found each other, both on the brink of death on the edges of the Autumn Courts forest. When she had thought they would both succumb to their wounds…there he was.

Azriel.

His shadows had swirled around them and it felt strange, but comforting. He held them both as they silently sobbed before winnowing back to Velaris.

But unlike Mor, Ophelia couldn’t remember a single thing before that moment. Rhys had tried, Madja had tried. But it was just blank. Sometimes she would get flashes, a warm sun, the smell of smoke, burnt oranges and brown, the bright flash of a knife as it flayed her skin open. But the only thing she did remember was her name.

Ophelia.

In those first few days, she said it to herself silently and allowed like a prayer. She had no idea who she was or where she came from, but she did have that. And nobody could take it from her.

It took her years to fully recover, and that was only physically. Mentally was another story. But there were more important things she had to deal with, so she pushed it down. Some days it felt like it would all come bubbling to the surface, her skin remembering the feeling of what it felt like to be shredded to bits, but her mind having no memory of it. It was its own brand of personal torture. Those days she took sleeping drafts and stayed in bed, not wanting her friends to see the madness that was brewing behind her eyes.

I’m here, where are you?

The sound of Rhys' voice jarred her from her thoughts, and Ophelia realized she had been pacing.

Come to my balcony, please.

I will if you tell me what’s wrong.

She didn’t reply, instead grabbing her bag and pulling it over her shoulders, and secured her daggers to her thighs. A moment later she heard the flapping of wings and the sound of boots thudding on her balcony.

Coming out, she squinted her eyes at Rhys. “You smell like sex.” She said, scrunching up her nose.

“Thank you.” Rhys smiled as he gathered her up in his arms. He didn’t speak again until they were almost to the River House.

“Care to tell me what’s wrong?”

“Not particularly.” Ophelia grumbled.

“I’m guessing it has to do something with Az?”

Ophelia jolted, whipping her head towards him. “How-”

“Cassian may have mentioned something last night about how he had caught you two, and you ran off and now Azriel is, well, I don’t know what Azriel is right now.”

Ophelia was silent for a moment longer.

“Did he do something-”

“No! Mother Rhys, no!” Ophelia gasped, shocked he would even think like that. “It’s me. I can’t-can’t-”

“Hey, it’s okay.” He reassured her, as they touched down on the flat rooftop. “Trust me I understand, it’s just that I don’t think Az does.”

She took several steps away from him, distancing herself. Like she always does when someone got too close.

“Nothing he did was anything I didn’t want.” She told him, looking him in his violet eyes. Crossing her arms, she waited for some kind of scolding. She knew she hurt Azriel, and she also knew the boys were very protective of each other.

“I still think you should talk to him. Explain yourself instead of hiding.”

Sighing, she leaned her head back, looking up at the morning sky. “Enough about me, that’s not why I’m here.”

“I know, and the answer is already yes.”

Leaning in, she kissed her brother on the cheek. “I’ll be back soon, three days tops.”

Then, she winnowed. One moment she was in Velaris, her High Lord standing before her. The next, she was standing in a quiet forest, the burnt orange and red leaves swaying in the crisp breeze.

Ophelia always thought the Autumn Court was beautiful. There was just something about how the air permanently smelled like apples and the way the fallen leaves crunched underneath her boots. But the people here? She hated them more than anything.

Normally, it was Azriel and her that came on these missions. Scouting out Beron and his Court seemed like a full time job, lately. There were constant meetings being held inside his castle, troops moving about on the Spring Courts border.

It seemed like Beron had taken a page from the Human Queens book and completely warded his castle, Azriels shadows couldn’t even get it. So they were out here every couple of days, looking for the weak points.

But now, she couldn’t work with Azriel. Not without risking talking about what happened between them, what had changed. Mother, why weren’t males content with being only friends? But had they only just been friends? Az was softer to her than most, kinder and sweeter. He was one of the only ones that would check on her when she was having those types of days. She thought it was because of his own trauma, that he understood. But was it only just that?

The hairs on the back of Ophelia's neck prickled suddenly. Crouching low, she took stock of her surroundings. The landscape around her was empty, mostly forest and a couple farms. There wasn’t a lot in this part of the court. But that feeling lingered, almost like she was being watched.

A branch snapped behind her and she whirled, sending her dagger flying. She knew she hit her mark when someone whale in pain. Ophelia began to rapidly prepare her energy to winnow, but she wasn’t fast enough.

An arrow embedded itself deep into her shoulder, coming out the other end and pinning her against a nearby tree. Screaming internally, she tried to winnow again. But her powers just disappeared inside her. One moment they were there, beneath the surface of her skin, and then they were gone.

Fucking ash arrows.

“Look at this!” Someone laughed, off in the distance. “A whore from the Court of Nightmares!”

A small group of soldiers materialized out of the shadows of the trees. All had bows, and all were trained on her. Ophelia snarled, but her fight was draining. Too quickly it was draining. She didn’t recognize the males, except one. It was one of Eris’s brothers. As he drew closer, she saw that he held her dagger, which dripped with blood. He crouched down in front of her, a twisted grin spread across his face.

“You’re coming with me.” He snarled, before plunging the dagger into Ophelia's leg.

The burning world of gold and brown and red, all faded to black.

✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖°

taglist- @marvelouslovely-barnes

stay with me pt 1

<Azriel Shadowsinger x OFC>

short story of one of our favorite bat boys.

warnings: heavy alcohol consumption, mentions of trauma, light smut, 18+ MDNI!!!!

part two, part three, part four, part five

✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖° ✧˖°

The pulsing music at Rita’s felt like it was mimicking the rapid heartbeat in Ophiela’s chest. Every dip and sway that she was led into by strange males made her feel heady and dizzy. It felt like her feet barely touched the floor as she was spun into arm after arm, song after song. The three bottles of wine that her and Mor consumed before coming didn’t help either.

Like Nesta, dancing made her feel something. Less empty, less of a broken shell. Like the patterns she twirled into on the dance floor could somehow form the broken shards of herself back together.

From her place in the crowd she could spy her friends sitting at the permanently reserved table, playing a game of cards. All were focused on the current hand, throwing chips into the pile and cursing at each other. All except one pair of dark hazel eyes. He was almost invisible, tucked into the corner, his black leathers causing him to blend in even more. But beneath the swirling mass of darkness, Ophelia could see him.

Maybe that was one difference between her and Prythians most notorious spymaster. He was comfortable in the dark where no one could see him. But Ophelia was most comfortable under the blazing lights, where almost anyone could see her. Where she could paint a face was calm and happy, and no one would suspect a thing. They were almost exact opposites, but maybe that’s what attracted her to him.

Strong hands suddenly gripped her waist and she was being pulled against a hard chest, breaking her staring contest with the spymaster. The male laughed in her ear, saying something. But she wasn’t sure what he said, her head was swimming by this point. She danced with him for a bit before excusing herself and pushed her way through the churning bodies, making her way to the table.

Those hazel eyes were on her again, watching her hips sway to the music. Placing her hands on the table and leaning over, she shouted at them so they could hear.

“Does anyone mind taking me home?” Winnowing while drunk was a bad idea. She learned her lesson the hard way when she almost drowned in the Sidra. She didn’t want to end a few inches off from the balcony of the House of Wind and fall to her death. That would be embarrassing.

Feyra opened her mouth to speak but Azriel beat her to it, setting his cards down.

“I fold.” He told the table. “I’m ready to get out of here anyway.” He stood, his wings ruffling at the movement.

As the two made their way to the doors, Ophelia could have sworn she heard Cassian yelling that Az had a full house. There was no way he could have been on a cusp of winning for him to just walk out like that, Az was too competitive. She must have heard him wrong.

They walked out into the muggy summer night. It was scorching this time of year, the night time only a little more tolerable than the day. The light blue dress that Ophelia had on stuck to her in the most uncomfortable of places. It was a pretty dress, a little on the short side, but one that would now have to be thoroughly washed. It reeked of sweat and wine and unfamiliar males.

Azriel and Ophelia walked in silence for a bit, the sounds of distant parties and conversations being drowned out by the rushing water as they approached the bridge to the Sidra. She traced the amazingly carved detail with her fingers on the rails, before stopping and turning to look down at the water.

Azriel inhaled softly as if he were about to speak, but Ophelia cut him off.

“Did I tell you about the time I almost drowned in the Sidra?”

She glanced behind her to the Illyrian, whose stoic features wavered just slightly at her admission. Whatever he was about to say, she had stopped him. If she were being honest with herself, which was rare, she’d wish she had let him speak.

“Mor and I had a few too many glasses of Rhys aged wine,” She continued. “Didn’t think it would hit me that hard. When I tried to winnow home I landed face first into cold water. Sobered me up pretty quick.”

She turned around, gazing up into those damned hazel eyes. She expected to see some sort of amusement in his eyes, but all she found was worry.

“I could have taken you home that day.”

Ophelia shrugged. “Honestly, I think you were on a mission for Rhys. Plus, I wouldn’t want to bother you with my drunkenness.” She lifted her palms up to the sky, a smile twitching at her lips.

“I don’t mind your drunkenness.” That same smile creeping up on the corners of his own thick, lush lips.

Damnit.

Something had changed, shifted, between Ophelia and Azriel. For centuries, she had considered Azriel as a friend, a good friend. But almost three months ago, that had changed. She didn’t know what it was, or didn’t want to admit to herself what it was, but it happened. Az and her had been sparring early in the evening like usual. They were trying to perfect a new technique they thought of, when somehow Ophelia managed to knock Azriel on his ass.

He had stared up at her with such awe and bewilderment she thought he might have cracked his head open on the ground. When she helped him up his hands were clammy and hot, and he quickly excused himself from the session.

Ever since then, Azriel had been, well, nice. Not just the forced politeness she was used to when it came to the spymaster. He had been offering to help her, spending time with her scouting out the Autumn Court, which she knew he hated. It was strange, even Rhys admitted his brother's actions were strange.

Ophelia, snapping out of her thoughts, realized she had been staring far too long at Azriel. Clearing her throat, she looked away. She was glad it was hot out or else she felt like he might have called her out on the blush that was creeping across her cheeks.

“Do you mind?” She asked, lifting her arms out to him. “I’m ready for bed.”

Azriel nodded silently, and picked her up like she weighed less than a feather. She laid her head on his chest and squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the feeling of her stomach to drop once he took flight. Hearing the leathery snap of his wings, the ground whooshed out from underneath them. She sucked in a breath as his wings caught the warm breeze, spreading them out behind him.

Velaris was always beautiful, but Ophelia was convinced it looked the most beautiful from above. She watched as the streaming lights grew distant as they flew farther away from the city. It made her heart hurt to watch it go.

They flew silently towards the House of Wind, the only sound of Azriel’s wings occasionally flapping. She looked over his shoulder, the thin membrane of his wings looked so silky. Ophelia knew how prized an Illyrian's wings were to them. They would rather be dead than be without their wings.

Still, they looked so smooth and soft. Tentatively, she reached a hand out and lightly ran her hand across the cool skin. She heard Azriel gasp, and they dipped in the sky.

“Shit!” She squawked, nails digging into his neck. “Sorry! I didn’t think-”

“If you don’t want me to drop you, sweetheart, I wouldn’t do that again.” Azriel grunted. Something had changed in his voice, it sounded gruffer. She was so caught up in what just happened she almost missed it.

He had called her sweetheart.

Azriel landed on the balcony without any more close calls. Though Ophelia supposed she was to blame for that. He set her down gently and she smoothed out her dress, making sure everything was covered.

“I need a drink.” She announced, but mostly for the house to hear.

“You had about three bottles of wine, four shots of vodka, and a beer. You need more?” Azriel said from behind her, humor laced in his tone.

“Well, looks like someone was counting.” She smirked to herself. “But no, I need tea. Care to join?”

Sauntering into the kitchen, she saw the house instantly set out another hot mug and she picked it up, handing it to Azriel. “It’s my secret blend.” She smiled, picking up her own mug. Taking a small sip, she sighed contentedly.

She hopped up on the counter watching as Azriel did the same. “Jasmine, lavender, and chamomile.” He offered. “With a hint of lemon.”

Ophelia rolled her eyes, smirking. “I suppose being a spymaster you have to know the differences between tastes. Wouldn’t want someone to be poisoned, now would you?”

“No, it’s just what you smell like.”

Ophelia’s heart skipped a beat. She stared down at her mug in her now trembling hands. Desperately, she tried to think of a witty come-back. Something to diffuse to tension that was quickly building in the kitchen. She heard the clink of his mug being set down on the counter, and the shuffle of his boots as he approached her.

“Phia,” Azriel whispered. “Look at me.” Inhaling sharply, she did just that. She felt his hands grab hers and set the mug down, his eyes never leaving hers. His eyes were alight with swirling colors, his pupils almost covering his entire iris.

“Az…” Before she could get another word out, his lips were on hers.

Gasping at the electric shock that started at the base of her skull, making its way down her tailbone, she shuddered. Did she shudder because of that or because of Azriel, Azriel was finally kissing her? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer right now.

He broke away from her after a long moment, resting his forehead on hers. He was panting, they were panting. This time when Azriel tried to speak, she was the one to cut him off. Her lips slotted over his, her slender arms wrapping around his neck pulling him closer.

They were a blur of gnashing teeth and tongues, their breathing turning almost frantic. Azriel’s rough hands gripped her hips, pulling her even closer to him. Instinct kicked in and Ophelia grabbed onto his waist with her legs. Nothing but a few scraps of clothing separated them now.

Wait.

Azriel bit down on her bottom lip, a quiet moan rippled from her mouth. He pulled away, but not going very far. He kissed her cheek, then her jaw, then that spot right behind her ear. Ophelia moaned again, louder this time, arching into his touch.

She said she didn’t want this.

Azriel’s chuckled, his breath tickled against her overheating skin. He continued kissing down the length of her throat, and her hands found their way to his thick hair, tugging softly. Ophelia felt triumphant when he let out a moan of his own. Then, she was leaning farther and farther back so he could have easy access to her, gasping and moaning when he bit down just to soothe the sting with his tongue. His mouth was setting ablaze a burning path down her chest that she thought the coolest of waters couldn’t put out.

She wasn’t allowed to want this.

His hand came up to cup her breast through the material of her dress, his thick thumb swiping lazily over the peaked nipple. She was squirming now, her soaked core rutting ever so slightly against the very large bulge in his leathers. She wanted more, needed more. Needed to feel him in every way possible, to feel exactly what the honed muscles could do.

She shouldn’t want this.

Azriel finally pulled away from the assault he was levying against her front and his eyes found hers. “Sweetheart, do you-”

“Well it’s about damn time!” A voice boomed from down the hall.

Ophelia had never seen Azriel move so fast. One moment she was sprawled out on the counter top, the next Azriel had her behind his back, guarding her from being seen by Cass and Nesta, who had just caught them in a very compromising situation. A snarl she had never heard from Azriel ripped from his throat.

“Oh come now, Az! How many times have you walked in on me and Ness? It’s only fair I get you back.”

But she didn’t wait for Azriel’s reply, because she was already sprinting to her room.

She couldn’t want this.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ And I wouldn't marry me, either.

You were Azriel's mate, but it took losing you three times for him to realise.

[this is long. i'm talking 5k words long so i've split it into two parts. anyway, azriel is the best bat boy and no i won't hear anyone out. i'm so excited to write for him and hope you enjoy. it's very angsty but that's what i love. i hope i can write more for him and maybe other characters if you like. it's been a while since i've actually read the series so if any information is wrong, do let me know. also it was my first time using the term y/n and yes, i cringed NOT PROOF READ... enjoy]

warnings: references to sexual assault and references to suicide. nothing explicit but please don't read if this is sensitive to you.

Part 2 soon…

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The first, was the worst...

You were Rhys's half sister, the bastard daughter of his father. But when your mother had died giving birth to you, Rhysand's mother took you in and raised you with your brother and sister. You were so little and adorable that your sister loved you at once. Rhys did to, at some point of your life, you were sure he actually cared about you.

But when his mother and sister had died, his eyes shifted, he started to look at you with contempt. After all, you were only his half-sister. The worst half. He only kept you around because it's what his mother would have wanted.

And because there was no way Cassian and Azriel would ever let anything happen to you.

Besides, Rhysand knew when to use you.

Although Azriel was his spymaster, you were pretty good at staying swift-footed too. And you were frankly, very terrifying when you wanted to be.

You tread with power through the war camps, all of them looking at you as you went. All of their gazes wrecked with a predatory gaze. They either wanted to have their way with you, or kill you. Or both.

Rhys had said you could handle it, it was only supposed to be a check in. Cassian hadn't liked it, neither had Mor but it was Azriel who had almost- and for the first time- disobeyed his high lord to accompany you. But no, your brother wanted you to do this alone, so alone you would.

Just to show him you could.

'I can come with you,' Azriel had said, standing in your room as you tied your boots up. 'I won't even have to be seen.' At that, his shadows wrapped up your calf.

You smiled at them, as if they were his own pet. 'I'll manage just fine. Besides, i'm sure that's what Rhys wants, me needing a man.'

It had done nothing to calm your friend. The worry was still stuck between his brows, marring his handsome features. You'd held his cheeks, your wings hiding the two of you. His large ones (enough to swallow the both of you) over-lapped yours.

It was the last time you'd feel your wings.

The war camp wasn't as easy as you'd hoped. It was terror and horror in a place. You'd been to the court of nightmares, you'd gone to the slaughter of the spring court after they killed your family. But this, this was hell of another kind.

You had no idea how many days you'd been locked up, wrists bound in chains and hanging from the cell roof above you. Blood rolled down your arms from the force you'd tried to use to get them out. Your eye was swollen shut and your body trembled in pain.

All because they wanted to know your brothers secrets, and you wouldn't budge.

Your check was only supposed to be a day, but you were sure it had been longer. Days of endless pain and torture. Your uniform hung in rags of stripped material, your hair matted with blood and hiding your face.

You'd used the last of your energy to keep your walls up. You weren't anyone's mate, you didn't have anyone on the other end trying to feel what you felt. But should Rhys come looking (though you doubted it) you didn't want him to feel it. You didn't want anyone in your mind.

The gates opened with a sickening clash.

One of the Illyrian's knelt in front of you, his wings hiding those coming in behind you. 'Listen sweetheart. I don't want to make this any harder than it's about to get. All you have to do is tell us your brother's hide outs.'

You grit your teeth, staring down at the ground.

'So loyal, to a man who doesn't care if you live or die.'

Suddenly, your wings twitched as hands grasped them. Brute hands, the sort you wouldn't want touching any part of you.

Fear spiked in you, horror twisting your gut. 'What are you doing?'

'I told you I didn't want to get things messier, darling.'

You whipped your head from side to side, trying and failing to get a look at the assailants behind you. Your wings were being held apart, no matter how hard you tried to bat them away. You knew the sort of people they were, and what they did to girls like you.

That's when the begging started. 'No, no please. Anything. I'll do anything! Beat me, kill me, rape me, not my wings, please!'

'Anything?' the bastard asked, tongue poking out from his lips. 'Then tell me where your lord's hideouts are?'

You should betray him, you thought. He would never lose his wings for you. Perhaps it was stubbornness that kept you from, or maybe you were clinging to the last bit of love you want from him.

The bastard scoffed, 'anything, she says. Your brother has his own bitch wrapped around his finger.'

That's when they started hacking at your wings.

Your screams tore through your throat, blood spitting and dripping down your chin. Tears soon joined when they hacked away at the bone, the membrane, the flesh of it all. The three of them worked through your screams and your tears and your pain, tearing and cutting at it like it was nothing more than paper.

Not your whole life.

Let them hear you. You hoped your brother heard you, you hoped all and every court heard the pain.

Eventually, even you couldn't keep screaming. The only sound was the hacking away at your wings and the drops of blood.

'Now look at these beauties. I've got a perfect spot on my wall for these.'

They left you after that. There wasn't much more damage they could do. It already felt like they'd destroyed your life. You had never really thought about your wings, they were just part of you, as much as your wit or hair was. But they'd took it and now, you felt empty. Never would you fly with Azriel again, or use your wings to smack Cassian over the head.

Rhys, your dear brother, had took that from you.

The days blended in together after that. You were pooled in your own tears and blood, vomiting up anything they forced down your throat. No, they'd made it very clear they didn't want you dead. They just took pride in making it feel like you were.

At some point, you'd stopped reacting to the gate opening. You let them do whatever they wanted with you. Your wrists were still chained, arms still hanging up, your clothes hanging on your thin body in strips of dirt.

'No...' you heard a mumble. 'What have they done to you?'

Suddenly, the chains gave way and you lurched forward, with no strength to catch you. Luckily, you didn't have to, as strong and warm arms pulled you into his chest.

'Hey, wake up, look at me, dammit.'

Azriel.

You'd know the voice in the darkest days, in the pit of your worst nightmare you'd know.

You try to speak but your head's heavy, your lips are stone and your arms can't lift to hold onto him. You're exhausted, you're dying. The only thing you could do use all your strength to try to open your eyes.

'Please, please, look at me. You have to look at me,'

You were trying, you wanted to tell hm, snap at him, but you couldn't.

You felt Azriel shake, or maybe you were. Then, there was wet drops landing on your cheeks- you flinched.

'I'm sorry, i'm sorry. Rhys! Rhys! hurry up, please!' he was screaming. You'd never heard him scream before.

You heard the rush of feet at the cell doors, you knew it was your brother. You knew it from the presence of him, from the shuffling of feet and chocked sob. Your brother didn't cry, least of all for you.

'Her wings, oh mother, her wings,' said Azriel, his voice barley above that of a whisper.

Your wings. You didn't need reminding. They were gone, long and far gone. You were without a part of you, the very part of your soul that loved to be free. Never would you watch the stars up close or fly over everyone. Never race Cassian or make jokes with Az.

No, this would destroy you.

'y/n,' your half-brother called. 'No, y/n. Can you hear me?'

Your lips parted, mumbling. 'Hurts.'

Azriel's grip on you tightened. 'I know, we're gonna get you out of here, just hold on for me.'

You wanted to tell him you would hold on, you'd always need to hold on to him. That, no matter what he asks, you'd do it. To kill, to live, to breathe, to die.

And that's when it clicked. Amongst all the pain and the doubt. In your blood soaked clothes. In the fear you wouldn't make it, there was a tug. Weak and one-sided, but there. You knew you'd be safe with Azriel, knew you would always be with him.

Mate.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The pain subsided to a dull ache, there and beating but not excruciating. You were warm and covered in a soft material. Nothing like the cell you'd been kept in. Your fingertips sunk into something soft- a bed. Your bed. It was familiar in its lavender scent to you and the silk wrapped around you gave you some semblance of warmth.

Your wings.

Even coming to consciousness was difficult. You were exhausted but light, without the weight of wings holding you down. You'd never realised how much you needed to feel that weight, to feel pulled down in order to be free.

Gone, all gone.

Your hand twitches around something cold, a shadow holding your hand, creeping up your side.

'You're awake, thank the couldron.'

It wasn't Azriel, master of the shadows. It wasn't your mate. Mate. The word replayed like a terrible song in your mind.

How dare the mother do this to Az. How dare he- nothing but loyal and kind- get stuck with a person made in darkness, who bled shadows, who's heart was so full of hate there wasn't room for love. They'd cursed Az, with you.

But luckily it wasn't him, it was Rhysand.

'It really happened,' you whispered, voice hurting from the screams.

He sighed. 'I'm sorry, i'm so sorry. We-we thought you weren't going to make it, you'd lost so much blood.'

In spite of the pain in your shoulders, you made a shift, turning from him as he ranted on about your condition.

'y/n... sister, please,' he said. He'd never called you sister before. He'd always been content to treat you just like you worked for him.

'Leave me alone.' you couldn't bare to look at him, couldn't bare to face him. The shadows at your hand grew heavier, as if more were piling on. You stretched your fingers away from them, trying to get them off you.

'Are you in any pain?' asked Rhys.

'Get out,' you mumbled.

The end of your bed dipped where Rhys settled, hand splayed on the covers, begging for your hand. 'y/n.'

'Get out!' you snapped, body tense and straining. You felt your wounds open up, blood wetting the bandage around you. But you didn't care. You'd happily bleed if you couldn't fly. A part of you, sick part of you wanted to be left there. It would be better than false sympathy.

Be better than your mate being disgusted.

'Get out!' you yelled again, voice tearing through an aching throat.

'I just want to help you! please, let me help you!' said Rhys, standing from your bed and walking around, trying to face you.

'I don't want your help!' you screamed. You reached for the closest thing you could, a jug of water and chucked it toward him. You aim was terrible, marred with pain and exhaustion. 'Get out!'

Though hesitant, Rhysand slowly started walking back to your door. He did it all looking at you, his hands out to show he wasn't gonna hurt you, but you didn't care. You went for the glasses next and chucked them but they landed against the door which he disappeared through.

Before it slid close you caught sight of Cassian , Mor and Azriel. All crowded, all waiting to see you.

You'd be happy if you never let them see you again.

'Can we see her?' you hear Mor ask.

'Give her time,' said Rhys.

The shadows at your hand grew heavier, darker, tighter.

'Go away!' you yelled at them. To anyone else, you probably looked crazy, screaming to darkness. But the shadows understood. They departed, slithering away and under the crack of your door where you could see the shadows of feet.

Tumbling from bed, you stumbled over and locked the door, leaning on it to and catching your breath. Your nightgown was starting to get sticky with blood all over again. When you closed your eyes, you pictured the cell, the rough hands holding you down, the chain keeping you up.

And the pain, it all washed over you. The hacking at your back, the sting of a slap. It hit you like a tone of bricks as you slid to the floor.

There was a knock, rattling the door.

'y/n,' Cassian. 'Please let us in.'

Us. You felt him on the other side. Your mate, his presence lingering. His shadows under the door, wanting to come in but keeping their distance.

He didn't know. It hadn't snapped for him, you could tell. It was one tug on your end, a chord in your heart. At least he couldn't feel what you did. At least you could shoulder it alone.

'Please.' his voice was almost your un-doing. He sounded so sad, so desperate. It hurt you just to think you were hurting him.

Tears streamed down your face as your curled your fingers into a tight fist. You assumed Mor had left with Rhys, leaving you there with the males.

Cass was always like a brother to you. Granted- a brother you had slept with once or twice- but he was your best friend. You'd always been close to him. But you'd always been good, a happy person.

You couldn't be that for them now, perhaps ever again.

It lasted like that for hours. Cassian and Az begging to come in, you curling into a ball with tears down your cheeks and blood down your back.

Eventually, they gave up. You couldn't hear them anymore and the shadows of their boots had disappeared.

Except Azriel's shadows that still lingered under your door. Maybe he'd ordered them to be there while they left you.

Eventually, you managed to find your footing on shaking legs. Your room was large, one of the largest. It was just as much a mess as it was when you'd left for you mission, clothes thrown over the place, books propped open on the pages you'd left them on. Everything was the same but could never be again.

It took you longer than you'd care to admit to get to your windows and throw the curtains close. Candles light at your request, the house looking after you as it had since you were a child.

You caught sight of yourself in the full length mirror. It seemed smaller, everything in the room felt too large and you too small, as if you were being swallowed by the expanse of it.

Your frame was small in the mirror, your hair disarrayed. Your eyes were red and shutting of their own accord from the tears that had drained you. The starving in the cells had made you look weak, made you feel weak.

And your back. There was no more looming black figures there, no more fluttering. There was just nothing. In spite of the ache as you lifted your arm, you felt around your back, feeling the hitch there, the lump from where they'd been torn from you.

You cry. You sob. You scream.

The scars were long and the nightdress was sticking to you by the blood you'd shed. All you could do, was hold yourself up as your body wracked with tears.

A breeze came from your windows, shadows tugging at the curtains.

You felt him before you saw him. You wanted to tell him to leave you but you couldn't talk without chocking. Without feeling like you couldn't breath.

Azriel had you in your arms before your knees could hit the ground. He fell with you, softening your body on the floor. His arms held you into his chest, his legs caging you into his body. His head rested on yours as he held you. He didn't try to talk, he didn't try to help. It was just him, you and his shadows.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Azriel remembered dozing off with you, his head on yours. His arms holding you into him, as if it was up to him to keep the sadness away and take it for you.

Afterall, you were his best friend. He should have been there for you, and he'd failed terribly by letting you get hurt and your wings stolen from you. He could hate himself every day for it, for letting you down. But it would never amount to what you felt for yourself and that killed him.

He could see it in the way you cried, in the way you were already keeping everyone out. He'd rather die than let you go through all the pain alone.

When his hands had been scarred by his brothers, you'd help heal him, tell him about everything he still was and all the power he still held in his hands. In the worst days, when he didn't let anyone touch him, he let you.

It was always you.

Azriel wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep, or how deep. He was sure he was still with you, still in your bed.

His shadows crept up on him, engulfing him slowly and whispering to him. Your name, just your name on repeat. It was enough to lull him back into sleep, to keep him calm.

Gone. Missing. y'n. Roof.

He shot up and ran fastest than he ever had in his life. It was as if he'd never been asleep but had been fighting a battle with the way he raced over.

He burst through the doors, the cold hight air hitting him.

You stood facing the stars, your bloody back to him. It wasn't as much blood as when he'd found you, but it was still enough to put a lump in his throat.

Immediately his shadows fell to you, cascading down your body and wrapping around your waist. There was a breeze in the air, pushing your hair back and exposing more signs of the pain and torture you must have gone through.

'I'm not gonna jump, if that's what you're thinking,' you said. You didn't even have to turn to him. The shadows probably told you enough.

'Why are you up here?' he asked, walking to you slowly and with careful steps. As if every step closer could you push you away from him.

'I'll never feel the win properly again,' you answered.

Azriel gulped down his own pain. You’d never sounded so small. ‘Can you get away from the ledge?’

'I'm not on the ledge.'

'You're too close for my liking.'

'Leave if you don't like it.'

'Don't do this,' he said.

'Do what?' you asked, folding your arms over your chest. You were cold, out in the hight but you wanted to see the stars. Needed to see them.

'Make me leave. Make everyone leave you. I know that's what you're doing. It's what you do every time,' you could feel him dawning closer. His shadows were all around you, almost drowning you.

‘Every time,’ you scoff, stepping down and turning on him. ‘It’s not every day you lose your wings Azriel! But don’t let me stop you from leaving, flap them and go!’ You yelled, unable to stop yourself, no matter how hard you tried. You didn’t want to hurt him, you just wanted to be alone.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

'You jump and I’ll catch you,' he said. He was a step away, he could just reach out and touch, just a gentle caress. 'I swear it, whatever you do, I’ll follow. I’m not letting you get away.’

He watched your back shudder as he reached out, brushing knuckles against your shoulder blade. He heard your sharp inhale follow.

'Don’t think I won’t follow, y/n.'

Finally, you turned around in his shadows. You couldn’t meet his eyes but at least you could face his chest.

His hands were gentle on your shoulder as he rubbed it gently. 'Can I get Madja to clean you up?' He asked.

You nodded as he led you away. You truly did not deserve your mate.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Fifty-two years later...

When Amarantha had trapped the high lords of Prythian under the mountain, it hadn't be a conscious choice to follow your half-brother down. How Amarantha had allowed it, you weren't sure, but perhaps she wanted to use you just like her brother, or she thought it would bring more pain for him to see you suffer under there too.

You and Rhysand had barley spoke the last two years.

It had took you almost two months to heal fully enough to leave your room, another few months to face your family again. But even then, everyone knew something had changed in you. You didn't laugh as loud or smile as wide.

Rhysand was careful to ever let you out on a mission. Mor tried to take you out every night. Cassian spent all day every day with you and Azriel- he'd healed you better than any nurse.

Still, you had not told him he was your mate.

Still, you thought he wouldn't want it.

Still, you cared for your brother enough to not want him to go alone.

But being under the mountain, you could avoid your mate. At a painful price.

Until her. Rhys's mate. He hadn't shut up about her since he first met her, much to your dismay as you had to sit around and listen- having absolutely nothing better to do. And it only got worse when she turned up under the mountain. She was declaring her love for Tamlin- again, annoying your brother, and throwing Lucien into danger- which rather angered you. You had nothing against the ginger.

Rhysand had once sent you to find the girl to summon her as part of a bargain he'd made. He didn't want to go, he didn't want to look too forceful. You'd been lucky enough to find the two tangled up in each other against a cold wall, clothes ripped and hips moving together.

'Well, well well,' you'd intterupted.

Tamlin all but growled at you, but feyre was looking over you- evidently confused. She had no idea who you were. You, in your skimpy outfit that Amarantha kept you in (they all dipped low at your back, showing off your scars) and your eyes that were like a night sky.

'Amarantha's looking for her pet and Rhysand is looking for his. Honestly, i'd be a bit more worried if I were you. You know, considering Lucien still has an eye to lose.'

The two parted with your words as you sent Tamlin back to his master, the high lord glaring at you as you went. While Feyre tried to fix herself.

'Rhysand is over there, better not keep him waiting.' That was the first time you met her, having no idea how much trouble she'd be worth. The family that she'd become.

But Rhysand made sure you knew it all. From when the bond snapped in him and he'd stumbled. He ranted and ranted as they climbed out.

If only you were so talkative about Azriel. If only you could talk about him with your brother. But you'd tried not to painfully think about him. Climbing out of the mountain. It was all you could think of.

Maybe he'd have forgotten you? it had been fifty years. He'd probably realised how happy he could be without having to take care of you.

Rhys was allowed out of the mountain, he'd felt the breeze in his hair but you hadn't in fifty long years. You stood there a moment, bathing in the warmth as everyone left, as everyone ran off for their families and courts and the war that was inevitable. Eventually, Rhys offered you his arm. 'Shall we go home?'

He winnowed you there, on the balcony of your home. In a cloud of black smoke, the two of you appeared.

He went first, slipping through the doors slowly- like it could all be taken from them any minute.

You were hesitant, taking a moment to glance at the landscape behind you. It hadn't changed, not at all. The mountains were still there, everyone was still alive. Your home. In the last years it hadn't felt like home, but how could anywhere ever feel so close in your heart.

When you could find your feat again, you managed to slip through the doors. You were suddenly aware of how little clothing you were wearing, just enough to cover your chest and run down your legs. A chill settled down your back, your scars would be on show. What a way to great them all after fifty years.

Mor had her arms around Rhys's shoulders, crying into his shoulder.

Behind them you caught Amren, with something like tears in her eyes. You were just about to tease her before a body barrelled into yours in a blur of red syphons and your feet were lifted from the ground.

'Cassian.'

His arms tightened around you. You shoulder started to dampen with tears, his tears. The last time you'd seen him cry around you was when he'd seen a dog with only three legs. 'I'm keeping you on a leash from now on, stupid idiot.'

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, a smile gracing your lips. 'Is that a promise?'

He held you longer, tighter, not daring to let you go but at least settling you on the ground. He sighed against your head, controlling himself. 'He's missed you, you know,' he said. He was the only one you'd told, about your mate. 'Now that you're back, tell him. He deserves to know.'

Cassian slowly pulled away, holding you at arms length and smiling at you. He kissed your cheeks and then your forehead before parting to Rhysand.

Mor approached you next, slapping you in the arm.

'Ow!'

'Why would you follow him?' she snapped.

You blinked at her before she took you by the arm she'd slapped and embraced you, like a sister would. You dared not looking over her shoulder to find the one who hadn't come to you. Maybe Cass had got it wrong...

Mor pulled away, wiping at her eyes.

Azriel was as beautiful as the day you left him. His hair was the same length, he was the same height. He was just as you left him. It was hard to tell fifty years had passed on him.

And inside of you, tugging in your soul and heart you felt the familiar string of gold throbbing. But you still didn't feel that tug. You'd hoped it would have faded from you after half a year separated. Or at least have snapped for him. But no such relief.

He approached you, slowly. As if he was scared of scaring you away. But you just stood there.

His arms were delicate and soft around you as he brought you into his chest. He still smelled the same, cedar wood and shadows. Shadows that wrapped around you, shielding you from the rest of the room. They caressed you, head to two.

You held onto each other for what could have been another fifty years, but this time, it wasn't so painful.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Although nobody wanted to part after yours and Rhysand's return, you were exhausted. A trip to Rita's could wait another night or two. The only thing you wanted to do was hide in your room.

Strangely, your room looked lived in. As if somebody had moved in since you'd left. A moment of anger replaced grief. Had they brought someone else and given them your room? but then you smelt it, Az.

Lying in bed that night, exhausted, you couldn't find sleep. You closed your eyes and pictured Amarantha. You'd never been afraid of her, you weren't afraid of anything. But you re-played the horrors. Watching servants beat Feyre, watching Amarantha use your brother and on the occasion, even you. How she flaunted. How the most powerful lords were weak.

Under your door, shadows seeped in, rushing across the room to you. You smiled, watching your hand disappear in their darkness.

'Azriel?' you called.

There was shifting on the other side of the door before he slipped in, clicking it shut behind him.

You sat up in bed, shadows moving with you. 'Couldn't sleep?'

He wondered in, looking around your room. 'Sleeping's been... hard.'

You rolled over, opening the blanket and nodding your head. You couldn't think about the bond, not yet. Not while he looked so.... ruined. Beautiful- the most beautiful person in the world, but sad. As he climbed in next to you, you could see the dark circles under his eyes, his shoulders slumped and his wings too.

His eyes scanned over you. You were in a thin and silk night dress that only brushed your knees, but the way he looked at you, mother you could've been naked. 'Fifty years,' his voice sounded barley controlled. 'Fifty years. You followed your brother down for fifty years? Why would you do that?'

You gulp. 'I would've done it for any of you. Except maybe Amren, she'd probably enjoy the peace for fifty years.'

You go to brush your hair back but Azriel seizes your wrist. He was angry. That's why his voice was rough and his chest rising and falling with barley controlled emotions. Could he feel it? your nerves, your lying?

'You left. You should've stayed, y/n, you know Rhysand didn't want you under there with him,' he said. 'For fifty years I haven't been able to sleep through a night thinking about the pain you must have been going through. After I swore to keep you safe, after I promised to catch you every time!'

'You couldn't have stopped me. You didn't promise, Az.'

His grip grew tighter. 'It went without saying.'

You looked around his eyes, seeing the pain and grief there also. Slowly, you brought your other hand up. He flinched as you took his cheek but eventually settled as your thumb ran over his cheekbone. 'I won't leave again, ok? I promise.'

He gulped, letting go of your wrist and looking down. 'I slept here,' he mumbled, but just loud enough to hear you. 'I couldn't sleep in my room. This was the only place I could rest.'

Your heart stuttered. Your hand dropped from his cheek. This man was your mate. Your mate. Your only love, whether or not the cauldron deemed it.

Azriel took your hesitation. 'I-i'm sorry, you probably didn't want to hear that. I've probably ruined your one place of peace-'

'Stay,' you said, before you could think of what you were asking. 'Sleeping wasn't exactly easy under the mountain either. I just trust I won't have to put a wall of cushions between us.' as if you wanted that. As if you haven't thought about his calloused hands all over you.

Azriel smiled and stayed the night.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The third time he almost lost you, broke him...

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

An Education in Malice — Part Six

Pairing: Vanserra!Reader x Azriel

Summary: With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin.

Warnings: mentions and descriptions of wounds, scars, and allusions to torture, canon-typical violence, fighting, killing, death— all the fun stuff really. reader being a lil badass, az being emotionally vulnerable, a turning point in their relationship!!!!

Word Count: 9.8k this was originally going to be like 2-3 diff parts, but i loved reading it all as one, so consider this my lil offering since i disappeared for like 2 weeks <3

Part Five | Series Masterlist | Part Seven

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You always hated the ornate mirror that had stood in your room — its gaudy, gilded and tarnished frame was far too large for your liking.  You hated how much space it took up, how much of yourself you could see as you passed it. 

On most days, the female staring back at you felt like a stranger— someone wearing your face yet existing in a distant world. She moved when you did, blinked when you did, too. But she wasn’t you. And you hated it. So you didn’t often linger on your reflection. 

Except for today. 

Your hair was damp from the bath and a faint smell of sage and patchouli clung to your skin from the residue of your bath soap. 

Your eyes traced the lines of your face, following the tired shadows beneath your eyes and scars that marred the skin of your stomach. Normally, when you stood there with a focused gaze and a troubled spirit, it was because you were examining new wounds, cataloging the fresh marks left behind from nights where your father was particularly angry. All of those wounds were hidden beneath clothing, concealed where no one but you would ever see— carefully, strategically, placed. 

You’d gotten used to the marks, comfortable with them, even. There were many things in your life that weren’t yours. But these— these scarred areas of skin, these were yours. Proof that your body had worked to protect you, to fix and heal itself despite what had been inflicted unto it. And in some strange way, it made you feel less lonely. 

If it was any other day, you wouldn’t have looked any longer than a second, a minute at most. You’d walk past the mirror, change into a dress fit for an audience, and leave. 

Today was different. Today, your eyes were drawn to the intricate tattoo etched just beneath your left breast, wrapping around your rib cage. It was the first time you’d really looked at it, the first time you’d allowed yourself to acknowledge its presence since its creation. 

The tattoo was a delicate masterpiece, a swirling pattern of dark ink that almost resembled Azriel’s shadows perfectly— so perfectly it made you nauseous, made you flinch at the first sighting because it seemed too real.  It was beautiful, haunting, and undeniably meaningful.

It made you feel sick.

You traced the pattern with your fingertips, thinking back to how Azriel’s hand felt in yours, to the warm feeling you felt in your chest. You’d never made a bargain before— not even in Autumn. Perhaps all bargains caused this feeling you now felt, a sense of residue that your body held of him, as if you had crumbs of his being stuck to you. 

A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. 

You turned to see Laney's ears twitch as she registered the sound. Whenever you showered, whenever you were naked and vulnerable at all, really, she always guarded the door heavily, never moving. The knock was so gentle that she didn’t growl; instead, she sniffed under the door, her movements growing excited— happy. You could tell by her posture that the visitor was no threat. Not only that, but the knock was delicate— patient, almost. You knew who it was by that fact alone. 

Scrambling, you hastily pulled on your clothes, trying to regain some semblance of composure as you blinked away the last remaining images of Azriel from your mind. 

The tension in your body eased as you opened your door. 

"There’s my beautiful girl."

A small smile tugged at your lips as you embraced your mother, feeling the warmth of her body fold over you like a comforting cloak. You held her for another moment, savoring the softness of her touch and her heartbeat beneath you, and then you stepped aside to let her in. 

Your eyes flickered to the back of the hallway she’d come from. 

Your mother caught your gaze swiftly. "He’s with some of his men. Drunk. He’ll be busy for the night."

You swallowed, trying to suppress the unease that settled in your stomach. She placed a gentle hand on your arm.

"It’s alright," she said gently, “Too drunk to even function.”

You hated that you knew what she meant, that you and your mother had grown to develop your own language regarding the males in your home—regarding the one that owned you both. Her words meant that Beron had an enjoyable day, one that filled him with enough joy to celebrate— that such celebrations were going to tire him so deeply that he’d fall asleep straight after. No issues for you, no issues for your mother. You nodded slowly.

Your mother stepped closer, her fingers brushing through your still slightly damp hair. "Let me braid this mane of yours," she said softly, her touch light as she affectionately stroked your cheek. You casted a wary glance behind you, towards the darkened hallways, but nodded nonetheless, closing the door behind you with a soft click. 

Laney curled up comfortably on your bed, her relaxed posture easing some of the remaining tension in your shoulders.  The act alone was a sign of her trust, a reminder that she felt safe and saw no threats nearby. If Beron ever caught her on any furniture, she’d be punished. But in this moment, she was calm and content, and you let that calm you too.

And then you were back in front of the mirror again. 

Your mother pulled a small velvet stool in front, gesturing for you to take a spot. The large frame of the mirror seemed to laugh at you and as your mother stood behind you, delicate arms reaching for a hairbrush, you felt like a child again. The mirror seemed to grow even larger, even grander, and you fought to recognize the female that stared at you through it. 

You watched as your mother moved with the same gentle grace she had always possessed, bringing a hairbrush to your damp hair. Your mother was beautiful. She always had been. Even now, with the sadness in her eyes— a trait specific to Vanserras, you were certain—she was one of the most beautiful people you knew. Your thoughts drifted to what she must have been like when she was a bit younger, how she was when Helion first met her. You wanted to know it all, wanted to know your mother as a teenager, wanted to know how she fell in love. 

Her eyes caught yours in the mirror and her movements slowed. The expression on her face softened. 

"Where has that mind drifted off to?" 

You blinked, shrugging slightly. There was a lump in your throat as you responded, "Nothing real."

She frowned, and her eyes danced across your face before she continued brushing your hair. A thoughtful hum left her lips. "You've been gone a lot recently. Done a great job of stressing your poor brother out. Where is it you've been running off to?"

Her voice was soft and kind and just below a whisper—  as if you two were sharing a secret. It was her classic motherly way of interrogating you. The gentleness in her tone made it clear that she didn't mind, no matter the answer. She never did.

A soft laugh escaped you. "I have to visit all of my many admirers."

Her answering laugh was sweet and quiet, a sound so pure it almost felt out of place in this house. You resisted the urge to look back at your closed door, to wait in fear for heavy footsteps. But your mother didn’t seem worried about an intrusion. Instead, she looked at you with a glint in her eyes, a mischievous sparkle that reminded you so much of Eris—right down to the playful eyebrow raise.

"Joke as much as you'd like. We both know you have plenty of those," she teased.

You smiled to yourself.  

"How could you not when you're so beautiful?" she added, her voice filled with a sincerity that made your throat tighten.

You looked at her in the mirror again. Her eyes were so kind. They held the same warmth you’d see in Lucien’s— a warmth that you’d see even in Eris’s when he was at ease, comfortable. Those times were rare now, if not impossible. 

You looked at your own reflection.

You didn’t have kind eyes. You had your father’s eyes. Beron's eyes—hard, angry, simmering with rage. You had his temper, his unforgiving nature. You were every part of him that you hated, and you were reminded of it every day. Reminded of it when you struggled to control your powers, when you failed to harness the very essence of who you were. Reminded of it when you looked in the mirror for too long— when you thought about how you would never be soft like the females males often loved. That your pain didn’t lead you to be kinder, didn’t teach you to be gentle.

Your hand drifted to your heart instinctively, fingers brushing on the fabric just above your breast. You trailed down to the side of your ribs, to where a spiral of ink now adorned your skin. 

Your mother finished the large braid, bringing it around your shoulder. She caught your gaze in the mirror and smiled. "Do you like it?"

She had a freckle above her eyebrow, the same freckle your brothers each had in different places on their faces. Eris had the most freckles out of all of you. They painted the bridge of his nose and his arms the most—

"Honey?" 

You blinked. Your body felt fuzzy as you reached up to touch the braid. "Yeah,” you said, clearing your throat. “Thank you."

Her kind eyes softened at you— softened in a way you didn’t feel worthy for. There was a faint simmering in her eyes, a fire that she still held despite how her life had treated her. It had dimmed over the centuries, lessened to a small flicker. But the flame was still there. You saw it. 

You took a deep breath, maneuvering yourself to turn in the chair and face her. You made room for her to sit next to you, gesturing with a small smile and a lift of your chin. 

"I have to tell you something.”

She sat and frowned slightly, eyes scanning your face. But she said nothing, waiting for you to continue.

"Do you remember when I was little? And you used to love reading me that one poem?"

Her expression softened, and a gentle smile played on her lips as a distant look grew in her eyes. She knew, without you even saying the title, exactly what you were referring to— after countless nights spent curled around you, running her hands through your hair as she repeated the words she’d memorized so long ago, how could she not?

So she watched you, her gaze unwavering, as you began to recite your favorite stanza. "In life's cruel grasp we could not abide, so we made a pact with the Reaper's side."

Her voice joined yours. "And in death's embrace our freedom lies, where we'll find each other beneath somber skies."

You smiled to yourself, looking at her, scanning her face. "I know why you love it so much."

She furrowed her brows, yet even then she looked so patient, like she'd sit there and wait for hours until you were ready to speak again. This was someone who had been made kind by what they had gone through. You almost felt ashamed that you had turned out differently.

Finally, you said, "I found the book. In Helion's library."

A flash of recognition crossed her face, and she softened, her eyes taking on a distant, wistful look. "You did?"

You nodded again, watching her closely as a tender, almost nostalgic smile played on her lips. She tried to compose herself, her eyes growing distant and glazing over. "I've heard he loves to collect stories." She paused, then asked, "What were you doing all the way over there?"

You thought about her question, about answering, about maybe telling her everything. But there was only one thing you could pull yourself to say. "I know," you said softly. "About Helion. I know."

She understood what you were truly saying. A sigh left her lips and an echo of her younger self appeared in her eyes, a female who had fallen hopelessly and madly in love. A version much younger—much more innocent. More hopeful.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered, your voice breaking as she met your gaze. Her face seemed pained, shocked almost, and her eyes filled with confusion. She moved closer to you, grabbing your hands in her own.

"What could you possibly be sorry for?"

It was becoming increasingly difficult to draw a full breath. There was something constricting around your chest. Perhaps it was all of the recent stress, the worry of how much harder things had gotten, the image of a life your mother could have had— this suffocating tie to Azriel that you now had etched into your very flesh. 

"You were loved. And you deserve better,”  Your voice caught in your throat and a tear trickled down your cheek as you shook your head slightly. “And I can't do anything to help—"

“No, no,” She interrupted you, bringing her warm hands to cup your cheeks— pulling your eyes to her kind ones.  "I'm your mother. I'm supposed to help you."

Tears welled in your eyes as she continued. "I should be apologizing to you,” she murmured, “I could be better, stronger. I should apologize that I was selfish and brought you into this world."

"Selfish?" 

How could she ever consider herself selfish? You knew the pain she carried, the weight of responsibility that seemed to crush her at times. You saw it reflected in Eris— a specific pain that came from feeling like you could never do enough. But even with your older brothers, despite their cruelty and callousness, your mother loved them fiercely, passionately. Loved them with every fiber of her being, every part of her that she gave to them. 

"Yes," she replied softly, her touch gentle as she rubbed your cheek, her eyes full of emotion. "Oh, how excited I was to have a girl. You, my sweet, are one of my greatest blessings. My beautiful daughter. So strong, so loyal. I just couldn't imagine a life without you."

You wanted to reassure her, to alleviate her guilt, but words seemed inadequate in the face of such profound love. Instead, you leaned into her touch, covering her hand with yours, and held on tightly.

"One day, things will be different," she said, her voice soft but filled with conviction— enough of it that it eased the anger that bit at your gut. "You can be different. And you won't be like him."

She paused, her eyes locking onto yours with a depth of understanding that made your chest tighten. "You’ll know what love is. And you won’t have to resort to reciting poetry to know how powerful it can be."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The dense canopy of trees above barely let any light through as you hurried along the forest path. Spring along the border was always odd, with dense forests giving way to large rolling hills. The difference in scenery, usually something you welcomed, felt nauseating today. All the sights, the smells, even the sunshine, seemed overwhelming.

You walked faster than usual, eyes fixed ahead, hands clenched at your sides. Azriel’s keen senses had already picked up on the subtle signs—your shallow breaths, the way your shoulders were stiff with tension. 

"Why are you walking through the woods and not even looking at me?"

You stopped as Azriel’s voice rang in your ears. 

You’d come to rely on these meetings with Azriel to exchange information, to strategize, to plan how to give your brother an edge. They’d eased your anxiety slightly, giving you a sense of support that you’d never thought would be found in Azriel of all people. But he was smart, as much as you hated to admit it, and had dedicated time to offering you aid. 

The truth was, you didn't quite trust your self-control right now. For some inexplicable reason, Azriel's scent was intoxicating, flooding your senses and causing your thoughts to swirl in a disorienting mix of attraction and confusion. Despite how hard you tried to fight it, you found yourself looking forward to these encounters. And that was a dangerous reality. 

"I like to stretch my legs," you finally responded, attempting to sound casual. "And maybe I just don't want to face you."

“Is that so? Nervous to stare at me too long?"

You could already picture the hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips— a bit of personality that you’d seen grow over your time together. You rolled your eyes, turning around and facing him with a blank look.

He stepped closer to you, eying you closely. “Worried that you’ll go crazy with desire?”

His smirk deepened, a rare, genuine smile breaking through his usual stoic mask. You bit the inside of your cheek in response.  "Don't flatter yourself,” you scowled. “Maybe I’m being kind and saving you from embarrassing yourself with how badly you’ll want me.”

This was dangerous— it was entirely too playful, too close to the brink of what you assumed friendship felt like. 

“Are you?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. “Being kind?”

Azriel’s hazel eyes bore into yours and your chest tightened at the eye contact. You cleared your throat, turning away and resuming your brisk pace. “Shut up and let's just go.”

Behind you, Azriel chuckled softly, the sound rolling across your senses like an unwelcomed caress, making you shiver involuntarily. 

"Stop laughing," you gritted out, “I’ve never heard a worse sound.”

The chuckle faded and you heard him come to a stop. You turned around, meeting his gaze with a glare. He stood there, arms crossed, a faint smirk still playing on his lips. He seemed amused, at ease, even.

“What?” you snapped, your patience wearing thin.

He nodded towards you. “What’s your problem?”

“You standing there. That’s my problem.”

Azriel raised a brow, uncrossing his arms as he took a few steps forward to stand directly in front of you. He narrowed his eyes, studying you intently. “You’re bitchier than usual.”

“Careful,” you gritted out, staring at him with a heavy, burning gaze. 

“I’m here helping you,” he said evenly, his voice holding a hint of reproach. “You can drop the attitude.”

"You’re only helping me because you want to get rid of me and, sadly, you can’t kill me," you shot back, bitterness lacing your words.

Azriel's jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with something that almost seemed to resemble something like anger— like hurt. 

"I believe I've made it clear that your death is something I've purposely avoided."

Something about the way he was staring at you made you shiver. You fought the urge to run your hands over the area where your skin was now marked with the tattoo of a bargain. You met his gaze, steadying yourself. "Why didn't you tell me that Rhys presented my father with a proposition? That he requested an audience with him?"

Azriel blinked. "I wasn't aware that Rhysand had already done so."

"But you knew?" 

"Yes," he replied,  "I did."

"What good is this stupid bargain of ours if you don't even uphold it?" 

Azriel's expression hardened and he leaned down further. The scent of him filled your nostrils and you sucked in a tight breath, feeling your chest constrict with the motion. "I take my bargains very seriously. Our deal was that I would help you, that you would get what you wanted. Not that I would tell you everything."

Your nostrils flared.

"Do you realize how much danger Rhysand has put us in? Put me in?" Your voice trembled with barely restrained anger. "Beron is upset that Rhysand thinks of him as someone so conforming. He's convinced he has a traitor in his ranks. And if you haven’t noticed, Shadowsinger, he does!" 

You pointed to yourself and Azriel’s face seemed to darken with understanding. 

"Y/n—" he started, but he stopped abruptly, his gaze shooting to the trees beyond you.

Annoyance flared within you. "What?" you snapped, but he ignored you, his focus elsewhere.

"Can you just finish whatever the hell—"

Azriel moved with lightning speed, grabbing you and pushing you against a tree. His hand flew to your mouth, covering it as he brought his other hand to his face, a finger on own lips in a gesture of silence. Your eyes widened, watching as a muscle feathered in his cheek, his wings flaring slightly, shadows skittering around him.

Then you heard it too—a familiar laugh. 

"I know you're here, Shadowsinger. I can smell the bastard on you," Renard's voice echoed through the trees, taunting and cruel.

Desperation clawed at you. In a surge of panic, you bit down hard on Azriel's hand. He pulled back with a sharp intake of breath and you gave him one last look before you winnowed away. You could've sworn you saw a flicker of hurt, a sense of betrayal in the whites of his eyes. 

And then he was gone from your view. 

You didn’t get far, appearing in another thicket of trees within the same forest. Breathing heavily, you leaned against a sturdy oak.

Why hadn’t you winnowed farther? Straight to Autumn?

A tug in your chest nagged at you.

Faintly, the sounds of a struggle reached your ear—grunts and the clash of metal. You clenched your fists, chastising yourself. Do not go back, you thought. It's dangerous. You're putting yourself at risk—you and Eris, you and your mother. If they find you, if they manage to tell your father, you're dead. He'll kill you.

Azriel doesn’t matter, you tried to convince yourself. He can handle himself. And if not—

“Damnit.”

You made the decision before you could second-guess yourself, winnowing back immediately to where you had left him.

Disorientation clouded your vision the moment you landed. You blinked rapidly, taking in the chaotic scene before you. Azriel was engaged in a flurry of combat with three men— soldiers adorning the colors of your court. His gaze flicked to you for a split second, and his face softened with a brief, almost imperceptible relief.

You gave him what felt like a smile—an acknowledgment, a reassurance—before the reality of the situation snapped you back. Countless men surrounded you both, their eyes glinting with malice, with something that felt awfully like hunger. 

You had no weapon, but Eris had taught you ways to deflect attacks. 

One of the men lunged, and you dodged, feeling the blade cut through the air dangerously close to your side. With a swift kick, you sent him stumbling backward, then followed up with a sharp jab to his throat. He gasped, clutching at his neck, and you swiftly disarmed him.

Steel clashed against steel as you parried another strike, your movements agile and precise. A second attacker closed in, and you deflected his blade before stepping inside his guard, driving your elbow into his face. Blood sprayed as he staggered back, dazed. With a decisive motion, you brought his own weapon down through him, a sickening squelch filling your ears as he dropped to the ground.

Azriel was a blur beside you, his movements so swift and deadly it was almost poetic.

You managed to disarm another man, twisting his wrist until he dropped his weapon with a cry of pain. You kicked the sword away and followed up with a decisive strike to his chest, sending him sprawling to the ground. Your weapon found its way clean through his throat next.

Breathing heavily, you scanned the clearing, your eyes darting from one enemy to the next. There were countless bodies now, sprawled across the ground like fallen leaves— but none of their faces matched the one in your mind. You surveyed your surroundings once more. 

"Looking for me, princess?" The voice cut through the air, raspy and filled with disdain.

You spun around as Renard emerged from the trees, stalking closer with predatory grace, like an animal preparing for a kill. "Because I was looking for you."

He looked worse than the last time you’d seen him, barely alive, supporting swollen eyes and blackened marks around his neck. Beron had indeed tortured him, and the sight filled you with a grim satisfaction.

"Must be hard looking for anything with those eyes," you retorted, a grin on your lips.

"You did this to me, you traitorous whore," Renard spat, his face contorted with anger. He made a move towards you, eyes narrowing as he caught sight of the flames flickering against your hands, unsteady.

"Real cute," he mocked. You bit back the frustration boiling in your gut, gritting your teeth as you focused on the simmering underneath your skin. 

“Come closer,” you sneered, “Let’s see how cute they feel on your burning flesh.”

“You always had such a foul mouth on you. It’s like you’re begging to be killed.”

Without hesitation, Renard lunged at you with a speed fueled by rage and desperation. You both collided in a flurry of strikes and parries, the sound of clashing metal ringing through the clearing. The flames in your hands flickered erratically as you tried to maintain focus amid the chaos.

You had always observed your father's men so you could be one step ahead— just in case. Now, facing Renard, you could sense his frustration with every move you countered, every strike you parried.

"You think you can match me, girl?" His voice dripped with contempt as he circled you, "I'll make your father's punishments seem gentle compared to what I have in mind."

"You talk too much," you managed to rasp out between clenched teeth. 

Renard's face twisted into a cruel smile as he pressed on, his strikes growing more aggressive. "I wonder what Beron will do with your body," he taunted, "If your mother will even be allowed to mourn you."

The thought hit you like a physical blow, momentarily freezing your movements. In that moment of hesitation, Renard seized the advantage. With a swift and brutal maneuver, he knocked your weapon from your grasp and delivered a fierce blow that sent you sprawling to the ground. Before you could react, he was upon you, gripping your hair and wrenching your arms behind your back, a hold tightening around your throat.

Panic surged through you as you tried desperately to summon your fire, but it wouldn't respond. You tightened your jaw, focusing every ounce of concentration to call forth that spark of heat, cursing the world—the training that was never enough, your father's prevention of you perfecting the skill.

Renard's breath was hot against your ear as you writhed beneath him. He gripped your chin roughly, forcing you to watch as Azriel fought against overwhelming odds. Men surrounded him, their blows raining down on him relentlessly.

"Is this how he had you?" Renard's voice dripped with venom. "From behind?"

You closed your eyes, summoning images of Eris, your mother, Lucien— each face a steadying breath in your mind. When you opened your eyes, your gaze landed on Azriel, surrounded by a sapphire aura that blurred with his swift movements. 

With a surge of willpower, you summoned every ounce of strength, every flicker of fire you could muster. Flames erupted from your hands with a hot burst of energy, startling Renard and giving you a split-second window of opportunity.

You turned around and seized him, your grip iron against his throat as you backed him into a nearby tree. With cold intensity, you stared into Renard's eyes, the flames casting flickering shadows across his face. 

"Don't worry,” you growled, “I won't be gentle."

Within seconds, flames engulfed Renard's throat and face, the heat and light blinding in their intensity. He screamed in agony, thrashing under your grasp, but you held on, firmer and harder each time he flailed.

As the flames dwindled, leaving behind only smoldering ruins, you staggered back, hands trembling and covered in ash and the stench of burnt flesh. But before you could dwell on the burnt remains of Renard that lay at your feet, you spun around to focus on Azriel, still fighting off multiple men, surrounded by the shimmering sapphire light of his power.

Two men stood directly in front of him, while another pair prepared to strike from behind. You glanced down at your hands and screwed your eyes shut for a fleeting moment. When you opened them again, the fire was there—steady and trained. With a fierce determination, you summoned the flames into existence, shaping them swiftly into whips of fire that crackled and danced in the air.

You brought your hands out towards the two men, feeling the fire respond to your command, crackling and whispering with power as it morphed itself at your will. The flames transformed into fiery whips, extending from your outstretched arms like extensions of your fury, connecting with the two bodies threatening Azriel.

The fiery tendrils snaked around their necks like vengeful serpents, searing flesh and scorching hands as the men futilely tried to break free. With agonized screams, they collapsed to the ground. The flames dwindled down to mere embers. When you looked up, Azriel met your gaze, his face bloodied and his leathers splattered with crimson. Shadows writhed around him, dancing on the forest floor towards your feet.

He walked towards you, his eyes shifting to the fallen bodies at your feet. He took in the sight for a moment, gaze focusing on the marred flesh across their throats. Then he blinked and brought his focus to you. "Where's Renard?"

You glanced over to the disfigured body and pile of ash near a tree. Azriel followed your gaze and he blinked once more, his eyes widening as he took in the sight. His lips parted as if to speak, but before he could utter a word, his attention abruptly shifted.

He pulled your body into him, his wing extending protectively in front of you right as a sudden ripping sound tore through the air. You were pushed away from him just in time to witness a thick weapon—a sharp, wide blade welded to a spear—pierce through the membrane of his wing. 

He cried out in agony, falling forward slightly, enough for you to catch the gaze of a lone soldier peering over the apex of his wing. You grabbed a nearby weapon and hurled it with all your might. The blade found its mark, burying itself in the soldier's neck. He collapsed instantly, motionless on the forest floor.

Azriel let out a cry of pain as he ripped the weapon out from his wing, causing it to twitch involuntarily. "C'mon, we need to go," you urged, moving closer to him. With great effort, he tried to adjust himself as you lifted his arm over your shoulder, feeling his weight and warmth press into you.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The journey back to the cabin was a blur of frantic winnowing and determined dragging through the dense forest. Your muscles ached as Azriel’s weight dragged heavily against you, stumbling with every move as the pain in his body grew. He groaned in pain as you lowered him onto the couch, the sound raw and unsettling in the quiet home.

Kneeling beside him, you moved closer to get a better look at the injury on his wing, but Azriel scrambled away from your touch and further into the couch. Your gaze settled on his face— eyes screwed shut, jaw clenched so tightly that you could see the strain in every muscle. His siphons glowed with an intense, flickering light and his shadows seemed to respond to his distress, curling protectively around him. For a moment, you felt a pang of envy. Even in his delirium, he had something to shield him from the world. 

The sight of him like this—so vulnerable, so raw—made your stomach churn. His breathing was ragged, each exhale accompanied by a soft whimper that he seemed to be fighting to suppress. Sweat matted his hair to his forehead, and every so often, he would twitch. 

You always thought that seeing Azriel suffer would make you feel good, make you feel some sort of vindication. Often, you used to imagine it would be you bringing him to his knees in pain, him and the rest of Prythian—making them suffer as you and your family had for centuries. But now, as you watched him writhing in pain on the couch, your heart hurt in a way you had only ever felt for your family—and even worse. You felt like you were in pain too.

But you had no wounds comparable to Azriel. 

A knot tightened in your chest and an unexpected urge surged through you—to comfort him, to wipe the sweat-dampened hair away from his forehead, to ease his torment. You blinked the thought away— nauseating and entirely too heavy for you to acknowledge further. You brought your attention back to his wing.

The membrane was pierced clean through by the weapon, a gaping wound from which blood and darkened poison gushed. The sight made you nauseous and you pushed away the haunting images of your father's face, the sound of leather striking flesh, and the memory of Eris's scarred back.

"I need to burn it out.”

Azriel's eyes shot open. "No, no," he pleaded weakly, his voice strained heavily. "Please."

Your hands hovered uncertainly above him. The first time you’d felt this poison in your wounds, it had felt like your body was eating itself from the inside out. You’d gotten used to the pain after a while, but Azriel was new to it— and Illyrian wings were incredibly sensitive from what you’d learned. He was in blinding pain.

"It's the only way to stop it from spreading," you insisted. "It'll only get worse if I don’t. You won’t be able to heal otherwise."

"That's—that's not how faebane works," he stammered, shaking his head vehemently. 

You gritted your teeth, letting out an exasperated breath as he rambled. "Because it's not faebane–”

Something seemed to snap. Azriel flinched, his eyes snapping to you with a wild intensity. His pupils were blown wide with fear, like a trapped animal. "You set me up."

Your stomach dropped.

"What?" 

You pulled your hand away, feeling an unfamiliar sting of offense wrapping itself around your chest. Azriel’s jaw clenched and his gaze darkened into a dangerous, skeptical narrow. 

"You're not hurt," he continued. "Was this some setup?"

Azriel's shadows flickered and writhed around him, siphons glaring with an iridescent light. He clutched at his injured wing, muttering through gritted teeth, "I knew it. You— you Vanserras."

He spat your family's name with such venom that for a fleeting second you questioned whether poison had lined his mouth rather than the wound on his wing. 

You were a fool. Azriel’s pain shouldn’t have bothered you so deeply. You should have never went back to help him. The hurt boiling under your skin made you feel weak, made you feel small.

"I will never be trusted by you, will I?" you asked, the words weak on your tongue. You looked at him and fought to push that stupid empathy away. Azriel said nothing as he grimaced further in pain. You let out a humorless laugh.

 "Right,” you said, “Deal with it yourself then. Stay here and die for all I care.”

You turned to leave, but his hand shot out and grabbed yours. The grip was firm, but not hard enough to hurt you. He adjusted his fingers around yours. When you looked down, Azriel’s pleading gaze met yours, sweat clinging to his hair as he looked up at you through darkened lashes. "No, no, I'm sorry," he murmured, "Please."

You hesitated. 

A surge of conflicting emotions—anger, hurt, and an unsettling tenderness you didn't want to acknowledge—washed over you.

Pull away. Leave him.  

And then you swallowed down the hatred, the cruelty that had risen, and knelt back down in front of him. He let out a relieved sigh. Your eyes fell to his hands, taking in the scarred tissue covering his skin— deep marks etched by fire and flame. 

"Close your eyes and pretend I’m Morrigan.”

His eyes flickered to you. "What?"

“Azriel,” You took a deep breath, training your eyes on him. "I need you to trust me. And since you don’t—close your eyes and pretend that I’m not me."

Your voice was gentler than you’d ever heard it, softer than you ever thought yourself capable of.  Azriel swallowed hard, then gave a small nod. His eyes shuttered closed.

You gently placed your palm on his injured wing, feeling the delicate membrane beneath your touch. Your other fingers trembled slightly as you summoned Eris' voice into your mind, calling upon that familiar heat and flicker as the flame began to rise through your hands. You struggled to keep it steady, each breath becoming more labored as you bit back your frustration.

Slowly, soft tendrils of shadows began weaving around your hand– a soft, cooling touch that made you blink. They drifted over you, calming the flickering flame to a steady warmth.  You took a deep breath and cautiously brought your fingers to the wound.

As the fire met his skin, Azriel tensed, a strangled sound escaping his throat. You could feel the poison reacting to the heat, the black substance dissipating under your fingertips.

"I can do this," you murmured, more for your own benefit than his. "It’ll be alright."

You weren’t sure if he could hear you, but you kept talking, hoping that your voice might anchor him to something other than his pain. It always helped you when Eris told you it would be alright, when he talked to you as he tended to your wounds, gently, tenderly, lovingly. 

You focused solely on the task at hand, blocking out the rest of your thoughts and the tightness in your chest. Finally, when you felt the last remnants of poison retreat, you withdrew your hand, the flames extinguishing with a final flicker.

Azriel’s breathing, though still ragged, had eased from the strained gasps earlier. Encouraged by this small sign, you withdrew your hand, a quiet smile of satisfaction tugging at your lips.

Looking down at Azriel, who had slipped into unconsciousness, you took a deep breath. "Thank you," you whispered to the shadows that continued to hover around you. For a moment, you felt silly for speaking to something so intangible— to things that probably didn’t even understand. Yet, as if in response, they slithered back toward Azriel, settling near the crook of his neck.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Azriel’s eyelids felt heavy as he finally came to, his surroundings blurry and unfamiliar. 

It took him a few moments to orient himself, to remember where he was. He noticed three things first: it was nighttime, and a gentle moonlight bathed the space he was in; he was covered in a thin orange blanket, the fabric soft and worn, smelling faintly of pine and something sweet; and he was no longer in the agonizing pain he had succumbed to earlier.

Azriel shifted slightly, grimacing as a dull ache radiated from his wing. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to sit up, the blanket sliding off his shoulders. He glanced at his wing, noting the faint hole where the gaping wound had been. He extended it in a light stretch, feeling a slight sting, but it was bearable. Healable. His mind replayed the events leading up to this moment, your voice echoing in his thoughts—soft, concerned, saying his name. 

Pretend I’m Morrigan.

He had nodded, closed his eyes— but he hadn’t pretended. It was you kneeling beside him, not Mor.

Azriel's gaze wandered around the room. His shadows had left their original position, perched and curled around the apex of his wings, and now seemed to be leading him across the small living area. He frowned, his boots heavy against the aged floors as he followed them past the wooden table— he pushed away memories of you bent over the furniture, shaking his head as he approached a small bookshelf tucked in the corner. 

The shelves were adorned with an assortment of well-loved books, spines worn from what Azriel could only assume were countless readings. His shadows hovered near the middle shelf, where something caught his eye—a slight indentation in the wood, partially concealed by the darkness they casted.

As he drew closer, the shadows dissipated, revealing a carving etched into the wood—

L.V., Y/N. V. 

Azriel blinked, brows furrowing as he inspected the letters further. He traced the letters with his fingers, feeling the rough wood against his scarred, ridged skin. 

You had mentioned offhandedly that you kept in contact with Lucien, that you visited the Spring Court. But he hadn’t given the statement any further thought.

He glanced around the room. 

The space seemed to come alive around him, details he had previously overlooked now asserting their presence. He had never paid proper attention to the home, never questioned why it seemed to be so oddly clean, why you favored it so much. His fingers hovered over the initials once more.

Y/N. V. 

Glancing down at his shadows, they stilled momentarily before slithering across the floor, guiding his gaze towards the doorway. There, through the windowpane, he caught sight of you standing a short distance away from the house, beneath the starlit sky.

Azriel approached the door with cautious steps, ensuring every footfall was quiet– undetected. He reached out, his shadows wrapping around the door handle to muffle any noise it might make. With a gentle push, he swung the door open just wide enough to slip through, his shadows ensuring the hinges made no sound, either. Leaning against the sturdy frame, he allowed the darkness to envelop him further, becoming one with its comforting embrace as he observed you in the distance.

From this vantage point, he watched you, bathed in the soft light that painted the sky with a silvery hue. A gentle breeze stirred, ruffling a few strands of your hair and carrying your faint, familiar scent to him. Sweet with a hint of spice, a smell that he’d grown used to recently. There's an emotion woven into it that he can’t decipher, and for a brief moment, it frustrated him. You seemed at odds. Peaceful, in this night air, but stiff. 

There was a tightening in his chest. 

Seeing you now, basking in the moonlight as the cold air licked at him, Azriel wondered if you were the same Y/N he had so violently hated. Could someone so cruel enjoy the light of the moon? Did his other enemies also watch the stars?

“How long are you going to stand there and stare at me?”

Azriel stiffened and a heat rose to his cheeks. He looked down at his shadows in accusation. Maybe they had betrayed him, not covered his approach adequately. He glanced back up, meeting your gaze as you looked over your shoulder, raising an eyebrow.

Azriel waited for it— the expected glare, the indifference, or even a cruel smile. Something foreign, something that aligned with the adversarial image he held of you. But it didn't come. There was no hostility, no cruelty, no snark. Only a softness reminiscent of one that he had seen those in his family hold many times before. It caught him off guard.

You snickered softly. "I can feel your stare burning a hole into my dress."

Azriel swallowed and cleared his throat, willing himself to regain composure as he walked towards you. You turned to face him, arms crossed, eyes flicking to his wing.

"You don't look like death anymore," you remarked, a faint hint of amusement in your tone.

Azriel offered a wry smile. "I suppose I have you to thank for that." He paused, searching for the right words. He had too many questions in his mind— too many thoughts floating around, headless, bodiless. 

— You had called him by his name. You had been here with Lucien. You left and you came back. He shielded you with his wing. You healed him. You stayed. You watched the stars. 

Crickets chirped, and a soft breeze rustled the leaves overhead. Azriel's mind wandered to the initials carved into the wood.

"This was your home," he finally said, his voice quiet. "With Lucien."

Your head snapped towards him, eyes widened and lips parting in surprise. "What?"

Azriel simply looked at you, taking in the contours of your face, the way the moonlight painted soft shadows on your features. You had always been attractive, dangerously, irritatingly so. But you looked softer in this light. Someone more approachable, more real—someone he could dare to care for.

Someone he cared for enough to protect.

"Am I right?" he asked again, his voice steady.

You glanced back at the modest house. With a small sigh, you met his gaze briefly before your eyes looked down, unfocused. 

“It was Lucien’s.”

Azriel remained quiet, steading his breath as your eyes met his again. The normal simmering rage within them was replaced now with a distant sadness. 

"After Lucien fled Autumn, Tamlin had this made for him," you continued, gesturing subtly towards the house. "A place close enough to the border that Eris could sneak me to. A place for me to see Lucien, to stay with him when it was possible."

Azriel’s chest tightened further. This wasn't a Spring Court citizens home— it was yours. He thought back to the first time he’d found you here, how bitter you had seemed when you talked of its emptiness. To you, Feyre had taken away the only place you had to escape— when Lucien was forced to flee from another court, when Hybern took advantage of a weakened Spring.

"Why risk sneaking away constantly? Why not seek refuge like Lucien did?" 

Your face seemed to harden briefly at his question, a flicker of defensiveness crossing your features. "I could have," you replied, your tone tinged with a hint of regret as you offered a shrug. "Lucien begged me to."

"Yet you stayed. In Autumn.”

You tilted your chin to look at him properly, meeting his eyes with an intense, burrowing gaze. 

“Would you leave your family? Your court?" 

"My court is not known for its cruelty." 

The words slipped out almost automatically, like a response that had been trained in your presence. He cursed himself inwardly. Something flashed in your eyes and your jaw twitched imperceptibly.  For a brief moment, he braced himself for the anticipated flash of anger, the potential for conflict that could leave him stranded in this spot he now believed himself tethered to. 

But you only raised a brow. 

"Isn't it, though?" you retorted with a slight snicker.  "The all-powerful and brutal Rhysand, feared High Lord of the Night Court."

Azriel bit back the discomfort at the sound of Rhysands name, at the way you disregarded his title so flippantly. He took a deep inhale, and you recognized the action as the response that it was. 

"Autumn is my home.”

The freckles on your face seemed more visible in the moonlight. All the times he'd been with you, the weeks spent meeting you, fucking you, he couldn't remember a proper conversation, face to face, that had lasted this long without a cruel, vile insult. He found it hard to picture you in Autumn anymore, to see you alongside your other brothers, alongside Beron. The image of you among the autumn leaves, your fire-red hair blending with the fiery landscape, felt almost surreal now.

“It was Lucien's too."

“No.” You shook your head gently, a rueful smile touching your lips. “Lucien spent most of his life in other courts. He was always too kind for us. Him and his large heart were destined to leave. A bleeding heart in Autumn gets you nothing but a loss of blood."

You looked like Lucien now, more so than Azriel had seen before. The snark of Eris was still there, the same guarded, calculated movements— even the still, low cadence of your voice, like a practiced talent. Seemingly emotionless despite the topic of conversation.

Seemingly.

Gods, he hated how much you looked like Lucien now.

Because Lucien was fair. Just. Lucien had every reason, as Azriel was beginning to see like you had, to hate him. He'd gone after his mate, had rushed to prove himself in a battle to the death, hadn’t thought about Lucien as a life, as a person, beyond an adversary standing in front of a prize he wanted—that was what Elain had been. A prize. Something he wanted to deserve. Something to prove he was good.

But Lucien was kind. Lucien was diplomatic, good with people. Lucien had won Elain over with his patience, with that good heart you spoke of.

Azriel studied you, wondering how much of Lucien’s qualities you had in you that he had refused to acknowledge. That heart—it was there, beneath the layers of bitterness and guardedness. He had seen glimpses of it tonight, in the way you tended to his wounds, in the way your voice softened despite the hatred you held so deeply, so fiercely. 

He found himself wondering, not for the first time, what you could have been had you left with Lucien.

Azriel cleared his throat. “So you stayed.”

You held his gaze for a moment. He wondered if you were deciding whether to answer, waited anxiously to see whether this openness of yours would vanish. 

"I couldn't leave my mother. I couldn't leave Eris."

Azriel opened his mouth— to say what, he wasn’t sure. But you beat him to it.

"And besides that," you added, your tone shifting slightly, "I fit. You're the one who's talked about my cruelty. I belong in Autumn."

A familiar hardness began returning to your expression. He could see it building, a wall of cold resolve. Your arms tightened around yourself, nails digging into your biceps. You were cruel—this was a fact he knew well. Cruel, calculated, and dangerous for him. Yet, despite all this, an inexplicable urge to apologize welled up within him. 

He had always known getting involved with you was a bad idea. He had rationalized it as a way to fulfill his urges, telling himself that fucking you was the path of least resistance compared to killing you. One option provided a release, the other would only escalate into more chaos. But now, as he stood here, the realization hit him: perhaps it was more dangerous than he had thought. Perhaps he had been dipping into something more addictive than he realized, and now he couldn’t think straight.

Why had he protected you with his wing?

You glanced back at the house, your gaze softening, body relaxing. "I don't think Lucien ever truly got over that," you whispered, almost to yourself. "The hurt that came from his belief that I had chosen my cruel brother over my kind one."

It felt like an admission not meant for Azriel, like you hadn’t realized you’d confessed it out loud. You blinked and the flicker of vulnerability he had seen was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the guarded expression he had come to know.

"But that's not the truth,” Azriel said.

You met his gaze again. Years of sacrifice and loyalty that bound you to a life you never chose. A curved smile touched your lips, a mask slipping back into place— so easily, so swiftly, it almost made him sick. 

"People believe the stories that make the most sense to them. I'd say you're more than familiar with that habit, Shadowsinger."

Azriel's brows furrowed as he straightened, instinctively pulling his wings closer. A small ache radiated from his injured wing, and his mind drifted back to the wound. His shadows coiled protectively around him. Through their whisperings he felt an inexplicable urge to ask, "How did you know it wasn't faebane?"

You looked at him, your expression unreadable. With a nonchalant shrug, you replied, "Lucky guess."

He shook his head. "Do not lie to me."

“I don’t take orders from you.” Your jaw tightened, a flicker of defiance danced in your eyes. "And does it matter? You're healed. You’re welcome. Move on.”

"It matters," he insisted, his voice firm. "How did you know it wasn't faebane? That you needed to burn it out?"

You sighed in irritation. "You're supposed to be smart. Why do you think I knew?"

Azriel's heart pounded. He did know. Deep down, he knew the answer, but he needed to hear it from you. "How did you know?" he pressed.

You looked away, a dry laugh escaping your lips. Shaking your head, you said, "Faebane became useless to my father when an antidote was created for it."

Azriel's brows furrowed further, a sick feeling churning in his stomach. His fists curled at his sides as he asked, "What does that mean?"

A bitter smile twisted your lips as you met his gaze again. "He needed something else to make his punishments effective. So he created a new type of poison, similar to faebane. You can burn it out, which he loves. It's like a fun game for him—inflict the wound, heal it with even more pain, just to do it all over again."

Azriel's shadows seemed to still, softening in their movements. He fought the urge to keep them close, feeling them drift away towards the night air, towards you.

He scanned you with a burning gaze. He’d never noticed any scarring before, but then again, he'd only ever seen you from the back, your dress hitched up to your waist as he rutted into you from behind.  A tightness in his chest made him feel sick.

"I'm sorry," Azriel whispered before he even realized what he was saying, the honesty in his voice surprising even himself. Azriel didn’t apologize. He never did. Even when he should’ve.

You let out a wicked, cold snicker. "Don't go soft on me, Shadowsinger. We both know you're not really sorry. Just like your brute brother wasn't sorry when he figured out the same thing about Eris."

He shivered at the tone of your voice— a bite stronger than the night air that surrounded you both. His fists tightened at his sides as an image of Cassian came into his mind. He felt a rush of two things: blinding rage and blistering guilt. You had no right to call Cass a brute— Cass was a good brother, a loyal brother. And he and Azriel had talked about Eris, had talked about your brother, how little they cared about his punishments. The guilt bubbled up faster than the anger did, swallowing the rage entirely. 

The nighttime air felt suffocating now, pressing against his skin. As if you sensed it too, a cough escaped your lips, breaking the silence that had settled between you as Azriel observed you further. 

"That's enough sweet talk for me. I'll be leaving now," you declared, making a move to step away. Azriel intercepted your path, stepping in front of you with a determined stance.

You shot him a pointed glare. "I can just winnow away. You are aware of this, yes?"

Azriel ignored you, his gaze fixed on you as he searched your face for the answer to a question he didn’t know how to ask. 

"You left me earlier," he said.

You rolled your eyes, an incredulous scoff leaving your curved lips. “Gods, what is this, an exit interrogation? I just saved your ass and—”

He cut you off. “Earlier. When Renard ambushed us. You left.”

"Yes, Azriel, I did," you replied evenly.

The sound of his name seemed to cause a ripple, almost imperceptible, through the shadows around him. He flinched slightly and his stomach twisted into a small, tight knot. Azriel. 

Azriel's eyes darted between yours. “And then you came back.”

He could sense your growing annoyance, could see the simmering flame in your darkened eyes, the tightening of your hands.

"Are we summarizing the events of tonight?" 

He ignored you. “Why?”

"I'm not doing this with you," you shot back, frustration lacing your words as you attempted to push past him. But Azriel moved with a swiftness that caused a small sound of surprise to leave your lips. His strong grip closed around your arm, halting your movements and pulling you back into him.

Now, you were standing close, barely an inch separating your bodies. He could feel the heat of your body radiating against his and the faintest hint of a question lingered in his gaze. His shadows wrapped around your arm.

“Why?”

Your eyes locked with his and you sucked in a breath. "Because you're no use to me if you're dead.”

Azriel's thoughts raced. He hadn't meant those words when he said them, either. 

His shadows whispered things he couldn't quite focus on, their murmurs blending into the background as all he saw was you—so close to him. Someone who could have left him for dead. If Renard's men hadn't taken him so off guard, the poison would have. But you helped him, even after he insulted you, accused you of setting him up.

You looked like Lucien. You looked like Lady Autumn. You looked like Eris. But for the first time, you didn't look like someone he hated. 

"You are not Beron," Azriel said, his voice rough like gravel. He watched as your brows furrowed, your lips falling into a slight frown. "I should never have compared you to him. You are not your father.”

He could see the conflict in your eyes, darting across his face as you began to fall lax in his touch.

"And you're not your brother either," he added quietly.

The words felt like a confession from his lips, as if he was saying something besides the actual words he uttered. 

You blinked, staring at him as you pulled away slightly. Confusion flickered in his expression, his hand hovering where you had been in his hold. You took another step back.

"I am not my father," you affirmed, your voice steady. "I'm loyal. And I'm smart. And—" Your voice faltered. "And I get those things from Eris.”

Azriel stiffened, feeling his shadows tighten around him involuntarily as he watched you. He saw the softness fade from your face, replaced by a steely determination that caused a pang in his chest. You shook your head slightly, swallowed hard, and locked eyes with him.

"I am exactly like my brother. It's one of the things I'm most proud of.”

Before Azriel could respond, before he could even make a move toward you, you turned on your heel and were gone. The night swallowed you up, leaving him standing alone amidst the whispering shadows, grappling with the sickening vulnerability that washed over him like a wave. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

IM BACK BABIES AND IM WRITIN LIKE ITS A FULL TIME JOB

ill make parts shorter i swear (actually....will i???) but alas.... azzie baby has been hit in the face with the beginning of his FEELINGS!!!!

also, in case you wanna SEE our angsty hate-love birds, the super talented @micahssketchbook has sketched them not ONCE, but twice!!

The scene in part three where Azriel has reader in a chokehold and she pulls one on his ass by taking Truth-Teller

and what theyre about to be like in future parts with Az caressing readers face!!

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @panther-girl-124 @bubybubsters

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @vansaddy

An Education in Malice — Part Five

Pairing: Vanserra!Reader x Azriel

Summary: With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin.

Warnings: lots of bickering, some IC drama, underlying sexual tension, threats, forced proximity trope, brief mentions of abuse, the sickening sense of being vulnerable and being perceived, helion not being a snitch

Word Count: 8.9k

←Part Four | Series Masterlist | Part Six

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Azriel was many things.

It could take him years to list all of the attributes he held— characteristics that spanned between inherently good and inherently bad. Centuries of living had led him to creating so many different versions of himself, some more kind than others, some more wise. But none of them were weak. 

Since the day he’d been freed from that basement, hands charred and shaky, a newfound anger burning in his chest, Azriel spent every minute ensuring he wasn’t weak.

Yet, your voice persisted in his mind. 

You are weak. 

It wasn’t physical strength you were referring to. Which, perhaps, made the statement even worse. Because deep down Azriel was troubled by the fact that you maybe were right. Maybe he was weak. Somehow, someway, you had gotten under his skin— buried yourself somewhere deep and hidden. As much as he tried, he couldn't dig you out, couldn't stop your voice from echoing tirelessly in his mind.

A slave to your anger.

Azriel’s fists slammed into the training dummy. 

To your impulses.

He threw another punch.

to your High Lord.

A biting feeling nagged at his battered knuckles, at the ridged scars that marred them. 

You have always been weak.

Azriel let out a curse as a streak of pain painted his arm. 

This was an unusual form of training for him, the bare hands and hand-to-hand combat. Usually, he practiced with a sword, with his weapons, and it was often sparring with Cassian. But Azriel needed something more today— needed to feel the pain in his own hands, needed something to pull him back into his body, to tie him down from floating away in his thoughts that were plagued by you. 

His wings flared, shadows whipping around him in a frenzied dance as he remembered the look on your face, the fire in your eyes. He replayed it in his mind over and over, focused on the hurt he had sworn he glimpsed there, a flash of vulnerability that you quickly masked with your anger. He couldn't shake the image, couldn't forget the rawness of your voice as you hurled those words at him. He’d begun to think he imagined it, that he’d somehow convinced himself that you’d shown some semblance of care. 

Weak. 

His self control was weak. Maybe this he could admit. He’d been working on it these past two years, working on how to control his temper, on how to be more approachable to those who hadn’t known him for centuries prior. A part of him had done it instinctively around Elain, scared to spook her like a terrified fawn in a forest. And then he began working on it for himself– to prove, in some sense, that he was still capable of being someone perhaps more deserving of a mate. 

It wasn’t going all too successfully, but he was working on it. At least, he was trying to. But with you, Azriel had no control. There were only three emotions he felt with you, only three reactions that his mind registered: fight, flee, or fuck. It had become too difficult to separate them—

Azriel.

The voice echoed in his mind. He skillfully pushed it away. There was an emotion deep in his chest that didn’t belong to that group of three, one that burned hot, tasted vile and sour. He felt it whenever he thought of you. 

He threw another punch. 

Azriel. 

His name was spoken with a tone much deeper this time, much more firm. It shot him back into a prior memory, into one of him staring into angry violet eyes with an icy defiance. Once again, he pushed away the force in his mind. The space that the call had occupied was quickly replaced by you. 

Rhysand’s face was etched into his memory too, a disappointed and angry look of a newly made father. Azriel didn’t want to see it again, didn't want to bother pretending he felt sorry. 

So he struck again. And again.

“Azriel.”

The voice was louder.

This time, it wasn’t just in his mind. It was real, commanding, and filled with an authority that made his shadows tremble for a moment, skittering to hover above his heavy, black boots. 

Azriel paused, chest heaving, and looked up to see Rhysand and Cassian standing at the edge of the training ring. He gave no verbal greeting, opting to straighten his back and tuck his wings into the blades of his back. 

Rhysand raised a brow, an edge of annoyance creeping into his voice. “I’ve been calling for you.”

Azriel only tossed a glance at Cassian before bringing a hand to wipe the sweat off his brow. Rhys sighed, a sound that was clipped in a sense of frustration. “We need to talk.”

Azriel looked at his hands, taking in the bloodied knuckles and the slight tremble in his fingers. His shadows slowly snaked around his forearms and he felt a tug deep within his chest. 

He cringed at the sensation, at the feeling that had grown to something so routine as of late. 

He assumed it was the nagging feeling of unfinished business, that he was restless and unsettled because, in any other case, he would’ve killed you, would’ve done something to keep you contained—but he couldn’t. He wasn’t allowed to. A beast wandering free and he was feral for you. Not that he’d ever admit it. Not even to his shadows. 

“I’m busy,” Azriel finally said, his voice cold and final. 

The tone of it felt so jarring that even Cassian’s eyes widened slightly in shock. From beside him, Rhysand’s jaw twitched. He stepped closer. 

“Well then. Finish what you're doing and meet me back in my office within the hour.”

Something burned beneath Azriel’s skin. “I’m not your dog,” he snapped.

Something shifted in the air and Azriel didn’t need to look over at his brothers to know he was pushing their patience— he could smell it, the offense that radiated off them. It should have made him sick, made him feel guilty if anything, but it didn't.

It was Cassian who replied first, a flaring anger as he stepped forward, wings extending with the movement. “Az,” he said sharply, a warning clear in his tone.

Azriel almost laughed to himself. Your voice rang in his mind again, loud and entirely too overwhelming. If he was a slave to Rhysand, what did that make Cassian? A better brother, maybe. An even better-trained dog, too.

Rhysand’s face flickered with indecision, as if he were struggling between what role he should assume—  that of the High Lord or that of a friend. Anger flashed in his violet eyes before he pushed it back. 

“No, you are not,” Rhysand said, “But you are my family and this court’s Spymaster. And I am calling on you in regard to those two positions you hold.”

A moment of silence passed and the thickness of it prickled at Cassian’s skin. He let out a scoff, focusing his gaze on Azriel as he shifted his weight on his feet. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Azriel glared at him.  “Nothing.”

Rhysand sighed. “Fine. You don’t want to leave this ring? I can work with that.” He beckoned Cassian to walk with him onto the ring, stepping closer to Azriel. “I’ve set up a meeting with Beron.”

Azriel’s head snapped up. “That is a bad idea.”

Rhysand raised his eyebrows. “You hid a prisoner from me and risked an entire alliance. I’m not asking for your approval.”

Azriel’s shadows wrapped coiled tighter against him. 

“So why are you telling me?” 

“Because you will need to be in attendance,” Rhysand replied. His tone left no room for argument. “And I expect you to be in control. Whatever issues you have with Y/N, you will not be repeating them again.”

Azriel cringed inwardly. His brother didn’t know the full extent of what had transpired. He only knew the story that Azriel had spun– one of you threatening to end the alliance if he didn’t help you with Renard, how he had claimed he couldn’t stand being around you anymore and ended it on his own terms. The beautifully and carefully constructed lie Azriel had fed him so easily that it concerned him. 

Cassian watched the tense exchange with a furrowed brow. It only took a few seconds before his restraint broke, and he let out a small growl in warning. “Cauldron, Az, are you itching for a fight?” he said, “I would’ve expected you to be ecstatic now that you're not forced to spend time with that pretentious bitch of a—”

“Shut the hell up,” Azriel snapped, his head whipping up to glare at Cassian. The force of his words made Cassian step back, the frown deepening on his face. His jaw tightened as he took a step forward, as if to ready himself to strike.

Azriel quickly checked himself and took a deep breath. “This has nothing to do with her,” he said, his voice strained but measured— controlled. “Of course I’m glad to be free of that gods-forsaken arrangement.” He sent a glance Rhysand’s way, a flicker of defiance in his eyes. “It never should have been made.”

Cassian opened his mouth, his protest painted clear in his expression, but Rhysand clapped a hand on his shoulder, silencing him before he spoke. “Cass, I need a moment with Az.”

Cassian looked offended, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to form words. “What—but—”

“Go,” Rhysand said firmly. Once again, his tone held no room for argument. Unlike Az, Cassian complied, but not without a head shake and a scoff.

Cassian grumbled under his breath, casting one last burning glance at Azriel before leaving the training ring. Az made a mental note that he’d have to fix that later, whatever small crack he’d just created between them. He wasn't too worried about it, but he needed to do it before the wound festered.

Once they were alone, Rhysand’s eyes bore into Azriel’s in a scrutinizing gaze. It was heavy, curious, and frustrated at the same time. It felt heavier than usual. “What is this really about?”

Azriel stared at him, shadows swirling around his hands. He shook his head. “Nothing.”

Rhysand’s expression hardened. “Azriel. You have already kept too much from me. I have been graceful.”

A muscle tensed in the shadowsinger's jaw.

“And if I don’t say anything? What will you do then? Command me to be honest?” Azriel’s voice was sharp. While there was a clear challenge in his tone, Rhysand recognized something else in it, something that reeked of insecurity, of a male unsettled.

Rhys narrowed his eyes and his power crackled beneath his skin. “Careful.”

They stood locked in a silent standoff, both rigid in posture and face tightened in a stare. Azriel’s mind raced as he weighed his options, desperately searching for the best route to end the conversation. He settled on a half truth.

“Eris can be predictable. But Y/N is not. And now we have no read on her.”

Rhysand narrowed his eyes. “And whose fault is that?”

Azriel snarled, but Rhysand let out a small sigh that cut through the sound. “Let me worry about that alliance. Get yourself together.”

And then he began to walk away, a picture-perfect image of calm and control.

“When is the meeting with Beron?” Azriel called after him.

Rhysand stopped and shrugged, a faint, almost dismissive gesture. “Maybe in two days. Or two weeks. We will see. Either way—my sentiment still stands.”

Azriel knew Rhysand was right; he needed to get himself together. But the disaster within him, the tangled mess of emotions and unresolved conflict, was driving him more mad that usual. Your face, your words, haunted him still, and he wondered if he would ever find a way to fix the mess you had left in your wake.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You made your way around the library, navigating through the rows of meticulously organized shelves, each one filled with hundreds of beautifully bound books. The scent of aged parchment and faint traces of magic hung in the air and you were almost tempted to linger and explore.

You'd always craved a day in the Day Court's libraries, a time to read and run your fingers along a variety of books. It was just as beautiful as you'd imagined, and you told yourself you'd return another day and appreciate it properly.

But right now, your focus was on a different kind of discovery. Skillfully avoiding the watchful eyes of Helion’s skilled librarians and guards—each dressed casually yet elegantly, exuding an air of quiet power—you moved with purpose.

It only took you a few more minutes before you found the heavy door concealed within a niche, its ancient wood imposing against the backdrop of polished stone. With a mixture of excitement and caution, you pushed it open, revealing a dimly lit chamber tucked away from prying eyes. There were countless shelves laden with dusty volumes lining the walls of the chamber. Small tables and ornate couches were spread throughout the room with faint, glittering faelights that accompanied them.

You could only imagine the type of people Helion had housed here, the conversations that must have unfolded amidst the quiet elegance that the space seemed to hold. 

A smile tugged at your lips as you stepped inside. 

And then you stilled as a prickling sensation bit at the nape of your neck.

You whirled around, seizing Azriel’s arm and slamming him against the wall. Surprise flitted across his face, replaced swiftly by a calculating gaze as he reversed your maneuver with effortless grace, pinning you back against the cool stone instead. 

Before you could offer him a few choice words, a faint shimmer of light danced through the air. The large door through which you had entered shut with a heavy thud, the surface of it shimmering faintly, as if an invisible force sealed it shut.

"No, no, no," you muttered under your breath, pushing Azriel off with enough force to make him stumble. His eyes darted across the room as you pressed your palms against the door, trying to push it open again, but it remained resolutely closed. The air around you crackled with suppressed magic. 

"What the hell was that?" he demanded, his voice tinged with urgency.

"It's a containment spell,” you bit out, “We're trapped.”

Some time passed in tense silence as Azriel moved methodically around the room. Your gaze followed his every move, your jaw set in a tight line as you swallowed down the insults that were itching to be thrown at him.

“Can’t you make them do something useful?” you snapped, nodding towards the black smoke that buzzed around Azriel’s form. “Send them to get help or something?”

Azriel rolled his eyes and his shadows seemed to mimic the movement, circling his arms in a fit of annoyance.  “Thank you for that brilliant idea,” he said, tone dripping with sarcasm. “If you haven’t noticed, princess, they are shadows.”

He gestured to the sunlight flooding through the cracks of the grand door.  “They can’t go out in broad daylight. And from what I’ve observed about this library, there's a lot of that. We’re going to have to wait until sunset.”

Helion’s libraries were bathed in perpetual sunlight, with large, open windows that invited the sun's rays to flood the space. It casted a warm, golden glow over the towering shelves in a way that made the space seem dreamlike, made it seem holy. The sunlight wasn’t just a feature; it was a constant presence— the library was filled with sunlight every hour of the day that the sun was shining.

This particular room, however, was the exception. It was windowless, the only light filtering in through the cracks of the large charmed door. The room was designed to preserve the unique and delicate books within, shielding them from the harsh sunlight that could damage their pages. You had come here specifically for this reason, to find a particular book in this carefully protected area.

“Sunset?” you echoed incredulously. “It’s nine in the fucking morning, Shadowsinger. You’re telling me I have to wait until either Helion finds us or until your little shadow dogs can finally go out and play?”

Azriel raised an eyebrow, his mouth falling into a tight line.  “Well, maybe you should break into libraries at more reasonable hours of the day.”

You resisted the urge to pull a book from one of the many shelves and hurl it his way. “I wasn’t breaking in,” you retorted, crossing your arms. “You made this a break-in when you followed me and set off some strange alarms.”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed and he took a step towards you. “I didn’t follow you, and I certainly didn’t set off any alarms. That was all you.”

“You didn’t follow me?” you scoffed. “Then what were you doing? Brooding from afar in hopes that I’d apologize for hurting your feelings?”

A flicker of irritation crossed his features. His jaw tightened and his eyes flashed with something close to anger. “H-hurting my feelings?” he said, his voice low, “You think you hurt my feelings?”

“Yes,” you replied, lifting your chin. “I think I bruised your ego by shoving the truth down your throat.”

“Oh, please. Don’t flatter yourself, ” he sneered. Azriel turned on his heel and took one step away from you before he was spinning around, lifting an accusatory finger your way. “And I don’t brood. I was surveying the area for threats, which, if I recall correctly, is my job.”

“Yeah, in the Night Court,” you snapped back, “We’re in the Day Court, genius.”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed with irritation. “The Day Court is our ally. That means ensuring their safety—and ours. If you weren’t wandering into places you don’t belong, I wouldn’t need to follow you.”

You let out a bitter laugh, stepping closer to him. “So you admit you were following me?”

Azriel stiffened as if he had barely registered the words he’d spoken. He blinked and then he strengthened himself, speaking to you in a voice that was steady and cold. “You’re a threat that needs to be monitored.”

Something burned in your chest. 

“Is that what you were doing every time you slept with me? Monitoring me?”

The words seemed to hit their intended target. For a moment, there was silence. Azriel’s expression hardened and he held your gaze for a beat too long before looking away.

When you realized he wasn’t going to offer a verbal response, you let out a deep breath.

“I don’t understand why you can’t just leave me alone,” you growled through gritted teeth. “I’ve done nothing besides visit an open court. Helion has no problems with me being here. And now you’ve gone and trapped us because you’re an obsessive, paranoid, freak.”

He looked at you again, his eyes guarded and expression unreadable.

“This is not my fault. This is yours. Forgive me if I didn’t believe that you had innocent intentions.”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course, the all-knowing Spymaster assumes I’m up to something sinister. Maybe I just wanted to read in peace.”

“Then why all the secrecy?” he shot back, “Why the need to sneak into restricted sections?”

You felt a surge of frustration flickering in you like a hot flame. You curled your hands into fists, grounding yourself as your nails bit into your palm. “Like I said, I just wanted to read in peace. You don’t know everything. You don’t know what I’m doing or why. So stop pretending you do.”

Azriel studied you for a long moment. 

“Okay,” He began as he took another step towards you, shadows flickering around him like agitated serpents. “Tell me exactly what you are doing here. What book are you looking to read?”

The shadows around him seemed to pulse. You held his gaze, feeling the weight of his scrutiny bearing down on you. Swallowing against the sudden dryness in your throat, you glowered at him. 

“None of your business,” you said, your voice low, cold, and clipped. “Get off my back.”

“Not until I know you’re not up to something.”

“Paranoid bastard.”

“I have every right to be,” he said, “Especially with you.”

“You’re insufferable,” you shot back, feeling the heat of frustration rising within you — fast and unforgiving. It simmered at the edges of your skin.  “It must be so exhausting living in that tiresome head of yours.”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, his jaw tightening as he struggled to rein in his temper. “You have a habit of causing trouble. It’s my job to ensure that trouble doesn’t affect my people or our allies.”

“Your people,” You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. You pushed away the urge to make a further comment on his choice of words. “If you stopped treating me like an enemy, I wouldn’t feel the need to act like one. Everything that I am is what you have pushed me to be.”

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you thought he might actually strike you. But instead, he took a deep breath as a shadow of conflict passed over his features. Before the silence between you could stretch any longer, Azriel straightened, his mask of indifference slipping back into place. 

“Why not just tell me what you’re doing?” 

Because you didn’t owe him an explanation. The thought echoed resolutely in your mind. Beneath your defiance, a familiar, almost comforting, surge of resentment bubbled up—why should you justify your every move to him? He was nothing more than an obstacle, an irritating shadow that refused to fade.

So you said nothing, gave no reply. The silence stretched between you and each passing moment seemed to exacerbate his agitation. You observed the cracks in his usual unbothered, stoic facade— the clenching of his strangely battered fists, the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. He deserved to be unsettled, you thought bitterly. His mistrust was a reflection of his own insecurities, his duty an excuse to assert dominance over you. You refused to be cowed, not by him or anyone else.

“Silence. Beautiful,” he scoffed. Azriel turned away and you reveled in the momentary victory, savoring the small triumph of making him fall into a state of unease. 

He began to pace the room, muttering under his breath— you could hear it only slightly, a continuous complaint about everything from the sunlight filtering through the door to the layout of the library. You stared at him, noticing how his shadows mimicked his agitation, swirling around him in a frenzy. His wings twitched with every movement. 

His pacing became more frantic as he moved closer to the door, placing his hand on it as if trying to force it open. “This is ridiculous,” he growled. “We’re trapped here because of your secrecy. If you hadn’t been sneaking around—”

He paused mid-sentence, his movements halting abruptly. As if the weight of your gaze was tangible, he turned to look at you, eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that almost made you twitch.  

“What?” Azriel snapped, a strain seizing his voice. Even his shadows seemed to jump at the sound of it.  “Do you finally have something to say, princess?”

You remained silent, meeting his gaze with a steady calmness that seemed to unsettle him further. After a long moment, you finally spoke, your voice cool and measured. “I just have a question.”

Azriel scowled. “And what would that be?”

You observed him closely, tracing every miniscule movement of his body. A wicked smirk tugged at the corners of your lips.

“What color collar would you like?”  You asked, raising an eyebrow as if to feign impatience. You leaned forward slightly. “You know, to go with all of your bitching and whining? I’m thinking a sapphire blue to coordinate with your gaudy jewelry.”

Your eyes flicked down to his siphons, and as if in response, the siphons glowed angrily. Underneath them, his fists clenched tightly, his whole body seeming to vibrate with anger. If Azriel wasn’t angry before, he was fuming now. The atmosphere crackled with animosity.

“Shut up,” Azriel said through clenched teeth. 

You tilted your head, a defiant glint in your eyes. “Why should I?”

With a sudden surge of aggression, Azriel stomped towards you, his footsteps echoing in the confined space. He came to an abrupt stop just a few paces away, visibly fighting to maintain his composure. His fists clenched at his sides, shadows swirling around him like black smoke as he took a deep breath.

“Until we’re out of this gods-forsaken room,” he said tightly, “Just shut your damned mouth and stay over here. I’ll stay on the other end, out of your way.”

You weighed your options for a moment. You gave him a nonchalant shrug. “Fine. Works for me.”

Azriel shot you a final piercing glare before turning away, his back rigid with tension. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You weren't sure how long had passed, but it had certainly been longer than an hour. 

The enchantment that bound you and Azriel to this room seemed to turn every minute into an eternity. You were suffocating. 

The weight of time pressed down on you as you scoured the shelves, determined not to let Azriel and this infuriating enchantment thwart your purpose. This restricted area of Helion's grand library was vast, filled with more books on folklore and legends than you had anticipated—and a rather peculiar assortment of erotic 'vampire' poetry that you tried your best to ignore.

Despite your persistence, you had yet to uncover any clue as to the whereabouts of what you sought. Each book you pulled from the shelves yielded nothing but disappointment.

You sighed, turning away from yet another shelf of books when your eyes caught sight of a one that stood out amidst the worn and weathered bindings. It was a slender volume with a vibrant red leather cover, contrasting sharply with the tattered browns around it. Without fully realizing your own actions, you reached out and delicately plucked the book from its place, cradling it in your hands.

The cover felt smooth and cool to the touch, the red leather soft against your fingertips. The title was written in an elegant, swirling golden cursive. It wasn't what you had been searching for—a book of love poems wasn't going to help you find the edge you sought—but something about it called to you nonetheless.

You landed on one particular page. The corners were marked with a dog-eared fold, a simple act that nearly drew a smile to your lips at the thought of Eris’s disdain for such casual treatment of books. He would have scoffed, made some remark about how it marred the delicate pages and diminished their value. 

Before the rift between him and Eris grew too wide, Lucien used to sneak into Eris’s room and borrow his books, delighting in folding the pages to mark his favorite passages. Eris would fume at the sight, scolding Lucien for disrespecting not only his belongings but the value of the books themselves. Lucien basked in the frustration and would laugh so hard— a bright, joyous sound that echoed through the halls until Beron wearied of it. 

Lucien stopped stealing those books soon after. He quickly learned that his place was not in his brother's room— it wasn’t even in his own home. 

You turned your attention back to the poem on the page before you, your heart skipping a beat as you recognized the title. Something as heavy as a stone settled in your stomach. 

Your mother was a lot of things. She was quiet at times, yes, but it was more pensive than it was shy. She was unbelievably brilliant, to a point where it pained you to think about it, to let yourself wonder how different her life could have been had she married someone other than your father. How different her life may have been if she never had any of you.

When you were younger, she fed you her fascination of books. Besides Eris and Lucien, your other brothers never took to it as much. They much preferred sparring in rings and finding ways to appease your father. While they lived off of the praise they received like good soldiers, you lived off of the stories your mother could tell you at night. 

It was during those quiet hours, after Beron had retired to his chambers and the River House grew still, that she would sit by your bedside and brush the hair from your face. She would whisper stories into the darkness, tales of far-off lands and brave heroes, of mythical creatures and forbidden romances. But there was one story she cherished above all others.

It was a short poem from the perspective of two lovers torn apart by war. They loved each other fiercely, but the cruel hands of fate kept them separated in life. So profound was their longing that they struck a bargain with Death himself, pledging their souls to be together for eternity in the afterlife. The poem spoke of their sacrifice, their undying devotion, and the bittersweet beauty of a love that transcended even death.

You loved it almost as much as your mother did. 

Love was real. This you knew. But it wasn’t for people in Autumn. It wasn’t for people who shared your blood. 

Your mother proved it. The way her eyes would glaze over as she recited the poem, the way she’d talk about a love that you knew was never referring to Beron. She longed for someone that wasn't your father, someone she could never be with. And Jesmindas death only solidified the fact that love wasn’t made for Vanserras. 

You still heard her screams at night, still held the image of Lucien’s blood curling sobs. 

Loving someone, as much as you craved it, was selfish. It was a death wish— not only for you, but for them as well.

You read the poem again and a heavy feeling itched itself into your heart— something like a dagger of melancholy, stirring emotions that made you feel small and weak. Your chest tightened and you gripped the book tightly, feeling a flicker of fire growing within your bones. 

Your mothers poem was here. In a book that was so clearly loved, so clearly worn. It felt almost sacred, imbued with a history of love and loss, cherished by someone who, like you, sought solace in its verses.

In this spell-protected sanctuary, amidst the hallowed halls of knowledge and ancient books, a realization hit you with a chilling clarity. You fought to regain composure, blinking away the tears that brimmed on your waterlines. 

A soft, feather-light sensation around your wrist startled you back to the present. You looked down at your hands, watching as Azriel’s shadows flitted around you.Their touch was so gentle, so tender that it made you itch. You snapped the book shut, shoving it back into the shelf with a loud thud. 

“If you don’t stop, I will pin you and your wings to the wall like a fucking decoration.”

Azriel let out a growl, but he refused to look your way. He didn’t have the energy needed in him to properly reciprocate the threat, didn’t quite care enough to be bothered by it. 

You let out an angry breath. “Can you please control your little creatures?”

Your hand swatted at the shadows that still circled your wrists relentlessly. 

“What are you talking about—”

Azriel’s words died in his throat as he looked at you. His body stiffened, and within seconds the shadows were dissipating from your wrists. They curled around his body, a single tendril wrapping around his ear.

Azriel’s face softened slightly, a crease forming between his furrowed eyebrows. He held your gaze for a moment. And then he was stoic once more— no trace that he had felt anything at all.

He said nothing and turned around sharply, a wave of agitation passing over his features as his shadows swirled around him. You frowned at the abrupt change in his demeanor and watched as he paced back and forth, his boots tapping softly against the library's polished floor. The repetitive movement was starting to get on your nerves and you opened your mouth, ready to make a biting comment to make him stop.  But you hesitated. Your mouth fell closed once more. 

Something felt deeply wrong. You couldn’t place your finger on it, couldn’t explain why you felt it deep in your chest, but something was wrong. 

Azriel’s shadows, usually dark and smooth like ink in water, appeared unsettled and disjointed. They moved with an unusual haste, swirling around him with an air of desperation. It wasn’t there— that seamless synchronization they usually held with him. 

His hands were clasped together, fingers flexing and fidgeting, marred by various cuts and bruises. He lingered near the sunlight that poured through the door in sharp lines across the floor. He seemed almost drawn to it, yet hesitant, like a moth wary of the flame.

Perhaps it was the troubled look on Azriel’s face, or the tenderness of his shadows, or the memory of your mother—  but something inside you settled. Whatever it was, the pointed edge in your voice melted into a more rounded, concerned tone. You threw a quick glance over your shoulder at the red leather-bound book you had clutched moments ago. 

"What's wrong with you?” 

Azriel’s eyes flicked towards the sunlight again, and you saw a wave of something you couldn’t quite place—fear, perhaps, or deep discomfort. His shadows recoiled slightly as if the light was pushing them back.

“Nothing,” he muttered, but the word rang hollow, lacking conviction.

“Bullshit,” you shot back, not unkindly. “You’re pacing like a caged animal.”

He stiffened at your words and his movements came to a halt.  

You knew what Azriel's past had been like, not fully, but enough.

Vanserras were talented in making it their business to know everyone else's, and you had made it your point to ensure you knew everything about one of your family's greatest enemies— the male standing before you now. You knew what his brothers did to him, even made pointed comments about it recently, ones you fully meant in the moment. But you had never thought deeply or long enough about it, never truly imagined a younger Azriel. Now, as you watched him pace back and forth, his wings tightly folded, his hands fidgeting near the sealed door and the sunlight, you couldn't help but see a different side of him.

Azriel had been confined to a basement, a place likely with little light and minimal freedom. Now, he was trapped here, in this room, with you. Your heart tugged with a mixture of empathy and unease, a wave of nausea rising in your throat. Before you fully comprehended what you were doing, you spoke.

“I suppose since we’re both here, I should thank you.”

Azriel spun around, caught off guard by the unexpected tone in your voice— one that was uncharacteristically gentle. His brows furrowed in suspicion as he stared at you, eyes narrowing slightly. “Thank me?”

You nodded, swallowing back your pride as you continued, “Renard came back to Autumn. I don’t know what my father did to him after, but his story was that he’d fallen into bed with a female and got lost in the pleasure — drunken bender and all.”

Azriel’s expression remained guarded, but you detected a sweep of something in his face— a wave of release as his tension visibly faded— only slightly, but enough to where his wings shifted behind him, flaring out to occupy more space.

“So thank you,” you repeated, your eyes not leaving his. “I know it was Rhysand who influenced his mind, and I know it was you who asked him to do it.”

Azriel shrugged, a terse gesture that seemed to dismiss the weight of your gratitude. He looked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You hummed and annoyance simmered beneath your attempt at gratitude. "Fine," you said curtly, turning away to inspect the nearby bookshelves. But after a few steps, you stopped yourself and pivoted back toward him. "Actually, no. Why didn’t you just kill him?”

Azriel’s eyes met yours as you continued. 

“Renard, I mean. You could have. Probably would’ve been easier. I assume it would’ve saved you a lecture from your owne-'' You stopped yourself, and within the same breath, corrected the word you spoke. “Rhysand.”

Azriel hung onto your hesitation, his brow raising in silent inquiry as he fixed you with a penetrating stare. He cocked his head at you. “Well, that could have gotten you killed, couldn’t it have?”

You blinked and your chest tightened.  “I wasn’t aware you cared if I lived or died.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t either,” Azriel said quietly. As the words left his mouth, he stiffened and took a deep breath.

“What I mean to say is,” he started, his voice now strained with a different tone.  “You’re no use to me if you’re dead. It would be hard to maintain an alliance with your brother if I got you killed.”

You snorted, a smile playing on your lips as you absorbed his words “Right.”

But the smile you wore wasn’t bitter. It was amused if anything, which seemed to ease Azriel’s mind enough to where he was saying your name in an attempt to gather your attention. You met his gaze.

“What are you really doing here?”

There was no use in hiding. You glanced at his shadows, noting their restlessness, and realized they might even help. You decided to tell him the truth. The air was still, the room still locked, but you no longer felt suffocated. Looking at him, at the hazel in his eyes, you began.

"Renard did tell us everything we needed to know," you said, your voice steady. "He doesn't know anything because Beron doesn't know anything. He's trying to find any information on how to get power. I just thought that if I could learn more about Koschei, I could figure out how to step forward."

Azriel watched you intently. Something burned in the hazel of his eyes.

You sighed, the weight of his gaze heavy on your shoulders. "I know Helion has a special interest in folklore and legends. And I know somewhere here is a very old, very special book that has the story and origins of that stupid death god."

You thought of Eris, of your mother, of how Autumn had been these past two weeks. Beron's temper had grown more volatile, his punishments more severe. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the flash of his cruelty, felt the sting of his whip. Your stress was a living thing now, coiling around your chest, making it hard to breathe. You were exhausted— so exhausted that you couldn’t muster the energy to be angry at Azriel as much as before, couldn’t find the effort to hide your vulnerability. 

You waited for him to say something dismissive. Instead, he simply said, "Okay.”

He glanced at his shadows. They darted out from him, spreading around the room like wisps of smoke seeking the smallest crevices. You frowned, watching as they probed the shelves and corners. 

“They’ll find it,” Azriel said. His tone was casual, but the burning in his eyes betrayed his focus. You held his gaze as it seared into you. You already knew that this look would be etched into your memory, that it would surface at times you wished it would not.

A clear hesitancy found its way onto your face through knitted brows. He was too quiet, too nice. It made you wary. 

“Unless you're eager to search hundreds of books one by one?” he added, raising a brow at your silence. “I’m happy to sit back and watch your unsuccessful search resume.”

You scowled. "No. This works."

Azriel gave a small nod and resumed his pacing, though this time, it seemed more purposeful.

You watched as the shadows flitted from shelf to shelf, their dark forms moving with an eerie grace— slipping into the gaps between books, brushing over spines, and teasing open pages.

Your mind wandered back to the poem you had read earlier, the love and sacrifice it spoke of. For some reason, your mind wandered to the shadowsinger that walked a mere few feet from you. As much as his cold exterior suggested otherwise, there were moments—fleeting, rare moments—where you saw a flicker of something more than just anger in his eyes. You wondered if Azriel understood such depths of emotion, if he had felt such love for Morrigan— if that was what blinded him into his deep loathing of you and your family.

The minutes ticked by, and you found yourself glancing at Azriel more frequently. The tension in his posture had eased, his wings now slightly unfurled as if he too felt some semblance of peace.

It was odd, being in this situation with him, and suddenly not feeling a burning, biting hatred at his presence. You were so used to that feeling of anger, that fierce, consuming rage that burned so hot it turned into desire. That you understood—the satisfaction that came with knowing he was hungry for you despite everything he hated about you. The push and pull, the electric tension, it had always defined your interactions.

You wanted to shred your skin because this female now, this emotional, open one, who was beginning to see Azriel as something more than a male to fuck and a dog to rile up, wasn't you. It made your skin crawl with a kind of vulnerability you had long since sworn off. 

You forced yourself to look away, to focus on the task at hand, but the unease lingered. The minutes stretched into an eternity before Azriel spoke again, breaking the heavy silence. 

You looked at him, noticing the shadows curling around his wrists. He was holding a book, its cover worn and ancient, and he lifted it slightly. "Here it is."

You quickly strode over, reaching for the book, but he lifted it out of your grasp. You clenched your jaw. "Give me the damned book."

He stared at you, his expression unreadable. "We can look at it together."

"Are you kidding me?" you snapped, "Are you seriously so afraid of me that you won't allow me to read a book in your presence?"

Azriel's eyes darkened slightly, but his voice remained calm. "You're not the only one seeking information about Koschei and his origins. We're on the same side about that—unless you've forgotten."

 “Fine,” you said, then added with a sarcastic edge, “I’m honestly surprised you can even read. You lack so many manners that I figured you were as slow as the rest of your kind.”

Azriel growled but handed you the book anyways, and a small smirk of satisfaction tugged at the edges of your lips. You took it from his grasp, fingers brushing against his. 

A strange jolt of something—recognition, perhaps—passed between you. You ignored it, focusing instead on the text before you.  You placed the book on a nearby table, feeling Azriel’s presence behind you, his shadows hovering around the pages. You resisted the urge to swat them away, recognizing that they were probably relaying the information to him. 

Time went by, and frustration began to mount as you found nothing new. “So he’s deathless, has no body, is powerful, confined to a lake, and has a thing for trapping females. We know all of this,” you muttered, snapping the book shut with such force that the shadows flinched. “He’s a powerful freak with a fetish for holding women captive.”

You glanced over your shoulder, a mocking smile on your lips.  “He’s basically an Illyrian without wings.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened as he stared at you. His eyes darkened for a moment, and then something flickered in them. He raised an eyebrow. “We should just offer you to Koschei. One day with you and he might be tempted to kill himself just to be free of it.”

Your eyes widened as a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. Despite sensing his expectation for your anger, you let out a laugh. Azriel blinked in surprise and his shadows stilled momentarily. He felt it again, that strange chill that ran down his back at the sound leaving your lips. His wings shuddered for a moment and he traced the movement of your mouth as it curled into a grin. 

"That was actually kind of funny, Shadowsinger," you remarked, meeting his gaze squarely. "Who knew you had a sense of humor under all of that self-loathing and impulsivity.”

Azriel glared at you, his expression carrying his usual intensity, but there was a subtle softening in his eyes. The sharp edge that usually accompanied his gaze seemed to dull slightly, hinting at a glimmer of amusement. Under the weight of his gaze, you turned your head back towards the book in front of you, finding a place for your eyes to settle that wasn’t his hazel ones. Still, the heat radiated off his body— he was too close, entirely too close.

Ignoring him, you glanced towards the door and noticed the sunlight had lessened. "I believe your little creatures are safe to wander," you remarked coolly, "I think you could do us both a favor and send them to get us the hell out of here."

Azriel let out a grumble, but you observed as shadows flitted across the floor and through the cracks. Relief washed over you at the thought of soon being free from this place, away from Azriel's unsettling presence.

Yet, you could still feel him staring at you. 

"Why go through all of this trouble?" His voice was steady, probing.  "Search for a book you weren't even sure had any answers? Without my shadows, you could have spent hours going through each shelf to find it."

You gritted your teeth. "Gods, do you always ask so many questions?"

"Humor me," he replied evenly.

"I think I've done a bit too much of that recently," you retorted, a hint of exasperation coloring your tone.

You sighed, feeling his intense stare burning into your back. Turning around completely to face him, you gripped against the table, trying to control the heat rising within you. Azriel’s eyes were already on you when you found the will to look at him. 

"You admitted it yourself a few weeks ago. You'd go to extreme lengths for your family, too.”

He raised his eyebrow slightly. “All of this effort for that cruel brother of yours?"

Your anger flared and you felt your body tense as the ember of your powers simmered beneath your skin. But as you glanced at Azriel, his gaze unexpectedly open, you recalled your last conversation with him, how angry you were at the realization that Eris deserved better, that no one would ever let him live down his past. But here, staring at Azriel, in a space that felt so intimate, maybe you could push a new perspective even harder, force a seed of understanding. 

Taking a breath to steady yourself, you decided to reach out beyond the walls of your blinding anger.

"The only difference between your brother and mine is that Eris won’t try to write off his actions as for the greater good. Sometimes bad things are just bad things. And we all have to do bad things to survive."

Azriel scanned your face, his gaze lingering so long that you immediately regretted saying anything. The feeling rose in your throat like bile and a simmering heat spread through your chest, a fire you almost wished would consume you. 

“I’m sorry,” Azriel finally said, “That you couldn’t find anything. That you wasted a day here.”

His tone was so soft that you were almost tempted to believe that he meant it— that he was being sincere. Your chest tightened. That reality was unlikely, and you quickly let your defenses kick in, looking away with a roll of your eyes. 

"Don’t mock me," you snapped.

Azriel's expression hardened as he frowned. "What?" 

Meeting his gaze angrily, you reiterated, "I said, don't mock me. Pretending to care is cruel, even for you."

You released your grip on the table and turned to walk past him, but he reached out, grabbing your hand firmly, pulling you to him. The touch sent a chill through your arm. 

“By the Cauldron, must you fight me on everything?” He said through clenched teeth. “Can’t you just let me say that I'm sorry?" 

You stared at him, taking in his troubled expression, the way his eyes seemed to hold a storm of conflicting emotions. Pulling your hand from his grasp, you rubbed the spot where his touch lingered, as if trying to erase his imprint on you.

"I'm just supposed to believe that you've suddenly had a change of heart?" 

Azriel ran a hand through his hair. "You are infuriating, you know that?" 

"Ah yes, a supposed genuine apology followed by insult. Hypocritical as usual, Shadowsinger." 

Exasperation flickered across Azriel's face. "If I wanted to insult you, princess, I'd do a much better job than calling you infuriating."

You held his stare, anger and suffocation swirling within you. Your hands curled into fists as Azriel's troubled gaze continued to burn into yours.

He followed the line of your neck as you swallowed, his eyes lingering on you in a way that felt too intense for the confined space. Perhaps it was the lack of his shadows, the absence of his usual watchful companions, but Azriel found himself moving closer to you despite your recoil.

"What is it about you that drives me insane?" he murmured his voice barely above a whisper.

Your brow furrowed in confusion and your stomach twisted into a knot.  "What are you talking about?"

"These past two weeks," he continued, his tone tinged with something raw and unguarded. "You have not left my mind. I hear your voice, calling me weak."

You scoffed and looked away. "So I have hurt your feelings. A bit pathetic, don't you think?" 

Azriel shook his head. "No. You didn't hurt my feelings, Y/N."

The sound of your name on his lips sent a shiver through your body and your chest tightened.  His gaze flickered down to your mouth briefly before meeting your eyes again. You found yourself unable to look away.

“You want Eris to be High Lord,” Azriel stated, “I will help you make that come to fruition.”

You stared at Azriel, momentarily stunned. His words hung in the air, mingling with the charged, suffocating atmosphere between you. The intensity of his gaze made you feel exposed, vulnerable, and yet there was a gleam of something else—it felt like hope, buried deep beneath layers of mistrust.

"Why? You hate Eris.”

"It is one cruel leader for another. But at least this way, it will benefit my home. And then I can be free of you and work to take down Koschei."

His words sunk in slowly. He can be free of you. You tried to read his expression. Azriel extended his hand towards you, palm upturned. 

"We seal this bargain," he said solemnly, his eyes searching yours. “No more sneaking around and I will help you. You get what you want.”

You hesitated. But something inside you—a desperate need for a way out of this predicament, a glimmer of hope for a future where Eris could be High Lord—compelled you to reach out. You placed your hand in his, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours.

As soon as your skin touched, a surge of energy coursed through you both— a burning sensation, starting from your intertwined hands and spreading outward. Azriel's eyes widened imperceptibly, and you sensed him searching for the hidden markings that sealed your pact. He found nothing on your exposed skin. 

You withdrew your hand slowly. There was a newfound weight to the air. You opened your mouth to speak when a burst of sunlight pierced through the dimness of the room. 

You took a large step back, gaze darting to the entrance of the room. Helion strode in with characteristic grace, his presence commanding the room effortlessly as tendrils of shadow snaked towards Azriel, winding their way up his body.

Helion's eyes swept over the scene before him. His expression gave away nothing as he observed you and Azriel. After a moment, he finally spoke. 

"Out of all the collectables in this room, I have to say seeing you two together is the rarest thing I've set my eyes on.”

You shot a quick glance at Azriel. You offered Helion a small smile. “Helion–”

Helion lifted a hand gently. "I'm not sure I want to know," he said. His gaze settled on you. "Have you done anything I need to be wary of?"

You shook your head firmly. "No."

"Then that's all I need," Helion replied casually, his attention now turning to Azriel. "Am I correct to assume Rhysand has no idea you're here?" 

You frowned, head turning to look at Azriel, who managed to meet your gaze briefly before looking back at the High Lord that stood before you. Azriel said nothing, opting to clench his jaw. 

“Alright.” Helion let out a small breath, pursing his lips in thought. "I'm known to keep a secret or two.”

He did, indeed. You knew this now more than ever.

You took advantage of Helion’s presence to observe him closely, taking in his chiseled features and the graceful stature in which he stood. Despite the reputation both you and Eris had garnered, Helion had always been fair to you, not quick to judge. You wondered now if that was due to something beyond an innate sense of empathy he held— if he had a sense of loyalty to you because of the blood that ran in your veins. 

"Let me escort you both out," Helion offered finally, breaking the silence that had settled between the three of you. Without waiting for a response, he turned towards the door. 

As you walked with him, you heard a faint shuffling behind you. From the corner of your eye, you glimpsed Azriel adjusting his posture, the tail end of his movement obscured as he tucked his wings further and clasped his hands behind his back. His shadows coiled around him more tightly than usual. He fell into line behind you. 

You felt a peculiar sensation in your chest. Instinctively, your hand rose to settle over the spot just above your heart. There was a subtle sensation of heat— a tingling warmth that lingered beneath your touch. 

You ignored it as Helion led you out of the library.  

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

enemies.... to enemies to with benefits.... now to tentative allies....dare i say.... friends?

this is a lil turning point for our two cunty losers bc now their bickering is less cruel and vile and its just teasing ugh my HEART

permanent tag list 🫶🏻:

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @sarawritestories

An Education in Malice — Part Four

Pairing: Vanserra!Reader x Azriel

Summary: With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin.

Warnings: 18+ heavy making out and wandering hands, lots of bickering, sexual tension, threats, name calling, torture and wound descriptions, abuse, two emotionally dysregulated cunts tbh

Word Count: 7.7k

←Part Three | Series Masterlist | Part Five

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The air between you and Azriel had taken on a peculiar tension lately, some overwhelming, suffocating force that made you feel entirely too nervous for your comfort.  

Neither of you could ever pinpoint who made the first move— or rather, neither of you were willing to admit who did— but somehow, like clockwork, your dress was hiked up, his leathers were undone, and he was rutting into you from behind. It was always the same: a possessive grip on your waist, in your hair, or on your breasts, breath hot against your ear as he whispered words that only fueled the fire between you, responses to whatever comments you had made to rile him up.

It had become a distraction, this strange dynamic you created, that even Renard's interrogations had taken a backseat in lieu of it. It was proving increasingly difficult to get work done between fighting or fucking. 

The chamber was a dismal pit, darkness swallowing any hint of light that dared to enter. Moisture clung to the walls like a thick veil– the dirty, fetid atmosphere was tainted with the unmistakable stench of blood and other bodily fluids. You wrinkled your nose in disgust.

Azriel approached Renard, head cocking slightly to the side as his shadows danced around him— seemingly curious, excited almost. A twisted sense of satisfaction grew within you at the sight of Renard's pitiful state—starving, bloody, bruised, and desperate. 

Perhaps you should have felt some semblance of remorse or pity; even with how cruel Renard was, a compassionate soul should still feel a sense of guilt, a sense of sickness. But as you searched your body for it, as you attempted to muster it up, you came up empty handed. Instead, a rush of power surged through you. It felt like karma– well deserved karma.

You glanced at Azriel. There seemed to be a mirrored expression of satisfaction on his face, an unphased coolness to the situation before him. Even his shadows seemed at home, falling into familiar, rehearsed positions as he moved.  Deep down, something within you rested at the realization that he felt no remorse, either. 

“Is your plan to just stare at him until he confesses his secrets?”

Azriel could already anticipate the scowl on your face from the tone of your voice alone. He slowly turned his head to toss an unamused glare your way, hazel eyes momentarily scanning your figure. 

For the first time since this arrangement had begun, you were clad in something different, a departure from the usual dresses that adorned your form. The ensemble was a blend of regality and practicality, more akin to the attire of a warrior than a courtly lady— fitted pants and a tailored tunic, fabric adorned with subtle embellishments of autumn. It seemed as if Azriel wasn’t used to the sight yet— or he was entirely repulsed. You weren’t sure which, but you didn’t quite care, either. 

When his eyes met yours again, you gave him an impatient eyebrow raise, nodding towards Renard’s limp body. “Are you done checking me out yet?”

Azriel’s stare remained on you for a few more moments before he followed your line of sight back to the male before him. 

“Maybe if I didn’t have an incessant pest over my shoulder, I would be more successful.”

You stepped closer to him, a faint smell of night-chilled mist and cedar reaching your nose. “Maybe if you were actually good at anything besides harboring a grudge, you would’ve already been successful.”

Azriel didn’t move, didn’t so much as toss a glance your way as he responded, “Being a hypocrite isn’t a look fit for a lady.”

You let out an angry breath. 

Too much time had passed with Renard missing. Soon enough, your father was bound to get suspicious— and Eris was bound to get worried as well.  There wasn’t any doubt that Renard didn’t know much, not only because your father was a paranoid ruler, but because he failed to plan ahead more often than not. You didn’t need much information. All you needed was an idea of what Beron was planning, some inkling. Once you knew that, you could easily prevent it and ensure he didn’t gain any more power— ensure that Eris was set up to successfully overthrow him. 

But Azriel seemed to be taking his time, attempting to get other information about your court that could prove useful for the Night Court. 

“I think we’ve already established I’m past that title.”

Azriel looked at you. “Clearly.”

An all-too familiar simmering prickled at your skin and you clenched your jaw, matching the intensity of his glare with one of your own. 

Renard let out a weak chuckle, blood staining his teeth as he lifted his chin. 

“Listening to you two bicker is almost worse than the actual torture. You’re like a married couple. It’s pathetic.”

Azriel’s head snapped towards the male and a growl rumbled through the room. “Watch your mouth.”

But Renard only sneered, turning his bloodshot eyes to Azriel. “Big bad Shadowsinger, always lurking in the dark. Afraid to face your own inadequacies in the light, boy?”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed, tendrils of shadows now swirling around him, agitated, buzzing with a need to move. Renard offered a sickly, bloodied grin as he observed their movement. “No wonder you hide behind those shadows—they're the only things that can stand being around you.”

There was a pause as Azriel’s gaze grew predatory. And then a small, involuntary sound left your lips. 

It surprised you as much as it did Azriel, who turned to look at you with a furrowed brow and growing scowl. Your eyes widened a fraction at the sound, and within seconds, you let out a laugh.

The softness of it felt sinful, felt completely and utterly wrong— and something rippled throughout Azriel’s body at it, dug its way deep down into him until his wings felt slightly limp. From around his arms, his shadows slowed, coming to a curious, awe-filled stop. They began whispering, but he paid no attention. He pushed the foreign sensations away, his surroundings registering in his mind as he scowled.

“What the hell are you laughing at?”

You shook your head, another laugh escaping your lips at his face, contorted in frustration—  in an irritated confusion of being so caught off guard. His wings flared out, twitching slightly in response to the repeated sound.  “Nothing,” you said, “Your life just may be more pathetic than I thought if you’re getting psychoanalyzed by the male you’re torturing.”

Azriel’s irritation deepened as a grin grew on your face. “Shut up.”

A weak scoff drew your attention back to the bound male next to you. 

“You shouldn’t be laughing, princess.”  Renard’s eyes gleamed with malice as he shifted his gaze to you.  “Pretending to be tough, but the only reason you’re here is because you’re too weak to do anything on your own. Everyone knows Beron’s little girl is just a pathetic, needy bitch.”

The laughter died in your throat almost instantly, jaw clenching as your amusement quickly faded into a red haze of annoyance. A flame flickered at your fingertips. 

“Careful,” you warned. You moved to take a step towards Renard, but Azriel’s hand shot out instantly, stopping you with a firm grasp around your arm. 

You glanced down at where his hand met your body before pulling yourself away with a scowl. “Can you just do your job so we can kill him already?”

Your voice had a bitter, agitated edge to it now, a drawl that sounded more whiny than it did threatening. Azriel folded his arms, a gleam in his eyes as he responded with a mocking, “Why? Did he hit a nerve?”

You growled, watching as the edges of his lips turned up slightly— just enough for you to notice, just enough for that hint of an arrogant smirk to bother you. 

 “I think I preferred when you stayed quiet and sulked in your shadows.”

Azriel continued to stare at you, the ghost of a smirk still plastered on his face. A sense of annoyance prickled at your skin, mixed with something that tasted nauseatingly like embarrassment. Faintly, you felt the rush of heat threatening to spread to your cheeks. 

You clenched your jaw harder, gaze flickering from Azriel’s amused face to Renard’s bruised, snickering one. You landed back on Azriel with a sneer. 

“Wipe that stupid look off your face before I do it for you.”

Azriel watched in amusement as you stormed off, disappearing with another huff of annoyance and a vulgar gesture over your shoulder. 

Renard turned to him with a vile grin. “I have to ask. What’s she like, Shadowsinger? We’ve all wanted to fuck her. I bet she’s just as desperate in bed as she is—”

Azriel's expression darkened instantly, shadows swirling violently around him as he flared his wings out, poised and deadly. He held Renard by the throat, grip unyielding, siphons glowing angrily. His voice was deadly calm as he muttered, "I warned you to watch your mouth."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Only a couple hours had passed when Azriel found you again in the Spring Court, standing in the small house he’d grown strangely accustomed to. 

“You're here.”

You glanced over your shoulder, a sarcastic smile tugged at your lips. "Great detective skills on your part. Think you could use those with Renard?"

Unphased, Azriel rolled his eyes, the motion barely perceptible but unmistakable to someone who had spent as much time with him as you had. He moved with silent grace until he was standing right behind you, shadows hovering over his shoulders. 

"What's all this?"

His tone was flat as he took in the various items you had strewn across the table.

You shrugged, not bothering to turn around. "I brought some things so I wouldn’t need to keep going back and forth."

You could feel his presence behind you, the warmth of his body caressing over your skin as he leaned closer. Azriel's gaze landed on a leather-bound notebook among your belongings. 

"What's the notebook for?"

You stared at it for a moment, gingerly picking it up in your hands. There was a smirk on your lips as you turned to face him, face seemingly innocent and sweet. 

"All my private thoughts and hopes and dreams. At night, I sit with it and write in cursive letters, 'I hope the shadowsinger shuts the fuck up and stops being nosy.'"

Your voice started light, teasing, but as you finished the sentence, your expression hardened into a glare. Azriel seemed anything but amused, and a muscle feathered in his cheek. He gave no verbal response, opting to keep his gaze trained on you until you let out a huff of annoyance. 

He’d collected certain observations of you over the past few weeks. 

You rolled your eyes in almost every conversation he held with you. You smelled like a crackling fire and forest pine branch, something so similar to fresh fall air. He’d seen you sneer more than he’d ever seen you smile— which was once, today, as Renard commented on his shadows and apparent self-loathing. But most of all, you hated prolonged eye-contact. It made you angry, frustrated— flustered even. Azriel wouldn’t deny the satisfaction he felt every time he watched your jaw clench, watched the tinge of pink appear on the apple of your cheeks.

“What?” You snapped, glaring at him through your lashes. 

“Any particular reason you're more insufferable than usual?” 

An eye roll. “Bite me.”

“Hmm.” A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. “Do you want me to?”

Your mouth parted for a fleeting second. And then you scowled, nose scrunching at the movement. “I brought this to keep track of everything I find out about my father and Koschei.” You shoved the journal into Azriel’s chest with a little more force than necessary.

Azriel frowned, catching it effortlessly. His shadows flowed to his fingers, gliding across the cover as he flipped it open. He glanced at you through his lashes, a single brow arching in question. “This is empty.”

“Point proven,” you shot back, “Go back to Renard and find something useful. We’re running out of time.”

He stood up straight, rolled his shoulders back, and narrowed his eyes at you. “I wasn’t aware we were on a deadline.” 

You chewed the inside of your cheek. Another sigh of annoyance left your lips. "Beron is bound to realize that Renard isn't on some drunken bender anymore. He's going to come looking. I don't want there to be anything for him to find."

Azriel's lips quirked in a small, humorless smile. "I think I'm capable of hiding a trail or two."

"Are you sure about that?" You narrowed your eyes. "Because you barely seem able to get Renard to do anything besides read you like a boring, sad, self-loathing book."

Azriel let out a scoff, glancing to the side as he threw the journal back onto the table behind you. You clenched your jaw at the movement, at the sound of the thud it created as it fell onto the wood. 

"Your insults are getting weaker, princess. Maybe you should take some lessons from him."

"Shut up," you snapped, the words coming out more petulant than you'd intended. 

He crossed his arms across his chest. Your eyes fell to his hands, to the siphons that beamed with color in front of you. His shadows followed the movement, gliding down his forearms and around his wrists.

“What would happen if Beron found out you were sneaking around? That you were holding Renard?”

His voice drew your attention back to his face, where his eyes were narrowed in on you in a deep, curious, almost unsure gaze. 

Your answer was swift, no hesitation. “He would kill me.”

Azriel wasn’t quite sure why his body reacted the way it did, why he felt himself flinch, why his wings seemed to twitch in discomfort. Whatever the reason, you noticed the reaction immediately, noting how his brows seemed to furrow ever-so-slightly—- a motion nearly minuscule for the normal eye, but you were talented at picking up these things. Years of blending in gave you such abilities— and weeks around Azriel made it easier to read his tells.

There was a feeling in your stomach that you couldn’t make out yet, but it was heavy and made you antsy. You broke eye contact, dropping your eyes to the ground as you absentmindedly kicked your shoe at some tracked-in dirt. 

“Don’t act so surprised,” you said nonchalantly, “My father has no ties to me beyond the unfortunate blood in my veins. I’m a bitch to be bred by the highest bidder.”

Something tightened in your chest as you paused for a moment. You blinked away the images that were flowing in through the corners of your mind. “I’m not worth any extra hassle.”

A silence followed. Your gaze was still on the ground, still on your black boots and the floor beneath you. A faint motion caught your eye and you watched as a tendril of Azriel’s shadow drifted to the ground— cascading down his ankle before it fell to the ground, stopping at your feet.

“I’d say,” Azriel murmured.

His words ran through you like a cold chill.

Azriel watched as something dark and fleeting passed through your eyes. You stood up straight, dropping your hands to grip the edges of the table as you leaned the small of your back against it. The faint smell of something burnt lingered in the air.

You tilted your head at him, gaze flickering between his eyes. And then a mocking, sly grin pulled at the edges of your lips. It felt unnatural. “Says the man who fucks me in the forest like a starved beast.”

Azriel’s hands slowly dropped from his chest. He took a step forward. A sense of tension crackled in the shared air, and you felt it within your stomach— a small flicker of fire.

“You let me.”

You shrugged. Heated pooled in your veins.  “A good fuck is a good fuck.”

Azriel’s lips curled into a smirk, and his hand reached out to trace up your arm. You tightened your grip on the edge of the table as the touch traveled through your skin. “It doesn’t bother you that it’s me?”

There was something inherently dangerous about the way he spoke, about the taunting, accusatory tone his words now dripped with. He traced the movement of his hand with his eyes, continuing a path up your arm. 

“I could ask you the same thing.”

His eyes flickered up to yours. You took a deep breath. 

“Truthfully?” He leaned in closer.  “I loathe it.”

His movements momentarily stilled, but you felt his shadows continue the path he’d started, felt as they slowly snaked up your arms. 

“Yet you keep coming back.”

His eyes darkened, and then he let out a soft, cool hum.  “A good fuck is a good fuck.”

By now, you were inches apart, the space between you a thin, taut with a suffocating tension that made it hard for you to breathe. His shadows slithered around you, caressing your skin so delicately you could’ve sworn it mimicked a lover's touch— their darkness wrapping around your neck, weaving themselves through strands of your hair.

You bit your lip, and Azriel's hand moved to your mouth, the pad of his thumb slowly pulling your bottom lip down. "You said you don’t care about Koschei,” he murmured, “That you just want to help your family.”

He released your lip, thumb resting on your skin as he held your chin in his hand.  He titled your head to his line of sight. “But Eris doesn’t know about Renard.”

"No, he does not.”

Your voice was quieter now, a low, soft tone that made Azriel almost groan in response. The feeling went straight through his body, coiling in his stomach and making his cock twitch. 

"Would he disagree with the methods?" 

Azriel’s lips were inches from yours, the space between you practically nonexistent. 

You frowned at the question, feeling your chest tighten as his mouth hovered near yours. Your knuckles turned white as your grip on the table turned iron, feeling the chipped wood beneath your fingertips. 

"He would disagree with me interfering so boldly with my father.”

"Because it would get you killed," Azriel stated.

"Yes.” 

His nose brushed against yours, and he met your gaze as his hand moved to wrap around the base of your neck. 

"You’re willing to continue this even if it risks your life?" 

You felt strangely exposed, naked in a way that you’d never felt before— not even when your clothes had been torn off and he was deep inside you, hands roaming your naked skin with a scorching touch and a ravenous mouth. This felt intimate. You didn’t like it. 

You traced the features of his face, his gaze still laser-focused on you, intense and wanting. He had a few freckles across his cheeks that you’d never noticed, and the flecks of green in his eyes were overshadowed by his dilated pupils. You took a deep breath, finding the courage to meet his heavy gaze once more. 

"Wouldn’t you do something similar?"

Azriel paused. A sense of conflict passed through his eyes as he pulled back slightly, just enough to scan your face entirely. 

"No," he finally said. He hesitated for a moment. "I’d do the exact same thing."

There was a beat of silence. You stared at one another, breaths turning heavy, ragged. Your heart thundered beneath your ribs. Before you could come to your senses, you closed the distance between you, wrapping your hands around his neck to pull him into you. Azriel responded eagerly, mouth slotting over yours with a natural, practiced ease. 

His hands fell from your neck, tracing down your waist until his palms gripped your hips, pulling your body further into his own. You let out a sound of pleasure at the feeling, at how his hands explored you, how the heat of his body seared against yours. You melted into his touch.

Azriel’s lips trailed along your jawline, and with a guttural groan, he  suddenly spun you around, pulling you back against him with a possessive force, his arousal pressing hard into your beck. 

The sudden change in position only fueled the haze in your mind and you placed your hands over his, following as he roamed over your curves. You threaded your fingers through his, roughly guiding his palm up your chest, moving to cup it over your breast. 

His lips nipped at your ear from behind.

"This change in wardrobe is interesting," he murmured, voice husky and rough with a delicious sense of desire.

You tilted your head slightly, reveling in the feeling of his breath against your skin. "Don't like it?" 

He chuckled lowly, his hands cupping your breast roughly. “Don't particularly favor how difficult it seems to take off."

The sensation of his touch sent a rush of heat coursing through you. Every inch of you burned with need— an all-consuming, humiliating need. 

Your eyes fluttered shut and you leaned into his touch, head falling back onto his shoulders as his lips found the skin beneath your ear. 

You raised a hand to tangle your fingers into Azriel’s hair, your eyes opening once more as his touch grew hungrier, rougher. 

The view of the table slowly came into focus. Your gaze fell to the notebook, its empty pages seemed to mock you with their blankness, and you blinked as a sense of sanity washed through you like a cold tide. 

With a jolt, you pushed yourself away from Azriel, prying his hands off your body as you broke the heated embrace.

Azriel blinked, shadows rushing back to him as if startled by the sudden pull away. His hair was tousled, lips still tingling from the kiss.

"What is it?" he asked, breathing heavy. 

You took a moment to compose yourself, patting down your disheveled hair with quick hands. "I’m bored. This isn’t doing it for me," you lied. You swallowed as Azriel’s stared at you with a furrowed brow. "Just go work on Renard."

You left no room for him to respond. Within the blink of an eye, you had disappeared from Azriel’s sight. 

His hands ran through his hair, attempting to shake off the lingering effects of the moment with you. The air still felt suffocating, still smelled of you and the sweet, addicting scent of your arousal. He scowled to himself.

His shadows slowly moved down his frame, falling to the ground and gliding across the floors. His eyes fell down to their movement, watching as they wrapped around a foot of the table, as they made their way up to the tabletop. 

He squinted at where they landed, reaching a finger out to the area that they traced. There, etched into the wood, was a faint outline of a burnt handprint— a perfect replica of your palm. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Even with the familiar scene of pine and earth, returning home to the Forest House– to your court— never brought you a sense of comfort. But today, with the heat of your blush still spreading through your cheeks, you welcomed the quiet, empty halls. 

The soft patter of paws drew your attention as Laney approached with her head lowered. A small smile grew on your lips as she nudged you with her wet nose, but quickly the smile dropped as a small whine escaped her. 

Kneeling down, you gently ran your fingers across her coat. "What's wrong, girl?"

She only nudged your hand once more and turned, leading you deeper into the house.

A sense of foreboding settled over you as you followed her through the corridors. Your steps quickened when you spotted Flint lying outside Eris’s room. The dread in your chest grew heavier. Eris had a special connection to Flint. There were only a few situations in which he’d refuse the company.

Your face fell as you pushed the door to Eris’s room,  heart clenched at the sight before you. 

Eris sat on a small, velvet bench at the end of his bed, his head snapping back to the sound of his door opening. His expression quickly softened when he met your eyes, and you watched as his shoulders slumped.  “It’s just you.”

You gave him a small nod as he turned back around, your gaze falling to the blood-soaked shirt he wore, the crimson color spreading throughout the thin fabric. Flint and Laney pushed past you, paws pattering on the ground as they entered the room. A heavy feeling settled in your chest, something entirely dark and queasy. 

Eris grumbled as Flint neared him. “Shit. Y/N, close the godsdamn door.”

“I-” You snapped out of your daze, quickly closing the door before rushing over to him, gently pushing the hounds aside. “I’m sorry.”

You sat down next to him. “They just want to help you,” you said quietly. 

Eris sighed, a deep, weary sound. “I know. I just—”

Your eyes wandered to the hounds who had settled down nearby. Such regal, cunning, smart creatures. You’d never think them caring enough to sense such pain, yet here they were, eyes reflecting a deep understanding of the situation. Flint let out a small whimper, laying his head on his paws.

You looked back at Eris, slumped with his head in his hands, spine curved in a manner that made his wounds pour deeper into his shirt. A similar thought made its way through your mind. Your brother, regal and intelligent, a male who carried so much, who bore his father’s wrath time and time again– a male with a warm heart somewhere deep within the anger he radiated. The heavy feeling in your chest grew, began to fester into something fighting between fury, loathing, and suffocating sadness. 

“What happened?”

Eris didn’t lift his head, voice muffled by his hands. “He found me talking to my men. It wasn’t anything. Wasn’t about Koschei, wasn’t even about him.” 

There was an exhaustion in his voice that dripped with every word. 

“He was feeling particularly upset today,” Eris finished as he lifted his shirt, revealing the full extent of the damage. The lashes were deep, and you could see the dark, almost blackened edges where your father’s special concoction had seeped into the wounds. Eris bit back a groan, jaw clenched tightly.

That heavy feeling in your chest turned hot, burning— all consuming. So many things ran through your mind, overwhelming, crushing floods of emotions drowning your senses. 

You registered the anger first, the empty, crushing pressure of it, a feeling you’d grown too familiar with. Anger at your father, at the situation you were all trapped in, at the sheer unfairness of it all. 

And then it was guilt. Dark, suffocating, guilt. Renard missing had probably put your father on edge. Not only had you lied about it, kept it a secret, but you hadn’t been there when Eris needed you most. Instead, you’d been entangled with Azriel, a male who had no respect for you, for your family, who would so willingly watch your brother suffer. Selfish, selfish, selfish. 

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. There was nothing you could say, nothing that would make this situation okay, that would take away Eris’s pain– that would prevent it from happening all over again. You swallowed.

“Eris-” 

He lifted his head and turned to you a resigned expression, eyes slightly wide with desperation.  "I’m going to call it all off. We can’t meet with them now, not for a while.”

You didn’t need to ask for clarification, you already knew who he was talking about, what alliance he was referring to. You shook your head. “No, we need-”

"It’s too dangerous," he interrupted, voice urgent and pleading. "He’s watching everyone more closely now. If he finds out you're involved, I don't know what he'll do."

You shook your head faster, a hard sense of determination flaring in your chest. "We can’t, I can't. I need to figure something out. I need to help you."

Eris sat up straighter, grimacing at the motion as he reached out, his hand finding a firm but gentle on your wrist. "You need to stay safe, Y/N. Please. Nothing else matters."

You looked at him, brows furrowed and throat tight. Your strong, protective brother now reduced to pleading with you. You took a deep, ragged breath. “It all matters. I need to help you, okay? I need to make sure you have the upper hand."

Eris just shook his head, shook it so firmly and desperately that you could’ve sworn he was a teenager again, hand on yours as he scolded you for breaking something.

"Please," he repeated, his voice breaking. “Just listen to me."

A wave of helplessness washed over you, and now you felt small again, felt as if you’d shrunk in place. Your mind traveled back, throwing you into memories where you’d hide away from your father, fearing his disappointed hand, desperate for approval but receiving only pain. The same feeling bubbled in your chest.

You swallowed hard.  "I can't just stand by and do nothing."

Eris's eyes softened. "You want to help me? Stay safe.” 

You frowned, biting the inside of your cheek. The words you wanted to say caught in your throat. You couldn’t promise him that. You couldn’t lie. So instead, you turned your attention to his back, to the angry wounds that marred his skin. 

"Here, let me help you," you murmured. He gave you a long look, then nodded, slowly moving his body to expose more of his back to you. 

You moved your hand to his back. Heat surged through you, flickering at your fingertips. Your hands shook, trembled as you attempted to focus. You tried to channel it, to control that divine fire within you, but the energy was wild and unsteady. A self-loathing bite gnawed at you. 

"I can't—" you whispered, the words laced with frustration. 

Renard’s's taunting voice echoed in your mind. Too weak to do anything on your own.

Eris turned to look at you again, calm words breaking through the rising storm you felt inside your chest. "It's okay,” he said, “I can do it."

"I'm sorry.”

He shook his head at you, a small smile gracing his features. “There's nothing to be sorry for.”

There was something about the fact that he was able to smile, that he pulled such a gesture out for you, that made the bitter loathing inside of you spread even faster. 

"Just stay with me?” Eris asked. 

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Of course.”

With one hand, he held yours, and the other twisted over his back. You watched as his own hands began to heat up, glowing with a controlled, steady flame. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

All you felt was anger. All you saw was red.

Memories flashed in your mind, one after another. Eris’s bloodied wounds and the far-off look in his eyes, your mother hid away from the world and the echoes of her crying, being forced to clean the floors of your brother’s blood, your paralyzing inadequacies. It all twisted inside you, each image wrapping itself around your ribs, wounding itself tight enough to make you struggle to breathe.

You weren’t sure how you got here, but the smell of blood in the air tasted sweet on your tongue. Renard lay slumped in the metal chair. Despite his appearance, a mocking grin spread across his split lips as you entered.

“Come back for more, have you?” 

The sight of him, significantly more battered than the last time you’d seen him, brought a welcomed sense of satisfaction. At your sides, you clenched your fists until they were white. 

“I’m done playing,” you said, your voice a low, dangerous growl. “Tell me what you know.”

Renard’s grin widened, a cruel glint in his eyes. “I'm trembling in fear,” he mocked, “What's a dolled-up whore like you going to do?”

Something inside you snapped. 

With a snarl, you lunged forward, hands slamming down onto the metal chair. All the anger, all the pain, everything you’d been holding back, surged through you. The metal beneath your palms began to heat up, the sensation almost soothing in its intensity— cathartic, even. 

Renard’s eyes widened. “I already told you both, fuck, I already gave you all I know!” he shouted, painful groans leaving his mouth as the hot metal below him began to bite at his exposed skin. “We don’t know anything.”

“You’re a liar!” 

In the back of your mind, you grasped at your resolve, grasped at the strength you needed to keep your desperation hidden— all attempts proved futile. You grabbed Renard’s neck, fingers digging into his flesh as a simmering heat radiated down your arm. “Tell me what you know!” 

Renard’s screams filled the room, his body writhing in agony. “I don’t—” he choked out, voice hoarse with pain. You stared at your hand, stared at the flicker of flames that began had to grow, watched as they moved to Renard’s skin–

But before the flames could fully spread, black smoke enveloped your wrist, wrapping around it with a smothering, extinguishing touch. 

Not smoke—shadows. 

A hand grabbed you next, pulling you back with a rough hand. 

You pulled against the familiar grip. “Let me go, you foul-bred animal!” 

Azriel’s voice was a low growl in your ear. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

You struggled against him, but his hold was firm. 

Within a blink, you were winnowed to an open area in the forest, the sudden transition leaving your senses reeling. A cool breeze brushed against your skin, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. You blinked. And then you pushed Azriel off, staggering back with the force of the motion. Your heart pounded with residual fury, a trickling sense of adrenaline still coursing through your veins. 

“What do you not understand about 'let me go'?” you spat, “Is there something in those bat genetics of yours that makes you lose brain functioning at random intervals?”

Azriel’s didn’t budge. “Do not go back there.”

“You don’t tell me what to do, Shadowsinger. I think it’s time I handle this on my own.”

“Handle it?” he echoed, his shadows curled at his fists. “You were about to burn him alive, losing control like some child throwing a tantrum.”

The color drained from your face. “And you’re the expert voice on self-control?”  The taste of resentment lingered on your tongue, sour and sickly familiar. “Where was this energy when you slaughtered and tortured my brother’s men? When they were being controlled, when they knew nothing?”

Azriel’s wings twitched almost imperceptibly. Your voice fell slightly to a tone lower, more raw. 

“Was what I was doing truly that bad, or do you only care that it’s me doing it?”

There was a beat. Azriel looked away before finding your eyes again. He shook his head, a small scowl on his face. “What are you implying?”

Something inside you shifted as you stared at him, every detail seemingly magnified, as if your emotions had sharpened your perception at last. You’d noticed this intensity around him, wrote it off as the thrill of an adversary. But you realized now, as Azriel stood before you, that he was something else entirely: a stark embodiment of everything you loathed, everything you sought to avoid, and everything you secretly craved. 

He wielded cruelty with impunity, praised for his ruthlessness, while his family basked in the warmth of love and freedom, despite their own moral shortcomings. And now he stood before you, a bastard-born nobody who had stumbled into luck, blind to anything beyond his own skewed perceptions. 

There was a defiant, knowing glint in your eyes, as if something had been confirmed— as if that you'd found the answer to some question you’d asked for centuries. 

“You are so desperately searching for some confirmation that I am as horrible as you’ve made me out to be.”

Azriel's eyes narrowed slightly. His demeanor remained outwardly composed, a practiced facade of stoicism and indifference, but the glow of his siphons gave him away. 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You raised an eyebrow, fists slowly unfurling at your sides. Your breath was more even now.

“I understand more than you think. You’ve been waiting for me to slip, to prove that I’m just like—” 

“Beron.”

You paused, slighting flinching at how much contempt was fit into one word.

Eris. You were going to say Eris. Not Beron. Not your father. 

A flash of hurt crossed your face and something in Azriel’s chest tightened. His shadows fell into a frozen wreath around his arms. 

“Right,” you scoffed, moving to brush past him. “Then I better do a good job and prove you right.”

Azriel stopped you with a casual sidestep, wings flaring out to block your path further.  “Do not go back there.”

“I will do whatever the hell I please,” you hissed, meeting his gaze defiantly. There was a burning hatred in your eyes that he’d never felt before, something more foul and rotten than what had been there before. 

Azriel’s jaw clenched even further as he let out an angry breath. The strength of your gaze alone triggered his hand to instinctively wander to the dagger on his hip, to the cool steel of Truth-Teller. His shadows curled around his fingers, threading through them as if calling him back to reality. He blinked, and then pulled his hand away, flexing it as he looked at you once more.

“Why?” 

Azriel's voice was probing, his gaze searching—  scanning your face with a scrutiny that made you itch. 

“Why what?”  you snapped back, your tone sharper than you intended, the itch spreading, making you want to pace or scream, anything to shake off his intense stare, to rid yourself of the tightening in your chest.

“You’re desperate. This wasn’t as thought out as you tend to be.”

You let out a dry, humorless laugh, feeling the sound scrape against your throat. "Because you know me so well?" The words felt like ash on your tongue, a bitter taste lingering in your mouth.

“Yes,” he stated simply, his eyes piercing into yours still. “We’re allies. Explain yourself.”

"I was just trying to pick up your slack and get information." The lie rolled off your tongue naturally.

But Azriel wasn’t buying it. "No, that’s not it," he countered, "We’re working for the same side. There is no reason for you to go off like this."

You gritted your teeth, the pressure making your jaw ache.  “We are not working for the same side.”

“We have an alliance.”

His calm demeanor only fueled your frustration. Your hands fell into a familiar position at your side, curled into tight fists, your nails biting into your palms.

“Your alliance with Eris is to support him when he takes over the throne. But when it comes to Koschei, there is no doubt in my mind you’re willing to undermine your allies to get rid of his threat. And in doing so, you’ll endanger me and my family.”

Your voice was rising, the words spilling out in a rush of pent-up emotion. “ I want to— I need to know everything before any moves are made. My brother needs an edge to stay ahead, and he sure as hell isn’t going to get it if he’s playing by the rules and having to defend his every move because of this stupid agreement.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening to near black. “Eris wouldn’t need to defend himself if he wasn’t a vile snake.”

Rage boiled through you, its fiery grip yanking onto your stomach and your chest.The intensity of it casted a hazy glow, distorting your vision with its searing heat.

“I am fed up with your little group thinking that we need to beg for your forgiveness. Tell me, does it get cold on all of that moral high ground? Does the high horse ever get uncomfortable?”

You stepped closer to him, pushing against his chest with your finger, the contact sending a jolt up your arm. Azriel's hand shot out, gripping your wrist tightly.

 "Perhaps Eris feels the need to beg for forgiveness because of the acts he’s committed.”

“And what has he done? Besides refusing to give in to every whim?” 

You tried to yank your hand free, but his grip held firm. Your pulse pounded in your temples, a steady, throbbing beat. You felt that familiar prickling feeling grow across your skin, a simmering fire creeping up your arm.

“He left Morrigan in those woods to die.”

He dropped your hand, the action almost dismissive, as if he couldn’t bear to touch you anymore. You pulled it back into you and took a step back, shaking your head. Of course. The thought echoed in your mind, bringing a bitter realization that settled like a stone in your stomach. 

“It always comes back to that, doesn’t it?” 

Azriel’s expression hardened, centuries of a grudge etched into every line of his face. His shadows danced around him, dark tendrils coiling and writhing like live fire across his body. You felt it radiating off him in waves— a palpable hatred that made your skin prickle. It was a feeling so intense you wondered how he had managed to lessen it before, how he could bear to be inside you, even with you turned away.

“My brother didn’t put that nail in her. He didn’t touch her at all.”

Azriel’s eyes were hard as steel. “He left her there. Naked, scared, and dying.”

“He gave Morrigan mercy in the only way he knew how.” 

“You call that mercy?” 

“Yes! Eris was just as much of a child as Morrigan was.”

Every word felt rancid now, burned like bile in your throat, fueled by a protectiveness born from years of standing by your brother's side. You stepped closer to Azriel, not bothering to hold back the flames that now licked at your skin. His shadows coiled around his arms, formed an almost protective barrier around his clenched fists. 

“Do you know what my father would have done had Eris touched her, helped her at all? He didn’t take lightly to the disrespect and humiliation she passed. He would have made a public show and slaughtered her. Just as he later did with Jesminda.”

Azriel stayed quiet, stayed eerily still as he watched you. You didn’t expect a response. A new emotion curled itself into your gut, something much heavier than anger, than rage. You thought about Eris, thought about the lashes on his back, thought about how he used to stay awake at night to wander the halls, listening outside of your parent’s chambers in case your mother needed help. You thought about how he’d helped you bury Jesminda, how he’d kept a figurine of Lucien’s to give to you. 

No matter what he did, or what you did for him, he would never be free— not truly. Not from his past and the assumptions people have made of him. He would always be cruel. And you, in association, would always be evil. Vile. It was in your family's nature. You felt foolish for thinking otherwise, for not learning how to take your rage and make it something useful, forge it into a weapon, train it like a beast to eat the remaining shreds of your empathy.

Eris deserved better. He was better than Rhysand. He was better than the male that stood before you. 

"But none of this matters to you," you continued, your voice tinged with bitterness and resignation. "Even if it's the truth.”

Azriel’s wings twitched. You didn’t need further confirmation that your words held true. He would never accept a version of that night besides his own, because a version that included the truth would force him to see Eris as something other than a wicked, evil male. As long as your brother was worse than Azriel, as long as there was someone worse than him, he’d never have to face the fact that he wasn’t as good of a male as he claimed to be.

"You make excuses for your brother, but where are yours?" Azriel finally spoke. "You've done cruel things. You've hurt people. Killed people." His gaze flickered to your fists wreathed in flames. "Burned them alive," he added.

The fire at your arms grew in response to his words.  You cocked your head. And then you ignored him. "You threatened my life. At that High Lord’s meeting—  you lost control, put my brother in a chokehold, and threatened my life."

Azriel's nostrils flared and his siphons began to shine with a dangerous, angry glow. 

"I dare you to live up to your word, Shadowsinger," you challenged, taking a slow step towards him. "I'm here. I've been here.” His eyes traced your every movement. 

“And yet, you've just fucked me."

There was a flicker of something in his eyes, a mix of anger and shame that he quickly masked behind a veil of indifference. But you saw it, felt it, reveled in it.

"You're weak, Azriel," you said, voice low and calm. "A slave to your anger, to your impulses, to your High Lord. You have always been weak."

He blinked at the sound of his name falling from your lips, a wave of uncertainty washing through his face. But his eyes stayed on you, still burning, still angry. They simmered hotter now, heavier with a new strain of contempt. 

Your breath escaped in a half-hearted chuckle. "It's a pity," you said, shaking your head slightly. Your flame dwindled to a faint firefly glow. "To see such a pretty face marred by blind devotion."

With one final glance, you turned on your heel and winnowed away. You didn’t see Azriel again for two more weeks. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

←Part Three

guys.... the next part is one of my favorites tehehehe cause its mainly just azriels perspective and where his mind is at. PLUS this is where those content warnings start to get lighter :DDDD

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen

azriel tag list: @thisiskaylin @serrendiipty

An Education in Malice — Part Three

Pairing: Vanserra!Reader x Azriel

Summary: With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT lots of bickering, sexual tension, threats, name calling, slight torture and wound descriptions, two emotionally dysregulated cunts tbh

Word Count: 8.2k (whoops i got carried away sorry)

←Part Two | Series Masterlist | Part Four🡢

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

After Lucien left Autumn, you saw him once in a while, found time to meet with him in Spring when things weren’t treacherous at home. It wasn’t often, but it was a breath of fresh air when you usually needed it most. You always assumed that feeling came with the openness of Spring— the feeling of being able to laugh with your brother.

But it only got harder over time and things slowly got bitter. Lucien tried his best to persuade you, had convinced you of a future for yourself you never would’ve imagined. Tamlin was ready to welcome you, to give you a space in his court, in his home. But you declined. Over and over, you declined. And eventually, Lucien stopped asking— and stopped pretending he wasn’t deeply hurt by your refusals. 

Before meeting with Azriel, it had been quite some time since you’d stepped foot in the Spring Court.  You hadn’t seen firsthand the damage that was done by Hybern. 

The house you stood in was nestled amidst the Spring Court's grassy expanse, dainty and modest but still beautiful, something so reminiscent of a peaceful, lively history.  You could almost feel an echo in these walls, something dull and quiet, a haunting remnant of a life that was lived here. The silence was broken only by the soft shuffle of your footsteps against the dusty floorboards. 

Sunlight filtered through the large, dusty windows, casting golden hues upon the scattered papers that littered the floor like fallen leaves in autumn— you stared at it for a moment, at the rays of light pouring through as normal, as if there was still a family inside to bask in their warmth.

"This is not where we meet.”

You bit back a grin as you nonchalantly shrugged, casting a quick glance over your shoulder. Sure enough, there he stood, spine straight and eyes burning into your back. Azriel had an affinity for quiet entrances, you’d noticed. But no matter how stealthy he tried to be, you could always sense him. Somehow, somewhere deep inside you.

 "I do things differently than my brother.”

You ran your fingers along a worn tabletop as you walked past it,  turning to face him fully as you leaned against the wood. There was a casual ease about your movements that you knew made Azriel uncomfortable, something you did that made his shadows swarm around him like angry bees to a heavily disturbed beehive. 

Your gaze met his.  "Besides, it's not like Tamlin will mind. Or these people," you said, gesturing around the abandoned, empty room with a sweep of your hand. "Seems like this home has been devoid of life since your High Lady let Hybern decimate this court."

Azriel's rough growl rumbled low in his chest, his shadows quickly slithering up his body to curl around his wings. From behind him they flared slightly, shadows hovering on their apexes like dark sentinels. You watched the display for a moment. And then your gaze fell back to Azriel’s face. 

You raised a single eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips.

"And they call Tamlin a beast."

Your voice was laced with equal parts mockery and challenge, a talent you’d learned to refine over the years. It always filled you with such satisfaction to see the flicker of annoyance on the males you used it with, the anger that grew in the muscles of their body.

Azriel said nothing, gave no response aside from the clench of his jaw and a flare of his nostrils. He was never one for self-composure, never needed to hone the skill. If he wasn’t staying in the shadows, quietly absorbing any information that was willingly shared in the dark, he was using his methods to get answers— and those methods, that duty, didn’t require him to have self control. If anything, his simmering anger helped him. But he was being careful now— around you, specifically. 

Another moment passed and Azriel’s shadows returned to their original place around his torso. He tucked his wings tightly between his shoulder blades. You frowned at the motion, watching as he scanned you, took in your entire presence before him, and turned to leave. 

It was your turn to clench your jaw, for your nostrils to flare in anger. A feeling of deja-vu ran through you like a wave, a memory of how he’d walked away from you in that forest, of how he had dismissed you so quickly then, too. You glared at his retreating form, pushing yourself off the table to stand.

"And where are you going?"

There was a sharp edge to your voice, a dripping venom that Azriel quickly recognized. His footsteps faltered for a moment. 

"Away," he replied tersely.

You weren’t one to beg. If circumstances were different, you’d gladly let him leave, make some comment to push him out the door yourself. After all, the last time you’d seen him your sole goal was to ensure he was out of your hair— out of your business. But things had changed. Eris needed you, and you needed Azriel. You needed an edge– a starting point. Anything. And deep down you knew Azriel had something to offer, that his shadows, his time submerged in them, must have gotten some information, some whisper, that could help you. 

If anything, he’d be able to help you with your current situation. You tossed a glance toward the small hallway behind you, towards the closed door at the end of it. You let out a small growl. 

 "We haven't talked," you snapped, “You’ve been here for less than five minutes. Are you giving up so quickly?”

Slowly, he turned to face you, his gaze a smoldering ember, tense with a restrained fury. "We've talked enough." 

There was a small hunger burning deep inside his stomach now and Azriel knew what he needed to do. He needed to go home and tell Rhysand that he, in fact, wasn’t up for this job. He needed to tell him that he had better things to do with his time, that due to the recent silence, perhaps these meetings weren’t needed in the first place. He made a move to leave once more. 

If you were angry before, you were even more pissed now. You were willing to cooperate despite every fiber of your being itching to set him alight, to leave him and remind him of his place. And he was toying with you. 

With a sharp intake of breath, you snapped your hand out, inadvertently dislodging a piece of wood from the top of the doorframe. Azriel's shadows shot out, snatching the fiery fragment from the air before it could fall. With a swift motion, tendrils of black shadow extinguished the flames, engulfing the fire and leaving only the scent of smoke lingering in the air. 

You blinked, watching as Azriel looked down at the burnt piece of wood that now dropped at his feet. He kicked it off his boots in a gesture of casual regard. 

You took a deep breath as you repeated, "I said we haven't talked.”

Slowly, Azriel turned around, his gaze piercing, expression etched with a simmering anger that would send most fleeing. You matched it as best as you could. He began to advance towards you, each step deliberate and measured, agonizingly slow. You found yourself rooted to the spot, unable to tear your gaze away from his approaching form. Despite the seething anger that coursed through your veins, you forced yourself to draw in deep breaths, fists clenched at your sides, nails digging into your palms. 

Every muscle in your body screamed for action, for release, but you remained still.

Bending down slightly, he brought himself to eye level with you. His eyes scanned you, dissecting you with the precision of a predator sizing up its prey. And then, in a voice that dripped with authority and a burning fury, he spoke. "Tell Eris that if he isn't the one to meet with us, our agreement is over."

Your jaw clenched at his proximity, at the predatory gleam in his eyes that dared you to back down. But you refused to cower. You were growing tired of males in your life giving you commands. 

"Last I checked, you're a lap dog, not a High Lord. You don't give orders.”

His breathing mirrored your own, both turning shallow and erratic. As if in response to the heavy atmosphere, Azriel's shadows stirred, darkness swirling around him like a cloak of night. His wings extended. Then he straightened, the tension in the air easing slightly as he pulled away, breaking the almost suffocating closeness between you. 

“Why would I talk to you?” Azriel spoke. "Did you not threaten me the last time we spoke?"

You narrowed your eyes at his question, a bitter laugh escaping your lips as you shook your head in disbelief. "Oh my gods," you mocked, bringing a hand to your lips in exaggerated surprise. "Is this what this is all about?"

With a sarcastic lilt to your voice, you continued, "Did I hurt your feelings, Shadowsinger? Is that it?" 

Azriel's gaze hardened into something almost tangible, eyes narrowing into slits that bore into yours. Tension coiled in the muscles of his jaw. He gave no response. 

"Fine," you said, "If you're so sensitive, send someone else to keep this arrangement."

You waited for a moment, watched as Azriel stood quietly before you.

"Rhysand should have never agreed to working with your pathetic excuse of a brother."

A familiar heat rose within your stomach.  "My pathetic excuse of a brother," you echoed, "has saved your asses multiple times, whether you're willing to admit it or not."

A silence stretched between you. You clenched your jaw.

"Rhysand made this agreement," you hissed, "So be a good little Spymaster and spill your guts."

His demeanor remained stoic, but there was a subtle shift in his expression as his gaze scanned you once more, eyes narrowing slightly in contemplation. Something new gleamed in them, now, a hint of amusement deep within the hazel-brown. Even his shadows had stilled, coming to a slow circling around his arms. 

"I thought that agreement didn't apply to you?"

"Things have changed." 

"How very convenient for you.”

Frustration boiled in your chest.  "The sooner you give me any updates, the sooner you can crawl back into your shadows to wallow in self-pity," you spat.

Azriel's eyebrow raised in response. But still, there was no verbal answer, no indication of any real response. 

Straightening your posture, you adopted a facade of sweetness, a coy smile playing at the corners of your lips. "At this point, I'm starting to think you're finding reasons to stay and argue with me," you said, "If you want to fuck again, just ask. You’re getting desperate. It’s not a good look."

His eyes darkened instantly— as if you’d offended him in some deeply egregious way. "No updates,” he snarled.

You were torn on whether to smirk at his response or to offer a snarl of your own. 

"That's what you said last time we spoke,” you responded, “Over a month ago.” 

"Sorry to disappoint, princess.”

Azriel made it a point to emphasize the last word, to add as much venom as he could to the syllables that it contained. It practically dripped of contempt. His shadows flickered and writhed around him.

His silence, his nonchalance, his arrogant demeanor—  it was all beginning to eat at you, beginning to gnaw at whatever patience you had collected to be here before him. In the back of your mind you kept reminding yourself, kept repeating it over and over again: Eris needed you. And you needed Azriel. 

“You came here,” you said through gritted teeth, “You found me. Why bother making the trip if you had nothing of use to offer?”

Ever so slightly, like a dog curiously sizing up another animal, Azriel’s head tilted. He offered a half shrug. “It was expected of me.”

You scoffed. "As a good lapdog, I suppose."

A growl cut through the air like a warning. "Watch it," he cautioned.

"I don't think I will," you replied coolly, "You're all useless, as usual, so I guess I'll find out what I need to know by myself."

He raised an eyebrow in response, a subtle tick in his jaw as he scanned your face once more. Then, he turned to leave for what felt like the fifteenth time within the hour. 

You bit at the inside of your cheek. "And to think I had a little gift for you."

He stopped in his tracks, turning back to face you with a scowl. "What are you talking about?" 

“Doesn’t matter.” You shrugged nonchalantly, feigning indifference as you inspected your nails with exaggerated interest. "But, y’know, I always thought one of the perks of being a shadowsinger was being able to hear things other people didn't.”

You dropped your hand to look up at him. “Guess not.”

The muscles in Azriel's jaw tensed, his patience wearing thin as he took a menacing step closer to you. "You’re insufferable," he snarled, his voice a low rumble that reverberated through the room. “What are you hiding?”

“Rude.” You pouted. “And it’s not a what, so much as a who.”

Azriel’s gaze lingered on you, his eyes following the movement of your lips as they curved into a smile.  "Come on, pretty boy,” you taunted, voice laced with amusement, “If you’re not gonna use your shadows, at least use those arched ears of yours.” 

He scowled, letting his shadows fall from where he had been purposely containing them. Instantly they dispersed throughout the house. Az stood still— eerily, stone, still— as his eyes remained trained on you. A moment later, realization dawned on his face, his expression shifting from anger to something cooler. 

You chewed at your lip.  "Now, should I be flattered that my presence is so distracting?" 

A new grin began to widen as he shot you a glare, instantly moving towards the hallway of the small house, his shadows curling around his ankles while a few lone tendrils led the way.

The hallway was small, with only a few doors lining either side. He passed two in quick succession before finally reaching the room at the end of the hallway.

Pushing open the door, Azriel's shadows spilled into the room and he stilled, gaze falling to the unmoving form of a male sprawled on the floor. He was bloody and bruised, features twisted in pain as he lay in a pool of his own blood. 

He was alive. This Azriel knew from both his shadows and the shallow rise and fall of the male’s chest. He blinked, taking in the scene for another moment. From behind him, he heard your soft footsteps cease. 

When he turned to look at you, you were still grinning at him, a glint of something in your eye that made him nervous, of all things. 

"This is…" you began as you walked to where Azriel stood, positioning yourself next to him as you continued to speak. “One of my father's men.”

You gestured toward the man on the floor, shaking your head with a small chuckle of disbelief. "Somehow he’s one of my father's most trusted– has been out on a few errands for him.” You turned to look up at Azriel, only to find his gaze already on you. "Such a shame he’s on a drunken bender now... or at least, that's what everyone in Autumn is saying."

Azriel's gaze shifted from you to the man on the floor, his expression unreadable as he stared at the scene before him. "Did Eris bring him here?"

You scoffed at the suggestion. "I take offense to that, Shadowsinger. This was all me. Eris doesn't know.”

The answer drew Azriel’s gaze back to you, eyes narrowing with what you could only assume was a mix of skepticism and curiosity. 

"Why not?" 

You met his stare with a steely gaze of your own. "Don't worry yourself with the details.”

Your tone was cold enough to make him fall silent once more as he turned his attention back to the male on the floor. 

"You haven't heard even a whisper about Koschei?” You said, “Then he's probably your best bet, given Beron's incessant need for a power grab."

Beron. Azriel took note of how you used the term father interchangeably with his name. He stored the information away in his mind, reminding himself to think about it later– to assess if it was important enough to use against you in some shape or form. 

Azriel turned around to meet your gaze.  "What do you want?"

A smirk tugged at the corners of your lips as you met his intense stare. "Maybe you're smarter than I give you credit for.”

But Azriel wasn't having it. He growled in frustration, patience clearly wearing thin as his scowl grew deeper. "What do you want," he repeated.

You didn't flinch. "I need you to be useful for once in your pathetic life and make him talk," you stated bluntly. “Obviously I can't keep him here. But I don't have spare dungeons just lying around. We're a bit more civil in Autumn than you night dwellers.”

"Civil isn't the word I'd use," Azriel gritted his teeth.

You rolled your eyes, biting back the answering remark that was on the tip of your tongue. You knew you’d have plenty more opportunities to tell him off, to make him simmer in his own anger and evident self-hatred. But you needed to buy that extra time first.

“I need you to take him somewhere and do your job. And I need you not to tell your owner about it—not yet, anyway."

Azriel sent a withering glare your way, but he didn’t bother to respond. If he were to acknowledge your words, acknowledge the jabs you were making at him, he was bound to lose control. He could feel it bubbling inside him already. 

“And why the hell would I do that?” 

You let out a small contemplative hum. The sound held a gentle caress to it, one that stood in such contrast to you— and to the bloodied male that lay before you both. It made Azriel shiver, made him itch to make a move. He wasn’t sure what move it would be, didn’t trust himself enough to think about it for too long. 

“You’re desperate,” you said, cocking your head at him. “I can sense it. This silence, the lack of any movement or threat, it has you unsettled.” 

Azriel’s glare remained fixed on you, a burning intensity that could have set you ablaze if he had been ‘blessed’ with powers just like you. It made you excited, the realization that you still evoked such strong emotions in an otherwise emotionless male. 

“I don’t think you know how to exist when you aren’t needed,” you murmured, “And your only skillset seems to fall in between fighting and fucking.”

His shadows swarmed around him as he rolled his shoulders back, wings extending out and high to tower over you— a reminder of who he was, in case you had forgotten. He was sending you a warning. 

“And what if I were to say no?” Azriel said, his darkened eyes drinking you in like a new challenge. “If I were to take him now, hide him somewhere and get the answers I needed?”

“You wouldn’t get far,” you said matter-of-factly, “You make the mistake of underestimating me.”

He thought back to his encounters with you, to the venomous bite of your tongue and the fire in your veins. He asked honestly, voice deep and rough like gravel, “Is that so?”

“All I care about is figuring out what my father is doing. Everything else? That’s on you.”

It was all true. You didn’t care about Koschei— not truly, not about him specifically. If it came down to it and there was a way to protect your family, to protect Eris and Lucien, to protect your mother and your hounds, even your other brothers, you would let him burn the world down. It didn’t matter to you. All that mattered was ensuring that power, that leverage, didn’t end up with your father. The savior complex of the Night Court could deal with the rest. 

“So if you try to cross me, I’ll kill him,” you pointed to the male on the floor. And then, you brought a finger to Azriel, “And then, I’ll go after someone you care about. I won’t lie and say that I haven’t dreamed of what it would feel like to make your sorry excuse of a family burn.”

Something snapped within Azriel, some thin sense of resolve that he had been delicately protecting by remaining quiet, passive even. In an instant, faster than his own shadows could process, he had you by the throat, pinning you against the wall with a force that stole your breath away. His eyes blazed with fury as he held you in place, grip tightening as he leaned in to share a breath with you. 

"You have a death wish, princess," he growled, voice low and dangerous, sharp like a sword. "I don’t care about Rhysand’s deal with your brother, with you. If you threaten my family, I’ll kill you."

Slowly, a smirk grew on your lips, tantalizing and wicked in a way that made Azriel’s own shadows still. Your smirk only widened as Azriel's grip tightened around your throat.

You could feel his anger radiating from him, could see it in the flare of his wings, in his breathing—heavy and ragged like a wound-up beast on the brink of attack.

"Is it killing me you think about when I run through that mind of yours?" you gasped out, your voice laced with a dangerous, intoxicating edge. "Or is it something else?"

The words seemed to strike a nerve, igniting a deeper, darker blaze of fury behind Azriel's eyes. He knew you were right, knew that thoughts of you had haunted his mind more than he cared to admit. Images of you, of your defiance and your vile mouth, had conjured themselves in his darkest fantasies, igniting a desire within him that he struggled to contain— how much he had enjoyed you, how starved he was to repeat it again, to make you submit in some form. 

"Shut up," he growled, his voice rough, strained.

"You want me dead, Shadowsinger?” you managed to taunt, your words punctuated by ragged breaths as his hand remained wrapped around your throat.  “Allow me to help you get a head start."

With a deliberate slowness, you raised your hand, revealing the glint of Truth-Teller, watching as Azriel's eyes flickered to the dagger, his expression betraying a hint of alarm.

A surge of adrenaline coursed through you as you observed his reaction, as you watched a sense of realization pass through his face— perhaps he had begun to realize that you were not just a challenge, you were an equal. A proper threat.

His shadows surged forward, pinning your wrist to the wall with a force that made a strained gasp leave your tightening throat. The dagger slipped from your grasp, clattering to the floor with a metallic echo.

Despite the pressure against your windpipe, you managed to maintain your composure, your voice steady, albeit broken, as you spoke, "I told you that you were underestimating me."

Azriel looked over his shoulder at the male behind him, running the scenarios through his mind. You were right. He was unsettled— not only by the silence, but by some unquenchable thirst he’d been feeling. He veered away from admitting the truth, from admitting that his duties as a Spymaster helped him relieve some deep tension that had forged itself into his very bones, anger that was born out of every event of his life. It made him feel powerful, made him feel useful, made him feel in control. 

He’d been lacking in that area recently. He wanted to be in control again. This scenario, the male before him, a secret deal with you— being with you, it made for some sinister compromise in his deeply troubled mind. Something that made him hungry, made his thoughts hazy. 

“I’m not a patient female,” you hissed, “Make up your mind or get the hell out of here.”

Azriel knew better— somewhere deep in his gut, even deep in his mind, he knew better. But his rationality wasn’t the part he tended to listen to. So against his better judgment, and in favor of the burning he felt in his chest, of the sickening sense of excitement that had begun to grow, and the allure of your grin, he let out a breath and released his grip on you.

 “Fine.”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

It had been a few days now, a week almost, since Azriel relocated Renard– as he’d so kindly offered his name— to an area where he could interrogate him farther.

The day had been quiet, nothing beyond familial affairs and brotherly gossip within your home. So you decided to pay Azriel a visit— see just how much this deal was benefiting you.

You stood silently for a while, observing Azriel as he circled Renard with an eerie calmness. You held on to any words that he spoke, absorbing any information you could— just in case Azriel began to pick and choose what he wanted to share. You knew that he knew you were there, that he’d sensed you the minute you’d winnowed in. But he hadn’t made any move to acknowledge you. You doubted he would anytime soon. 

This was how it had been for the past week. Azriel, as you had come to learn, went into a certain headspace when he immersed himself in his duties. He was frightening enough on his own, in his normal stature shrouded in his own shadows, wings on display. But in this state, as an active spymaster, even you found yourself being careful. Not as much as you should have been, but far more cautious than you usually were. 

A few more minutes passed, minutes filled with cryptic talk and groans of pain. You pushed yourself off the wall and walked closer to the opening.

"For a Spymaster, you're awfully bad at your job.”

Renard’s head snapped up to where you stood and he sneered as he caught sight of you, eyes filling with contempt. "If it isn’t the backstabbing whore herself," he spat, "When your father finds out what you've been up to, he'll—"

You clenched your jaw as your gaze flickered to him, taking in his form– bound to a metal chair, covered in his own dried blood. The irritation in your gut calmed as you gave him a scowl. 

"For a male bound to a chair like a bitch, you sure are mouthy.”

Renard opened his mouth once more, but before any sound could leave it, a flurry of Azriel’s shadows snaked around his neck, curling up to his mouth to gag him. He thrashed against the movement, attempting to bite at the strange, foreign feeling that bound his mouth. You grinned. 

You shot a pointed look at Azriel. "See, I had him talking already.”

There was no response. Azriel didn’t even look back, didn’t mutter a sound. He seemed more stoic than usual, more quiet than you were used to. It was unsettling. 

“You’re holding back,” you said. A statement— an observed fact.

Azriel threw a bitter glare your way, but his gaze didn't linger, falling back down to his stained hands as he methodically wiped his blade clean with a rag. "You talk too much," he muttered, tone clipped with irritation.

You ignored his deflection. "Is it Elain?"

He stiffened, hands stilling around the blade. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the soft rustle of fabric against steel as Azriel continued to clean the blade with meticulous precision, opting to ignore you to the best of his ability. But you could see it, the tick in his jaw, the tension in his wings— his restraint was slowly chipping away. 

"I can't blame you," you continued, "I've heard she's a real sweetheart. I bet you can't wait to get those blood-stained hands on her, ruin her in some way she can never return from."

The color drained from Azriel's face as his jaw clenched further, the siphons on his hands flickering with blue heat. 

"But she wouldn't stay with someone so dark, would she?" you mused aloud, a mocking lilt to your voice. "Someone so starved for affection."

The room fell into another tense silence as Azriel's grip tightened on his blade, the bound male before you shifting uncomfortably in his chair. But still, Azriel remained silent, expression hard as he continued to stare at the weapon in his hands. 

You felt a surge of frustration building within you, prickling and hot. You wanted a reaction, to break whatever resolve he was clinging to so that you could get the information you needed. 

"I miss Lucien quite a bit," you remarked casually. “He’s always had a great sense of humor. Tell me, can you hear Elain’s giggles through those picture-perfect walls of your Velaris homes? As she chooses a Vanserra over you?”

Azriel finally let out a low, guttural growl, a cloud seemingly descending upon his mind— obscuring his thoughts with a haze of anger and frustration. In one fluid movement, he lunged forward, driving the dagger into Renard’s chest, the blade sinking deep into his flesh as if his skin were a sheath. You, his mind seemed to growl at him, you insufferable, pretentious- 

His shadows slithered up his arms like dark serpents, and before Renard could utter another word of defiance with his newfound freedom, Azriel's fist connected with his face in a brutal blow, sending his head down in a motionless heap.

Azriel turned to face you, eyes burning with a loathing intensity that sent a nervous flutter through your stomach. His jaw was clenched, features taut with a dark anger, yet there was something else there too—a glimmer of excitement, perhaps, maybe even a hint of begrudging respect.

You were torn between fear and defiance, heart pounding in your chest as you met his gaze. There was a part of you that continued to relish in the power you held over him, the way you could push him to the edge with just a few carefully chosen words. But there was also a part of you that held strong to the reminder that you were playing a dangerous game with not nearly enough leverage. 

His gaze bore into you with an energy that made your heart quicken. Wings extended, he rolled his shoulders and took deliberate steps forward. Despite your efforts to stand your ground, you found yourself instinctively stepping back. Fuck.

Azriel noticed the movement instantly, his gaze flickering down to where your foot had shifted. When he looked back up at you, there was a gleam in his eyes that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Is this your way of begging for my attention?" he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Has your court finally grown bored of you?”

A certain heavy anger boiled under your skin. "Fuck you," you spat. Your hands curled at your sides. 

A chilling smirk curled upon Azriel's lips. "You already have.”

He took another step forward and you stumbled backwards until your back hit the cold, unforgiving stone wall behind you.

"It's interesting," Azriel mused, "You say so many things about me, yet you let me fuck you— begged me for it. Do you hate yourself, is that it?"

For a male of little words, Azriel sure knew the right ones to say— and the ways to say them. He was mocking you, playing with you in the same manner you’d toyed with him. You had to admit that being on the receiving end wasn’t as fun. And your patience was wearing thin. 

You met Azriel's gaze with a mask of annoyance.

"Contrary to what your life experience might lead you to believe, some people actually like themselves.”

A small cock of his head.

"I don’t see what there is to like.”

You blinked. Then, a spark in your stomach lit and you were biting back a smirk. 

“Saw enough to fuck me.”

His jaw clenched. Seconds later, something flickered across his face, rolling through the scowl he wore. His eyes narrowed, the intensity of his gaze boring into yours with a new kind of intensity— something hungrier. 

“You were right,” he said, his voice low.

The sudden shift in his tone caught you off guard, leaving you feeling unsettled and apprehensive. He was too calm now, too collected compared to moments prior. It was dangerous— dangerous enough to make your heart quicken. 

"What the fuck are you talking about?" 

Another step towards you, close enough to where you both stood practically chest to chest, sharing a breath. 

"It isn’t just killing you that runs through my mind,” Azriel murmured.

His hand slithered up your collarbone, a roll of anticipation coursing through you at the touch. 

Then, with a swift motion, his hand twisted, fingers wrapping around the base of your neck, fingers threading through your hair. You let out a small, breathless gasp as he pulled roughly at the nape of your neck, coaxing you to tilt your head back, neck exposed fully to him.

He leaned in closer, breath hot against your skin as his nose brushed against your neck— tracing a path to your pointed ear. 

"You have no idea," he breathed, "The things I've imagined doing to you..."

He pulled back to meet your gaze, eyes heavy and blown-out in a haze of lust. He brought a rough hand to grip your chin, the pad of his thumb moving to trail over your bottom lip. "Putting this mouth to better use.”

You let out a small breath, heart pounding in your stomach as a familiar hunger began to grow deep in your stomach. Your body hummed with desire as you locked eyes with him. Azriel stilled, his thumb settling motionless on your lip. His eyes flickered to yours. 

“Does this turn you on, Y/n? Being pressed against a wall, so eager to be put in your place?”

For a moment, you stared intently into those hazel irises, into the dark, sickening sense of desire that flickered in them. Far in the back of your mind, a realization gnawed at you, nipped at you like a small animal begging for attention. This was a bad, bad idea.

Which made it all the more fun.

You surged forward, closing the distance between you and pulling him into a rough kiss fueled equal parts by anger and desire. 

Azriel let out a growl as he pressed you further against the wall, hands roaming eagerly over your body. One hand found its way to your waist, pulling you closer to him with an iron possessive grip while the other quickly moved to grip your ass, bunching the fabric of your dress in his hands. 

You indulged him, mirroring the aggression and pressing hard into the hands that grabbed you, into his chest as you pulled him closer by a rough hand around the base of his neck. You moaned into the kiss, the sound muffled by his lips as he ravished you, nipping at your lips in an attempt to coax the sound out of you once more. 

The kiss was forceful, violating. Your teeth knocked together as Azriel moved his tongue deeper into your mouth, moving it in tandem with your own as you met his mouth in conflicted familiarity — movements both desperate, hot and heavy, separated by only your own gasps.

Azriel’s shadows began to coil around him as a distant groan echoed through the room. With a heavy breath, he pulled away from you.

"What?" you managed to gasp out, voice breathless as your eyes shuttered open.

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes falling to Renard’s stirring form, watching as he slowly came to from whatever hellscape Azriel's punch had thrown him into.

There was the clear choice: push you off, swear to himself that he wouldn’t indulge in such fantasies again and focus on getting answers for his family— information to protect those he loved from an imminent threat. 

And then there was the other choice, just as tempting as it was inherently wrong.

He looked back to you, to your swollen lips and dark gaze. 

Without a second thought, Azriel pulled you back into him, covering you both with his shadows as he winnowed away. 

The world spun in a dizzying whirlwind of movement. Disoriented, you pulled away, faintly recognizing the small home you’d grown familiar with, the same rays of sun peeking through wide windows. Azriel closed the distance between you once more— a kiss of tongue and teeth, rough hands pawing at you like an animal in heat, movements led by a hunger that matched your own. With a rough urgency, he guided you towards the small living area— the image of you pressed over a couch, bent over for him, grew in his mind. 

Azriel pulled apart, tugging at the material of your dress. A rough hand snaked up your waist, his large palm grabbing one of your breasts. 

"Take this off.”  He brought you in for another searing kiss. 

"Stop telling me what to do.”

With a swift movement, Azriel spun you around, hand gripping your neck as he pulled you into him. You could feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against you through his leathers and you fought the urge to writhe in need. 

"There's that attitude," he growled into your ear. A wave of anticipation sparked in your stomach, his voice sending a wave of arousal that began to pool at your core. "I can't wait to fuck it out of you again.”

A smirk tugged at your lips as you turned your head to peer back at him. “And you say I’m the one who talks too much.”

Azriel's eyes darkened, jaw twitching as he removed his hand from your throat, wasting no time as he roughly threw you forward onto the armrest of the couch. You let out a small gasp at the sudden movement, arousal surging through you as his hands worked to push your dress up, the fabric bunching around your waist.

The fact that you were still clothed only added to the burning in your chest— something about it, in this abandoned home, made it feel even dirtier, even more sinful. The first time could have been written off as a bad decision in a lustful, angry haze, but this— this was deliberate. This was purposeful. And you wanted it— badly. 

A groan echoed in the air as Azriel finally stripped you bare of your lace underwear, fingers grazing over the soaked fabric with a primal need. With shallow, heavy breaths, he took in the sight before him, eyes dark with desire as he drank in the curve of your back, the way you instinctively arched in the open air. 

His hands found purchase on your ass, kneading the soft skin of your cheeks with a possessive grip. There was a haze clouding both of your minds now. Azriel felt like a starved animal, like a man already praying for release. 

For you, there was a deep, desperate need to be touched by him further, to feel him inside you again. 

Another moment passed as he gripped your ass in his rough hands. It was sickening how much he was enjoying it, enjoying the way his scarred hands ran over your skin, how his siphon glared and glistened with every pulse of desire that ran through him. His cock stirred.

You gritted your teeth together in response to the urgency in your body, at the fire his touch started beneath your skin. A sound of frustration left your mouth.  

“Are you just going to stare or are yo-”

Your sentence halted abruptly, interrupted by the sudden slap of Azriel's hand against your ass. 

The sting of the impact sent a jolt of electricity rippling down your legs, the feeling instantly intensified by the burning sensation of his finger tracing along your folds.

"Look at that," he crooned, "So eager for my touch."

Two fingers drove into you. Your back arched in response as a delicate moan left your lips. 

Azriel's voice, low and husky, wrapped around you like a caress as he observed your response to his touch. “So responsive.”

He drew fingers out, slowly working up to circle your clit with your own wetness. He curled his fingers into you again, pulling a faint whine from your lips. You bit at your lip, gnawed at it in an attempt to quiet yourself: With each thrust of his fingers, you felt yourself building to the edge of ecstasy.

You attempted to grind your hips back into him. 

But before you could fully indulge in the sensation, a faint tug wrapped around your legs. His shadows coiled around your ankles with a sudden force, yanking your legs apart and holding them firmly in place.

A gasp escaped your lips as you registered the movement, legs bowing under the pressure as his shadows— as Azriel and his fingers— exerted their control over you. His left hand grabbed hold of your ass, locking you in place as his fingers continue to plunge into you.

Azriel hummed in approval at the sight before him, his tongue running along his lip at your vulnerable position.

"You look even better restrained like a good little whore.”

The voice that spoke was almost unrecognizable, even to Azriel himself,  dripping in lust, deeper and rougher than you’d ever heard. A growl escaped your lips.

"A lot of talk and not enough action, Shadowsinger.”

His jaw clenched at the taunt, the muscles on his arms and throughout his back tensing in response. Instead of responding, Azriel’s fingers worked to undo his leathers, quickly freeing himself from the confines of his pants, his length springing free and throbbing with need.

He stroked himself once, twice, his gaze never leaving yours as you lay beneath him, breathless with anticipation.

“Do you want me to fuck you, princess?”

Your heart gave a throb and something in your stomach clenched. At the sound of his voice, your muscles tightened, and by the way Azriel’s breath hitched, the way his body tensed further, you knew he could feel it beneath his fingertips. “Yes,” you answered without hesitation, because how could you not.

He guided a fisted length along your slit until the thick head was pressed against your glistening core— teasingly, agonizingly slow, Azriel repeated the motion. Once, twice, a third time, watching as the tip of his cock slowly collected the wetness of your cunt— the slick that he had caused.  

He hovered above you, cock poised at your entrance as you ached for the release that only he could provide— a scary, insidious reality you’d come to acknowledge. 

Azriel let out a guttural groan as he pushed himself inside of you, your slick walls welcoming him eagerly.

"Oh fuck," he breathed, face contorting in pleasure as he watched himself disappear into your cunt.

The stretch of him was delicious, a sudden feeling of fullness pulling a whimper from your lips as you surrendered to him. Azriel moved his hips slowly, savoring the sensation of being buried deep within you.

He spread your cheeks with his fingers, wanting to admire the sight of his cock disappearing into you— his grip grew tighter the longer he watched, the harder he attempted to store the image away in his mind, somewhere he could reach for it at a later time. His movements were deliberate, each roll of his hips pushing his cock farther, deeper, into you. Agonizingly, teasingly slow.

But you wanted more. You needed more.

“C’mon, pretty boy,” you crooned from over your shoulder, pausing to bring your bottom lip between your teeth. “You can do better than that.”

He let out a growl— a sound more animal than it was fae. And then he was pulling himself out, quickly pushing himself back in to sheath himself to the hilt once more. The force of it alone sent your body forward, and Azriel was quick to grip your waist in his hands and pull you back into him, into his relentless pace. 

“Gods,” Azriel groaned, more to himself than you, “I’ve missed this tight cunt.”

Your back arched more each time he plowed into you, the bow of your spine more pronounced as Azriel’s hands gripped at the small of your back, pushing you further onto the arm of the couch. You gripped the couch cushions beneath you with tightly curled fits, leveraging your hips higher to meet every thrust.

A prickling heat spread through your body, collecting at the palms of your hand as you gripped onto the couch below you. 

“Prove it,” you managed to whine out— a challenge, an offer.

Azriel took it immediately. 

He pulled you back even more, moving your body so that your weight was leaning forward, stomach pressed against the arm rest, toes barely touching the ground as as he rammed into you at the new angle.

Azriel couldn’t explain the hunger he was feeling now, the deep-seated pleasure he was experiencing as he fucked you, watching as you writhed underneath him, watching how your ass bounced with every thrust. It wasn’t like this with any other female he’d bedded. This, you beneath him, was addicting. Every indecipherable sound you let out was intoxicating, the sound of your whimpers, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh. It made him want to test every limit he’d ever set for himself, push every boundary he knew he shouldn’t. But as you moaned for him, as you met him at every jerk of his hips, Azriel couldn’t think of a better way to continue his life. 

“Thats it, princess,” Azriel murmured, “Fuck yourself on my cock.”

It was obscene, truly, the creak of the floorboards under the weight of the couch, the wet sounds of your bodies slapping together, your moans, his harsh breathing. You threw yourself back into every thrust, legs now aching as they remained spread apart, tied by his cool shadows at the base of your ankles. Pleasure laced and bloomed inside of you, radiating down from your fingers to your toes— an electric pressure building to a peak.

Azriel’s mouth salivated as he drank it all in: the sound of his balls against your ass, your breathy moans, the sensation of your wet heat wrapped around him. The room echoed back the sounds of your pleasure in an erotic melody that left you both embarrassed and breathless. He gave your ass a rough smack, a shiver running through his body as he observed the reddening print of his palm on your skin.

“Dirty, dirty, girl.”

You could feel his cock swelling inside you, could feel his hot palms gripping your skin— there would be bruising, you were sure of it, marks of his hands in such unholy, dangerous placements.

You let out a breath, attempting to brace yourself on your forearms as you turned your cheek to your shoulder, just enough to see him moving behind you, just enough for you to murmur, “I think you love it.”

The words seemed to sir Azriel even further and he  increased his pace, thrusts becoming even rougher, sloppier—  more urgent. Your body responded to his movements, cunt massaging him, clenching around him, making him groan instinctively in response.

His breaths were ragged as he bucked into you roughly, a string of curses falling from his lips. With one final snap, you felt the tension within you reach a peak, cunt clenching around him as your orgasm rolled through you, white-hot and dizzying. 

A shiver of pleasure shot from Azriel’s stomach to his cock — with a rough jerk, he emptied against inside you, an animalistic groan filling the room as he came, face contorted with pleasure. You felt the warmth of his seed fill you, felt it leaking as Azriel slowly pulled out.

You slumped over the armrest of the couch, body still tingling from the intensity of your orgasm. 

Azriel’s eyes were fixed on you, his cock still twitching with the aftershocks of his release. He watched his seed drip from your glistening folds. He fought a primal urge to stroke a finger along your folds, to curl them in your cunt again and push his seed even further--- to claim you in a way that would ensure you could never forget the pleasure he had given you yet again.

Slowly, his haze of euphoria slowly faded, his body now relaxed, the tension melting away as his shadows loosened their hold around you. He looked up, watching as you pushed yourself up from the couch, watching as your dress fell back into place as you turned to face him.

A wicked grin spread across your lips, sinful and enticing.

“Now isn’t that a lot more fun than just killing me?”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

←Part Two Part Four🡢

A/N:

and so we begin the fun lil enemies with benefits and forced proximity tropes… we love when 2 heavily traumatized people bond over torture <3

also confession time guys…writing the words whore or slut make me 😟 but in this case lil az using it as a means of trying to be in control… just imagine how he’s gonna feel later when he’s realizing how shitty it was and how he actually respects you omffff

TAGLISTS

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon @glam-targaryen

malice series tag list: @going-through-shit @sidthedollface2 @justasillylittlegoofyguy @mal-adaptive-dreams @alainabooks143 @mybestfriendmademe @sfhsgrad-blog @marina468 @wonderwomanlovesyou @the-darkestminds @circe143 @starsandsins @acourtofdreamsandshadows @ysmtttty @mendes-bae

@breadsticks2004 @tothestarsandwhateverend @kamastar39 @previousloversandmuses @judig92 @romanoffslegacy @sweetcarolina-24 @harryskissies @glitterypirateduck @justyouraveragekleemain @midnightnotice @teenagellamaangel @thesillyyogourt @reiincarnatiion @stinkinstuffie @formulahockey @pruvii @marina468 @nickishadow139

@cherry-cin @quinzzelx @sadiechar @glam-targaryen @moosemahboi @inloveallthetime

azriel tag list: @thisiskaylin

if your username is crossed out it means i was having issues with tagging you so hopefully it works 🫶🏻

An Education in Malice — Part Two

Pairing: Vanserra!Reader x Azriel

Summary: With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT /sexual content (not reader and az this time tho), swearing, eris having a soft spot for his sister, some low-blow comments and jokes about experienced trauma, mentions of sex, slut shaming if you squint

Word Count: 5.9k

← Part One | Series Masterlist | Part Three

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It was night by time Eris returned home.

The room was capped in a comfortable silence, only the crackling of the fire next to you and the soft breaths of the two hounds that surrounded you— Laney at your feet, Flint lying on the floor nearby. The couch was soft below you as you lay comfortably on it, fingers absentmindedly tracing the paper edges of the book in your hands. Despite the peace of the room, something not often found in Forest House, your mind sat heavy with racing thoughts. 

Every single one seemed to drift back to Azriel. 

You had already bathed, had already spent time delicately rubbing your skin raw of any scent, of any traces that might connect you back to your earlier decisions. It was a blessing, truly, that Eris had spent the day with his own affairs. You made a note to thank The Mother for the grace given to you— if you had returned home to your brother in the state that you had been, there was no doubt in your mind he would have made a decision even more rash than yours. 

But it didn’t seem to help. You weren’t able to wash it off as well as you’d hoped. There was something that still lingered, something ingrained into you, into your bloodstream itself. You weren't a stranger to questionable decisions— but this, this was perhaps your worst to date. 

Because there was something deep in you that now felt powerful. 

Azriel was driven by duty— by a devotion to his little family that made you angry, a devotion that left him blind and prone to defensiveness. The thought that he would have to return home, to face his family knowing he’d broken some boundary, some sense of trust…. It warmed you in a way that the fire next to you never could.  

A small creek echoed and from below you, Flint perked up, head lifting in alertness, ears perched and engaged. A moment later, Eris emerged, his eyes meeting yours instantly as he offered you a small, tired smile. He took in the scene before him as you closed the book in your lap. 

“Eventful day?”

He let out a small sigh, perching himself on the edge of the couch opposite you. Flint laid on the floor still, watching him closely as his tail thumped lightly against the ground in greeting. "I suppose.”

There was a pause as he ran a hand through his tousled hair. "And the Shadowsinger?" 

You glanced down at the book in your hands, fingers running along the edges of the pages before responding with a casual shrug. "Uneventful,” you replied, “He gave no updates.”

Eris only let out a breath in response, a single eyebrow raised momentarily.

"He’s very…reactive for a Spymaster," you added, a wry smile now playing at the corners of your lips. “You would think they’d be more collected.”

"They’re all reactive," Eris chuckled softly, his mouth turning up in a smile that mirrored your own. His gaze flickered towards the hound at your feet, and you followed his line of sight, reaching down to scratch her head gently.

"Almost more reactive than sweet Laney over here," you teased, earning a soft huff of agreement from her wet nose as she leaned into your touch.

Laney was one of the only female hounds your family owned, a true vision of regal elegance. Eris had trained her specifically for you, a hound just as stubborn and reactive as yourself— and loyal to a fault, as he had told you. 

Eris chuckled once more, a sound more gentle and quiet than his normal tone. When you turned to look at him, you were met with a face lost in contemplation, eyes glazed over as his gaze remained fixed on Laney. You frowned, feeling your brows furrow as you took him in, taking notice of the dark circles below his amber eyes.

“Go rest,” you said quietly, giving him a smile as his gaze snapped to yours. 

Eris gave you a small nod as he rose from his perch on the couch. Flint followed the motion instantly rising up from the floor to stand at his side. Your brother crossed the room to where you sat, taking large strides to the hallway behind you. There was a playful gleam in his eyes as he passed you, his hand reaching out to tousle your hair affectionately. 

"Goodnight, sister," he said softly, hand lingering on your head for a moment before he continued walking.

He made it a few more steps before you called out to him. 

"Eris," you began, turning your body to place your hands on the couch and rest your chin upon them. "I want to come to more meetings."

He turned to face you, brows furrowing in mild confusion. "Why?"

"I want to be informed.”

His eyes scanned your face. "I tell you everything I know.”

You let out a sigh, casting a quick glance toward the cracking fire. Then you looked at your brother with a small frown. “I want to be more than just a recipient of passing messages."

It was true. Although you did all the favors Eris asked of you, which extended to taking his place in meetings, he tended to avoid involving you unless it was necessary. You knew that it came from a place of protection, a sense of comfort knowing that he could perhaps save you from hurt so long as you never came near it. But you felt useless, and you wanted to do more. Collecting intel from your father’s acquaintances and listening for news was the most you’d been able to do. You didn’t want to admit that you’d been offered the taste of a newer freedom today— and you suddenly had a craving you weren’t able to smother. 

The next words that came from your mouth weren’t needed. It was wrong to guilt Eris, to take advantage of the soft spot he held for you and your power. But you did it anyway.

"I am more than just a pretty face,” you told him, “Prove to them that not all of Autumn believes females to be weak."

He hesitated for a moment, lips twitching in thought. 

"Okay," he conceded, "But not too often. We still need to avoid suspicion."

You gave him a smile. "Thank you," you said softly.

Your brother stared at you for a moment, his hand absentmindedly rubbing at the hound that stood next to him. 

"Thank you for taking my place today," He finally said, his tone sincere. "I know that meeting must not have been entertaining, with the brute and all."

A flicker of guilt sparked in your stomach, but you shrugged it away. Quickly, it was replaced with a sense of pride. What Eris didn’t know surely wouldn’t hurt him, and despite how questionable your decisions may have been, they weren’t dangerous— and certainly wouldn’t be repeated again. You gave him a grin. 

"I know how to tame beasts." 

As if on cue, Laney perked up from her position at your feet, her extended neck looking over to where Eris stood behind the couch. He let out a chuckle.

"Indeed you do.” You offered you the small, almost sad, smile once more. “Goodnight.”

With a nod of acknowledgment, you watched as he exited the room, the soft sound of Flint’s paws padding after him. 

You waited until it was quiet again, until the a distant creak of Eris's door closing reached your ears, before you turned yourself around on the couch. You brought a hand to rest on Laney’s head, leaning in closer as you gently rubbed your thumbs on her coat.

"Well that was fun, huh?" you murmured softly, the words directed more to yourself than to the hound in front of you. Laney nustled further into your touch. 

For a moment longer, you lingered in the quiet of the room, the weight of your thoughts mingling with the gentle warmth of the fire. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Azriel was going batshit crazy— this he knew for certain.

He was a sick male. A male now plagued with a disease he worried had no cure. He was on the brink of a certain madness that was driven by you, and you alone. 

A part of him wondered if your sudden involvement had anything to do with your latest encounter with him. But it made no sense— you were at every meeting with Cassian, causing him to come home grumbling about how he was forced to deal with not one, but two pretentious cunts. Yet, it was only ever Eris when Azriel was free to receive updates. 

You had always been some sort of mystery— a fact that used to drive Azriel crazy. He didn’t like unknown factors, didn’t like not knowing his threats properly. You were often shrouded away in the shadows, hidden in the affairs of the Autumn Court. In line with the Vanserra philosophies, as Azriel saw it, you, as a female, truly had no place outside of your court. The times that he did see you were all the same— some snarky comment made from your lips, a sneer at him or anyone from his family, usually Mor.

Yet, you had been there with him three weeks ago. And Azriel hadn’t been able to read you. Not properly anyway, not even when he was inside you, not even as he pushed you to completion.

And he couldn’t stop thinking about how much he enjoyed it.

You were the perfect middle ground. Not exactly an enemy— Azriel would never betray his family so deeply. But you weren’t exactly an ally either, weren’t someone he owed even an ounce of respect to— weren’t a person he needed to keep a face with. And gods did it feel good to think about how he could ruin you— how furious your brothers would be at the idea of him enjoying such intimacies with you. Eris, especially. Azriel couldn’t kill the pretentious fucker, but he could damage him in other ways. Fucking his sister seemed like a good place to start. A wonderful place for him, at least.

Not much scared Azriel. Not much at all. But this, this hunger he felt, the enjoyment he got from experiencing you, it scared him enough to instantly seek out something to distract him. 

But there was an itch he wasn’t able to scratch.

And that itch looked like you, smelled like you, sounded like you–

Azriel blinked hard, trying to shake off the haze of his thoughts. His attention snapped back to the present, finding himself gazing down at the blonde kneeling between his legs. Her blue eyes met his as she sucked on him, tongue swirling around the head of his cock as she worked the base of him with a perfectly manicured hand. 

She removed her mouth from his tip, hand still pumping the length of him as she looked up at him with wide eyes. A seductive smirk danced on her lips as she bit down on them. "I love sucking your cock,” she whispered huskily, “Does it feel good?"

Azriel stared at her for a moment, eyes still slightly glazed over. He bit the inside of his cheek as he hesitated. Then he nodded. 

"Keep going.”

He wrapped his hand in her hair, guiding her movements as he took control, bucking into her mouth with urgency. But every thrust, though pleasurable, felt unsatisfying. 

He tried for a few more minutes, tried to readjust himself on her blue velvet couch, tried to lean his head back and close his eyes as he bobbed her head on his cock— nothing worked. The image of three weeks ago was seared into the back of his eyelids, staring back at him every moment he blinked. He was stressed, frustrated, and had a boiling anger that had only continued to build up recently. Nothing seemed to be working for him, not in his duties, not in his life, not even in his sexual activities. 

He tried to focus on the sensations coursing through his body, on the pleasure the female before him was offering so freely to him. But every noise she made, every movement she made, only served to remind him that he was too on edge to enjoy it. And fuck, Azriel couldn’t even remember her name. With a frustrated growl, he pulled her off with a pop, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps. She frowned as Azriel’s hands left their place on her scalp.

When he wouldn’t reach her eyes with his own, she climbed up on him, her voice a seductive purr as she offered herself to him. 

"Use me however you want. Let your frustrations out."

For a moment, Azriel hesitated, his mind torn between desire and something else, something deeper. He could do it— and he could probably enjoy it. So long as she wasn’t facing him, so long as he could pretend it was...you?

With a sudden surge of energy, he pulled himself up, his hands gripping her tightly as he threw her onto the bed. She let out an excited sequel as he moved towards her, positioning her at the edge of the bed for him to slot himself behind her. As he entered her, a low groan escaped his lips, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through his body. 

Her high-pitched whine echoed in the room, mingling with his grunts of exertion as he pounded into her, his grip on her hips firm—  almost bruising. She let out breathy moans in response, her body arching against his as he began to move relentlessly, beginning to buck his hips into her fast and hard.

It was then he felt a cool sensation trailing up his body, disembodied whispers drowning out her words of praise.

She walks along the mortal lands, his shadows whispered, deep in the forest.

The female below him gave another whine. 

Alone, Alone, Alone. 

Quickly, Azriel pulled out of her, leaving her gasping for air and reaching out for him in confusion. But he was already moving, hastily gathering his clothes and rushing towards the door.

Without a word, he threw some money onto the nearby dresser, barely sparing a glance as he made his way out of the door. She turned herself around to stare at the scattered payment on the counter, a frown marring her features. With a frustrated grumble, she fell back onto the bed.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Eris hadn’t told you much.

Beron’s men were thinly spread these days— running in and out of the court, falling into hushed whispers behind your father’s private quarters. Eris’ soldiers told him as much as they could, but with their low numbers, there wasn’t much they could do, not many places they could sneak to without notice. 

Eris was still recovering from the loss, from the men he lost to Azriel and Cassian’s slaughter— to Briallyn and her ability to render them mindless attackers. Your brother wasn’t only mourning his forces, but his friends as well. All of them meant something to him, their loyalty, the bond he had formed to gain their trust. But he would never admit it, not to himself, not even to you. There was no time for mourning in the Autumn Court. 

So you found yourself along the border to the Mortal Lands now, seeking out any sign of where your father’s men may be hiding out. From what you’d gathered so far, they had some areas of rest in the moral lands, areas that were hidden far enough to where they couldn’t be trailed, but close enough to Koschei if it was needed— and that was your fathers entire plan. He was getting desperate, he was getting paranoid— scared of his future, scared of Eris. 

You paused, a prickling sensation crawling up your spine. There was a bristle behind you and you lifted your chin in response, taking a deep breath of the air. Something flickered within you. Without turning around, you spoke into the stillness of the forest.

"Do you always stalk the females you fuck, or am I just special?" 

A voice, hard as stone, responded from behind you. "I'm not stalking you."

You turned slowly, your eyes meeting the shadowed figure emerging from the depths of the trees. Azriel stood before you, his expression flat as usual. His shadows spread out from his form, floating around him like a faint black outline. 

"Then what do you call following a lady into the woods from afar?" 

Azriel’s face remained stoic, save for the slight raise of an eyebrow. 

 "Show me a lady and then maybe I'll tell you," he said, voice dripping with a sardonic wit that set something inside you alight— something deep in your gut.

You let out a sound of surprise before you were laughing at the snark, lips curving into a smirk. Azriel tensed, his jaw tightening as the sound reached his ears.

"Oh, someone's feeling playful," you remarked with a teasing lilt, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "Rhysand give you a longer leash?"

Azriel said nothing in response, his gaze locked onto you with an intensity that made you unable to stay still. A moment passed as his eyes continued to bore into yours. And then he spoke, a tone cutting through the air like a finely sharpened blade. “You’ve been avoiding me."

There was a tinge of irritation in his tone that made you want to grin. 

So he’d noticed.

It was unintended at first, truly. Things were difficult in Autumn recently, with all the whispered rumors of your father planning something questionable. You found yourself only able to attend the meetings in which Eris met with Cassian and his, now, prized mate. 

But in the back of your head, a part of you was amused at the idea that Azriel may begin to overthink— that a part of him would get frustrated that you were just out of reach. You weren’t exactly sure why that reaction would be warranted, but you knew it would happen nonetheless. You had an idea, now, how that pretty little mind of his worked. After all, he was a paranoid, anger-prone insomniac. Those types rarely made sane decisions. Seeing him before you now, on edge, irritable, it made it worth the wait. 

You raised an amusement eyebrow.

“Have I?"

The feigned innocence in your tone burned deep with annoyance in Azriel’s gut. He grit his teeth in response. 

"Yes," he replied.

You scoffed lightly. "You have a mighty inflated sense of self. I don't decide my activities based on the likes of you."

Azriel's expression remained impassive, but you swore a flicker of something passed through his darkened eyes— a hint of frustration, perhaps. It was delicious. 

"You've begun to join Eris in our meetings.”

Your eyebrow quirked up in response. You said nothing. Azriel continued.

 "And yet, never the ones with me.”

You tilted your head at him, eyes in a narrow-squint as you ran your tongue along your teeth. Azriel’s eyes dropped to your lips, tracing the motion. A grin grew on your face.

"Have you missed me, Shadowsinger?" 

“No,” Azriel responded swiftly, “I’m suspicious of you."

"Yeah?" You crossed your arms across your chest. Once again, Azriel’s eyes fell as he took in the motion. “And whys that?” 

His eyes seemed to narrow at the playfulness in your voice, but he gave no further physical reaction, simply continuing to hold your gaze as he responded. "I don't trust you.”

You rolled your eyes. "Get in line."

"You are bordering the mortal lands," Azriel stated, his voice a low rumble. "If there are updates regarding Koschei, we should be informed."

"Why?" you challenged, a note of defiance now coloring your tone. Azriel’s jaw clenched, light pouring through the trees in a way that made the shadows on his face even harsher. His own moved around him in an uneasy dance. 

"Because we have an agreement." 

"Uh uh," you retorted, shaking your head. "You have an agreement with Eris, not me. I don't owe you shit."

His self-control was wearing thin now. Azriel hadn’t forgotten how much you tested his patience— but the past three weeks had somehow softened the aggravation he felt around you in his own mind. He was being reminded now, in real time, why it was a good idea for him to keep his distance. 

"Careful," he growled. You didn’t miss the slight twitch in his wings, still carefully tucked between his shoulder blades.

You raised an eyebrow.  "Is that a warning or a threat?" 

Azriel's gaze hardened. Without breaking eye contact, he shifted his weight, a predatory grace in his movements as he took a step closer.

"Both." 

"Let me guess,” you said mockingly, “If I'm not an ally, I'm a threat.”

Azriel narrowed his eyes, shadows swirling around him like a storm brewing. “Yes.”

You pursed your lips, taking a step towards him. Azriel’s eyes widened slightly, a small crease forming between his brows as he traced the movement. A heat stirred within you. 

"Do you fuck all your threats?" 

He clenched his jaw, a muscle ticking in his temple as his shadows danced with a restrained bite. You paid it no mind as you continued to step closer to him, closing the distance between you.

"That's why you're really here, isn't it?" 

Your voice was a low, sultry taunt. You were inches away from him now, looking up at him through your lashes as you reached a hand out to touch his chest.

He tensed beneath your touch. With a smirk playing at the corners of your lips, you slowly trailed your fingers up his chest. It took Azriel a moment too long before he grabbed your hand.

Your smirk widened, eyes flickering to where his scarred hand wrapped around your wrist. You met his eyes next, a deep, angry, brown that bore into yours. 

"How did it feel?" you said, voice dropping to a low purr, "When you went home and looked your brothers in the face, knowing you'd done yet another thing to disappoint them?"

The remark hit Azriel in his gut, twisting in his stomach with a burning intensity that he wasn’t used to. Whether it was anger, guilt, or annoyance as the vulgarity, he wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. His grip tightened almost painfully on your hand, eyes narrowing with a dangerous flame as he stared down at you. 

You didn’t flinch, didn’t tear away from his gaze. There was an addicting sense of satisfaction at having struck a nerve with him once more. You took a second to revel in the discomfort you provoked, in the way his muscles tensed at your voice– in the scent change you smelled in the air, now thick with unspoken desire and heady arousal. 

Azriel leaned down, voice dropping to a heated whisper. "I've done a lot worse than you."

He released your hand from his grip. You let it fall to your side.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” you said with a knowing grin. "And it eats you up the same, doesn't it?"

Azriel didn’t move, didn’t so much as bat an eye at you. A moment passed. And then another. Something flickered across his face. You could have sworn his eyes were now adorned with an amusing glow, that the corners of his lips tilted upwards. 

"How was it when you returned home covered in me?" he challenged, voice edged with a sweet, sweet, bitterness. “In my scent, filled with my cum?”

Shivers rippled across your skin as a cool sensation cascaded over your body. You glanced down, watching as dark shadows slithered up your form.

You took a deep breath, ignoring their ghostly touch as you raised an unphased eyebrow in response. "No one batted an eye," you replied coolly.

The shadows continued to move in Azriel’s silence, now wrapping around your neck with a possessive grip that made your heart race. You gritted your teeth at the sensation, pushing back the rush of memories that were now flooding into your mind— memories of the last time his shadows had caressed your skin, tracing every curve and dip of your body with intimate knowledge. Your eyes met Azriel’s.

"Guess you didn't leave that much of an impression.”

A low snarl escaped Azriel's lips. "Or perhaps they're used to you carrying a male's scent.”

You mocked him with a smirk, taking a step back to maintain your distance. His shadows fell from their position around your neck swiftly, rushing back to his body as Azriel's jaw clenched.

 "Well now I'm getting mixed signals. Last time I was deprived of a male’s touch, now I'm a whore?"

Azriel said nothing. His teeth seemed to grind against each other with such force that you half-expected them to break under the pressure of his frustration.

"For someone who is so sensitive about his delirious crush being called a slut, you're sure eager to throw such terms around to me." 

Your words dripped with a sense of sarcasm, a sense of mockery, that Azriel could almost feel. His wings flared out slightly in response. 

"I never said that," was his only reply. 

It wasn't an apology. No, Azriel wanted to make sure that whatever words he said were the exact ones he meant. A memory tugged at the corners of his mind, a reminder of the last time you’d stirred such a response in him, of when he had called you those very words in the heat of passion— if he could even call it that. And you had responded in kind, your body yielding to his touch with a fervor that belied any notion of innocence.

Before he could stop himself, he felt himself speak once more. "Although you seemed to enjoy it quite thoroughly when I did."

Deep in your chest, there was a flicker of flame, his words igniting a spark of something within you. You bristled at the insinuation, but dutifully ignored the comment— ignored the connotations that came with it. Instead, you hummed in response, shaking your head. 

"That's the thing with you hypocrites. You never just own up to it, do you?”

With a faint smirk still playing on your lips, you took a few steps backwards, eyes trained on him and the shadows coiling around his arms. 

“Always a displeasure to speak with you, Shadowsinger.”

As you turned around and began to walk away, there was a queasy feeling in your stomach, a realization that you'd do something to be in this position again, to find a way to rile him up. The thought of igniting that volatile spark between you, setting off sparks like last time—it was too tempting to resist. 

But as you felt the burning of his gaze into your back, you couldn’t ignore the nagging truth. He wasn't just a fun toy to play with. Azriel was obsessive, that much you could gather from him— from his history with Morrigan, from his methods of interrogation, from his pride as a spymaster. And the way he was before you now, with the intensity that he regarded you with, it would surely prove to be a problem; a hindrance to being able to help Eris to the best of your ability. 

And before your fun— before any amusement you found in Azriel— came one thing. Your loyalty to your brother. 

With a steadying breath, you paused and glanced back at him over your shoulder. "Oh, and one more thing," you called out, "If you follow me again–"

You turned around completely to face him. With a hand wreathed in flame, you lazily pointed to his hands, fisted at his sides. 

"I'll pick up where your brothers left off.”

Azriel's gaze flickered down to your hand,  down to his own, and then back up to meet your eyes. 

You brought the same hand near your lips, blowing a kiss in his direction. Azriel watched as a flame danced in the air, swirling and twirling in the shape of a small heart. 

Then, without another word, you turned and left, disappearing into the forest. 

His gaze followed the flickering flame as it dissipated into the cool breeze. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You found Eris in his room, seated at his desk as he wrote on one of many scattered papers.

Eris’ room was more full of life than one would expect, adorned with a carefully curated selection of artwork that perfectly showed his refined tastes. Various books lined the shelves of his walls. He had always been quite the scholar at heart, with a keen eye for art and literature. It was a side of your brother that few outside the family knew— a facet of his personality that he shared with Lucien. It was one of the things they shared so closely, but they never talked about it, never truly had any chance to bond beyond the trauma of existing in your family. 

The thought of it made your heart hurt. You pushed it away as you moved to sit at the edge of Eris’ bed, watching as he put his papers together before turning to look at you. When he met your eyes, you shook your head. 

 "Nothing,” you said, “But I wasn't able to get far, anyways.”

Eris lifted an eyebrow in response. “What do you mean?”

"That Shadowsinger sure knows how to keep himself busy.”

There was a tick in Eris’ jaw that told you he was more than annoyed— and that he had a few choice words he was fighting to say. But, instead, Eris simply rolled his eyes. 

“Of fucking course,” He said as he leaned back in his chair. He ran a hang along his face. "Are you able to handle him?"

You resisted the urge to snicker, at both your brother’s irritation and the experiences you’ve had with Azriel. Your mind replayed the subtle giveaways that Azriel’s body had given in response to your taunts— and then continued to pour in images of how those taunts had led him to succumbing to a primal desire. 

You met your brother's gaze with a smug shrug. "Yes,” you responded, “Very well, I’d say. He hasn’t killed me yet.”

Your words were a simple joke, but Eris seemed to tense at them nonetheless. You frowned, but the reaction was short-lived as he nodded in thought. His eyes flickered to yours. 

"Good, because I need you to take my place.”

You blinked, your brows furrowing as you leaned forward. 

"What do you mean, ‘your place'?" 

Eris met your gaze casually. "Meeting with them," he clarified, his voice steady and unwavering.

“You want me to go in your place permanently?”

You knew for certain that the look on your face was nothing short of annoyance and disgust. 

"For now," Eris replied evenly. "If they’re suspicious of you, give them a reason not to be."

You paused. Your mind raced with countless disembodied thoughts and images, the realization that you’d be around Azriel once more– and much more often; that you'd have to deal with them all. Deal with them and their blinding arrogance. Eris, for all of his outward appearances, had an ability to be diplomatic— to a certain extent at least, given his bite. But you wouldn’t be able to handle that. Not all the time, not without your brother. Your previous meeting with Eris, Cassian, and Nesta proved your point— one more comment from you, and you were sure the brute or his death-bride would have killed you on the spot.

You tilted your head at Eris. 

"And you’ll follow the leads with your men."

He nodded.

He needed your help. And if you weren’t able to keep Azriel at arms length, the least you could do was keep him occupied enough so his wandering eyes wouldn’t travel to your brother. Now that— that was something you could do. You could ruin him.

With a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and lifted your chin.

“Fine,” you said, “I’ll do it.” 

Eris gave a laugh. “How sweet that you thought you had a choice.”

You rolled your eyes as Eris stood up, brushing himself off slightly as he walked towards you. 

"But you do know that I will have to tell them our suspicions eventually.”

You scrunched your face, looking up at him with a distasteful, frustrated frown. 

"Why?" 

He lifted his brows, baring a facial expression that mirrored that of an exasperated parent. 

"Because we have an allian–”

You interrupted him with an annoyed flick of your hand.

"Alliance, yes, I know," you muttered. "Which I still don’t understand."

Eris sighed. "Y/n—"

A pent-up frustration bubbled beneath you, a simmering heat in your stomach that made you feel antsy. You did your best to bite it down, to swallow the annoyance that was suffocating you, but it was no use. You were never good at holding back your outbursts.

"No, actually, doesn’t it bother you?" you asked, your voice rising slightly. "That they think they're so much better than you, than us?"

Eris clenched his jaw, but he remained composed. This was a conversation you’d had many times before, a frustration that you’d voiced and struggled with since you learned what the emotions of hate, of contempt, truly were. 

"I don’t worry myself with what night-dwellers think of me.”

You let out an angry breath. 

"Yet you're put in a position to constantly defend yourself.”

Eris was losing his temper now, his voice growing strained as he fought to keep composure for your sake.  “I don’t enjoy aligning myself with them, but it's what's needed.”

"I would kill Beron tomorrow if you’d let me. We could do it alone."

Eris shook his head firmly. "No," he stated, his tone left no room for argument. "That is a risk I’m not going to take. Not with you, not with our mother."

"They will never see you as anything worthy of respect, Eris.”

“Their respect is not something I need,” he snapped, "When I’m fixing this court, it won’t matter.”

"It matters to me.”

There was a strain in your voice that you didn’t notice until Eris’ eyes softened. And then he was letting out a deep breath, looking at you with the hint of a frown. 

"Don’t let it.”

His voice was softer now. The same voice he’d used to soothe you during thunderstorms, the same voice that coached you through learning how to control your fire. 

"I hate them. I hate that we have to cater to them because they're our only aid right now."

"The feeling is mutual. That’s what makes this work.”

“But we have reasons to hate them," you countered, “Very valid reasons.” 

Eris sighed, a tired resignation in his tone. “They believe they have reasons, too.”

You fell silent, shaking your head in disbelief as you bit the inside of your cheek. That simmering anger still boiled beneath the surface—  the anger of feeling wronged, of being backed into a corner and then being punished for biting. 

Eris watched you closely, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

"They do not matter," he reassured you. "They will never matter— not truly. We use them now, and you will never have to be near them again."

You nodded as Eris brought you into his chest, giving you a small hug as he held your head in his hand.  

But a nagging doubt lingered in the back of your mind. Deep within the corners of your mind, deep within your chest, something told you that his words were wrong. Something old— something strong. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

PART THREE

a/n: who is ready for some nasty slutty feral enemies with benefits… 😋😋 ME YALL ITS MEEEE

i was worried about writing a part w no smut but these dynamics need to be built up first 😮‍💨 its so funny to me that both her and az are like ya... i have the upperhand here.... i am winning....

enemies who actually don’t like each other >>

enemies who didn’t “always love” each other >>

enemies to forced proximity trope >>

the future of malice! az & malice! reader going from no respect towards each other to playful flirting banter >>

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria

malice series tag list: @going-through-shit @sidthedollface2 @justasillylittlegoofyguy @mal-adaptive-dreams @alainabooks143 @mybestfriendmademe @sfhsgrad-blog @marina468 @wonderwomanlovesyou @the-darkestminds @circe143 @starsandsins @acourtofdreamsandshadows @ysmtttty @mendes-bae

azriel tag list: @thisiskaylin

An Education in Malice

Pairing: Vanserra!Reader x Azriel

Summary: With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT, rough, angry, hate sex basically. sexual degradation (name calling), p in v penetration, sex in da woods, bickering and insults, inner circle slander

Word Count: 6.6k

a/n: i know technically we wouldnt be a princess... but we r a high lord family so were running with it for the sexual tension. also dedicated to my soulmate and the brilliant babe, @itsswritten who told me to write sumthin smutty like this. thank her 🫡

Series Masterlist | Part Two

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

“Hello, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched at the sound. 

He’d almost forgotten how grating your voice was to his ears, how it made his body tense with an emotion he could never quite describe. He turned around slowly, taking you in where you stood leaning casually against a tree. 

The dress you wore was reminiscent of autumn court elegance, fabric cascading around you in rich hues of crimson, gold, and amber, like the vibrant foliage of the season brought to life, sleeves like flickering flames. There was a sense of wrongness in seeing such an elegant form amidst the wild, your commanding presence even more striking than that of your other family members. If he didn't know who you were, he would have been tempted to describe you as something of unparalleled beauty, a vision amidst a forest of wilderness.

But Azriel knew who you were. He knew what you were. 

He had noticed the similarities between you and your brothers quickly, from your mannerisms down to the curve of your lips. You and Eris shared the same snarky smirk– a smirk Az wanted to wipe clean off your faces. You were using it now, holding his gaze with the corners of your lips upturned and amused eyes. 

“You look thrilled to see me,” you said. 

Az did nothing to hide his disdain as he narrowed his eyes at you. “Where is your brother?” 

“Busy,” you responded, absentmindedly running the tips of your fingers along the tree you leaned on. You took a moment to observe the bark before you turned to face Azriel again, a small taunting smile on your lips once more. “I’ll let him know you missed him.”

Azriel held your gaze for a moment, a tick in his jaw as he let out a short exhale. Then, he was turning around to leave, a clear dismissal. A small flicker of anger rose in your body. Quickly, you winnowed in front of him, your sudden appearance setting his shadows into a frenzied dance around him, coalescing into a swirling mass around his neck like a collar of live snakes ready to strike. 

“Don’t be rude,” you said, “I’m here on Eris’ behalf. Give me information to report back to him.”

“Nothing to report,” Azriel said, voice flat. He stared at you for a moment, eyes scanning you. And then he was making another notion to leave, brushing past you with a small shove to your shoulder. You nearly laughed at the action, at how easy he was becoming to rile up— at how much your presence bothered him. 

“You don’t want to stay and chat?” You said over your shoulder. A flutter of triumph spread in your chest when you heard his footsteps come to a halt. You turned to face him, his back still to you, shadows swirling around his body like black flames. “It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other.”

Azriel turned to face you, a small scowl on his beautiful features. “Not long enough.”

You laughed, the sound stroking his body in a way that sent shivers down his spine. You let out a sigh.

“I get bored in Autumn sometimes, you know?”

Briefly, something flickered in Azriel’s hazel eyes, but it faded faster than you could decipher what it meant or where it came from. He titled his head slightly, eyes taking you in fully.

“Not enough cruelty for you?”

“Something like that.”

You both held each other's stares, his icy gaze against your fiery one. He lifted his chin slightly, rolling his shoulders as if to straighten his already stiff posture. You didn’t miss the way his wings extended slightly from their tucked in position, just enough to stand as a warning, as a reminder of who he was— what he was. 

“This is a waste of my time.”

Yet, Azriel made no move to leave— not this time. 

“Because you have such important matters to return to?” You asked with a raised brow, “You said it yourself, nothing to report. So, are there some damsels in distress to be saved? Something to make you feel important?”

You made sure to pay extra attention to when you mocked his previous words, tone dropping slightly deeper to imitate his. Azriel’s eyes narrowed even more, a dark wave of evident anger washing through his face, nostrils flared, jaw clenched. You bit the inside of your cheek to contain your grin. 

You were playing with something dangerous, this you knew. But Azriel was so fun to rile up, so easy to. You understood, now, why your brother seemed to enjoy these meetings so much. You’d assumed Eris was some sort of masochist, somehow finding pleasure in the necessity of being allies with the Night Court, the same people who so commonly disregarded you and your family as evil and cruel— although, they were right to a certain extent. But perhaps Eris had found some sort of entertainment with this affair. 

“Stop talking,” was Azriel’s only reply. 

“Why?”

He took a step forward. You made sure to stay still, to hold his gaze as he peered down at you. 

“Because you’re trying to get a rise out of me,” Azriel responded, his voice cool, “and it will not work.”

“Oh please,” you scoffed. “Play the unphased act all you’d like, we both know its bullshit.”

He said nothing in response, his eyes remaining locked on yours. Azriel’s stare was harder now, colder. A clear warning was written in his features, carved out between his clenched jaw and narrowed eyes: do not fuck with me. 

But you welcomed the challenge. If he wasn’t going to admit it, you were more than willing to prove your point. 

“You put my brother in a chokehold in a public meeting. You have no self-control. You’re just constantly one spark away from igniting.”

Azriel growled. “Your brother deserved it.”

You raised your brow in a small taunt. 

“Because he called your precious Morrigan a slut?”

Whether Azriel wanted to admit it or not, you were very easily tearing at his resolve. He moved quickly, his hand naturally falling to the dagger at his hip. Shadows moved closer to you, but with a swift movement of your fingers, they were met with the spark of a small flame, quickly retracting back into their mass form near Azriel’s shoulders. You winnowed back to your original place, back against the rough tree bark. 

“Careful, Shadowsinger,” you sneered, “You’re forgetting your manners.You didn’t even let me finish.”

Azriel wore a clear scowl now, brows furrowed as he held your gaze from afar, hand still on his weapon. There was something deadly about the way you made him feel, the intensity of those feelings far surpassing any hatred he held for your brothers– Eris, specifically. In truth, the more time Az spent near Lucien, the more he saw him as someone good– and the less similarities he seemed to bear with you, his conniving snake of a sister. You opened your mouth to taunt him once more.

“I don’t agree with my brother,” you said, “Hell, I admire Morrigan for her freedom. I do love a pretty dress. So, I would have called her something else… a liar, perhaps?”

Those words were all it took to light Azriel’s fuse.

Within a blink, he was in front of you, the cold steel of a dagger, Truth-Teller you presumed, pressed against your neck. His wings flared out angrily behind him. Shadows surged around you, a suffocating darkness descending like a shroud, swallowing the sunlight and leaving only a void of darkness. You stared into Azriel's eyes— cold, and angry.

"Shut up," he snarled.

For a moment, a sense of fear flickered deep in your stomach, but you swallowed it down, the flame diminishing before it could properly ignite. Even as his shadows threatened to consume you both whole, you refused to back down, meeting Azriel's gaze with a defiant stare of your own. And then, you grinned. A cruel, wicked gesture that made his blood boil.

“Nice to see you perform without an audience, too.”

Azriel's voice was laden with disdain as he responded, words dripping with venom. "You and your brother are exactly the same."

But instead of flinching at the accusation, you maintained your smirk, unfazed by the blade pressed against your neck. "Which brother? I have quite a few," you countered, your tone teasing, almost playful.

Azriel's grip tightened, images of your family conjuring in his mind. Az could barely remember the names of your other brothers, their features blurring into a blurry mess of fiery auburn and copper. Instead, his mind focused on you– the female before him, under his grip and his dagger, standing next to the two males he despised for different reasons. 

“You can decide,” Azriel finally said, “they’re all equally terrible.”

“I’d say Lucien is a good male,” you laughed bitterly, “I’m willing to bet your sweet Elain would agree.”

A surge of fury rose within him, a deep primal instinct to lash out and silence your taunts once and for all. But even as he bristled with anger, he realized you were right.

He was constantly teetering on the edge, one step away from losing control. It had gotten worse recently, watching everyone around him find their place, their people; Elain growing closer to Lucien, his brothers spending time with their mates. Azriel was frustrated. He was angry. You’d done exactly what he told you wouldn’t happen– gotten a rise out of him. He hated it, hated you, hated himself even more.

Azriel took a deep breath, your heated gaze still on him, eyes narrowed, a small smirk on your lips that he filled him with a burning anger. It wasn’t as if he could kill you, no, he couldn’t even really hurt you. One mark on the Vanserra’s youngest and only daughter would be a mark for war. This was a battle Az couldn't win, indulging your provocations for the mere sake of your entertainment. He needed to calm down. Regain control. 

The shadows around you began to recede and sunlight filtered back into the clearing as Azriel  pushed you away with a snarl. You leaned your head back against the tree as you took a deep breath.

He studied you for a moment before saying,  "You'd think someone as pretentious as you wouldn't need to rely on irritating someone for an ounce of attention." 

There was a subtle shift in your demeanor—a swallowed response, a flicker of vulnerability. His gaze followed the movement down to the column of your throat.

“Pretentious?” 

You gave a bitter laugh.

"Yes, pretentious. All of you Vanserras," Azriel retorted with a bitter edge, “Every single one.”

"That's ironic coming from you. You think we're pretentious?"

Azriel's gaze hardened. "Yes. Cruel, evil, and vile. You think you're better than all of us."

Your mouth widened as you scoffed. And then you let out a laugh of disbelief. 

"Oh my Gods, does it ever get tiring?" you retorted, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Wallowing in your own self-pity and then using it as a means to hate everyone outside of your incestuous little circle?"

"Do not speak of my family," Azriel snapped.

You smirked. “So you admit your family is incestuous?”

Azriel said nothing, a sudden realization that his anger, once again, had beat him to his rationality, somehow giving you another weapon to use against him.  He clenched his jaw, feeling a simmering heat building in his stomach. 

"You stand in front of me and pretend to be shocked when I call you for what you are?" he countered with a sneer, “Your family isn't quiet about their disdain for my family, for my kind, or for me."

You lifted your chin. “You don’t even like your own kind, Shadowsinger.” 

There was another flare of his nostrils and you knew that you’d gotten him once again. Azriel’s fists clenched at his sides, a sight lost to you as his shadows covered them. You continued as he stayed silent.

“I will admit, my family can be a bit narrow minded. Why would I hate you for the things you can’t control? Where's the fun in that?”   

Again, Azriel remained silent. He knew if he made a move, if he said a word, it would likely be something he regretted, something that would come back to bite him in the ass. 

"I don’t hate you because you’re from the Night Court, or an Illyrian, or a bastard, or whatever it is you tell yourself at night," you continued, your words like a dagger aimed at his pride. "I hate you because you are hot-headed and arrogant. You’ve held a grudge against Eris for something that wasn’t his fault and have utterly screwed Lucien to no end. Your little family is a disease.”

Azriel’s resolve was cracking. He didn’t have enough self-control for this, for you. He’d barely mustered up the diplomacy needed to meet with Eris. 

“Stop talking,” he said through gritted teeth. He felt it again, the flicker of frustration that threatened to engulf him like an unattended flame.

You gave him a withering glare. “Or what, you’ll make me?”

Azriel blinked, his eyes scanning your body instinctively. There was something about the words you spoke, the way you had spoken them, that made his body shiver. A small jolt of electricity passed through his muscles. Unfortunately for him, you caught it as quick as it manifested. Your eyes widened as you let out a dry laugh, forming a small smirk on your lips.

“Oh my gods,” you said, taking a step closer, “I bet you’d like that, wouldn't you? Is that why you’re such an ass today? 

Azriel’s wings twitched behind him. You gave him a mocking pout as you stared up at him. 

“No one to torture, no sweet female to make love to? Poor, powerful, Spymaster.”

Azriel thought for a moment. He thought about the anger boiling in his body, how on edge he’d been, how every little thing had been setting him off. He thought about you, in front of him, a female he despised from previous meetings– loud-mouthed, vicious, and selfish. A female from a family he hated, a family that took things from his family, from him. 

And then he began thinking of how great it would feel to show them how wrong they were about him. To prove to them that they weren’t better than him, that he was just as, if not more, powerful than their damned bloodline.

You had been right again. He was pent up. He hadn’t taken a lover recently, hadn’t fucked anyone since that one almost-night with Elain– where she’d been sweet, sensitive, and gentle. But even before, with the females who’d asked for it rough, told him they could handle it, he hadn’t indulged himself too far. He still respected them. They were still wide-eyed and kind, sweet to a certain extent. He didn’t want to hurt them. They were ladies. Azriel respected ladies. 

“I said stop talking,” Azriel growled. 

There was a tick in his jaw. 

“And I said, make me.”

But you, you weren’t a lady. You weren’t sensitive, sweet, or kind. You were a viper. A snake with beautiful lips and a body he found incredibly inviting— not that he’d ever admit it to anyone. But standing in front of him, that defiant look in your eyes, the pride seeping off you, the smirk on your lips… Azriel felt hungry. He felt ravenous. 

So, he thought for one more moment. And then he was taking a step forward, one that you matched with an equal stepback. 

“Y/n,” Azriel drawled as he continued to take another step. You matched him again, moving back while you glared at him. “Are you not getting enough attention? Is that it?”

Your back hit the tree and you let out a small exhale as Azriel took a final step forward, inches away from you as he stared down with a dark gaze. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You bit out. 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

You attempted to regulate your breathing as his eyes drank you in, a clear and unashamed desire painted over his face. 

“Do I look like a fucking mind-reader?”

 Azriel gave a dry chuckle. You were unraveling before him, scrambling for control. “Such a vile mouth for a princess.”

“Fuck you.”

“Is that why you came?” He brought a hand to your chin, roughly tilting your face up to look directly at him. “Do you want to be fucked, Y/n?”

The answer was yes, you did. There was a sickening sense of excitement that ran through your blood, a heat pooling between your thighs. But you wouldn’t admit it. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction, weren’t about to prove him right. So instead you stayed quiet, pulling your face out of his hands and turning your cheek. 

“I came for intel,” you said through gritted teeth, “in Eris’ place.”

Azriel gave another chuckle, something dark and humorous. His hand trailed to the side of your neck, pushing the hair off your shoulders to expose the line of your collarbone. You swallowed.

“Interesting,” he said. He leaned in, lips against your ear. “Then what is that desire I smell?”

You let out a sharp exhale as he leaned away. Taking a deep breath, you looked at him, biting the inside of your cheek at your body's betrayal. You needed to balance this.

“Maybe its you that needs a good fuck, Shadowsinger. Like I said, you seem real pent up. Noone quite scratching that itch?”

But Azriel no longer seemed angry at your words, instead, he seemed amused– hungry. He was quiet for a second too long, simply staring at you. A sense of irritation prickled at your skin.

“What?” You snapped.

“I can admit that,” Azriel said coolly, “if you can admit something to me.”

“What, are we trading secrets now? I wasn’t aware this was a children's sleepover.”

Azriel didn’t respond. You registered the movement of a dark shadow as it fled from his body, slowly sneaking around your collarbone. You attempted to hit it away, but it quickly slithered back to Azriel, running up his chest to curl around his ear. He smirked. 

“When was the last time someone fucked you, Y/n?”

The air left your lungs as you let out a small gasp. You blinked. Quickly, you regained your composure.

“Excuse me?”

Azriel kept his smirk. “It must be hard getting anyone to touch you when you’re so sheltered by those males you call brothers.” 

He reached out a hand to your bare collarbone, but you caught his wrist in your hand, allowing it to hover in your grip. His eyes slowly trailed up to your face, heavy-lidded and darkened with a sense of attention that made your stomach clench. 

“What the hell are you getting at?” You sneered.

Azriel simply stared at you, the ghost of a smirk still plastered on his lips. His reactions had you gritting your teeth in anger and rubbing your thighs in anticipation at the same time— you hated it.

“Don’t ask questions you know the answers to.”

“You're pathetic,” you spat, “Save your games for a bitch who cares.”

But you still gripped his hand in yours, still felt the heat radiating off his skin. And you made no motion to move. No motion to let him pull back. Azriel didn’t fail to notice this, either. 

“That snarky mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble. But I bet that's why you use it, right?”

Your breathing was heavier now. Azriel’s gaze flickered to where you still gripped his wrist.

“You can fool everyone, Y/n,” he said, “But not me.”

You shouldn’t have enjoyed the way his voice sounded on your skin, shouldn’t have felt a breathlessness filling your body as he spoke to you. But you felt it. And it was a burning, hungry desire that made your chest tighten. This was what you wanted, it was what you needed. 

Azriel was right. The bastard had read you like a book. Your family, your brothers, never let anyone near you for fear of embarrassment– fear of you bringing some sense of shame. But Azriel was right. You wanted it. You craved it. You wanted to forget who you were, to give up the control you always had to wield. 

Before you could overthink it, you loosened your grip on Azriel’s hand and pulled it towards you, situating it on the side of your throat. You let out a small gasp when he quickly wrapped his fingers around the base of your neck. 

And then he was pulling you into him with a deep and angry kiss. All teeth, tongue, and fire, mouths crashing together almost painfully, but neither of you stopped. With every movement of his mouth, of his tongue on yours, a dormant flame deep within you awoke. 

A primal desire surged through Azriel’s veins like wildfire, the scent of you– of your want, of your desire– filling his senses in a way that had his cock throbbing. There was no room for rational thought, only the raw, unbridled passion that engulfed him in a fiery embrace. His hand found its way into your hair, fingers brushing along your scalp as he yanked your hair to expose your neck to him. His lips wandered to your exposed collarbone, giving a harsh suck to the skin near the column of your throat. 

“Is this what you wanted?”

“Shut up,” you responded, reaching your hands out to fumble with his leather clothes. Azriel pulled back slightly, grabbing your wandering hands in his. You let out a sound of protest as he ran sloppy kissing along your neck.

“Oh how i’d love to fuck that foul mouth of yours,” Azriel murmured against your skin, his mouth reaching your ear. “But we’re short on time.” He took your lobe in between his teeth and you let out a small groan.

“I bet all you’ll need is a few minutes– and that's being generous.”

Azriel’s hand gripped at your waist, traveling up your chest to roughly grab your breast through your dress. 

“No wonder you’re so insufferable.” he said, his voice amused as he pulled back, his other hand tugged at your hair once more. “You haven’t been fucked properly.”

You snarled. "Fuck you." 

Azriel grinned.

"Oh, princess, I will.”

And then he was pulling the front of your dress down, exposing your bare breasts before him, nipples peaked in the fresh air. You let out a gasp as a small faint ripping sound traveled to your ears. Before you had a chance to react, Azriel was spinning you around, pulling your back against his chest, one hand bracketing your throat as the other traveled down your stomach, grabbing at the fabric at your dress. 

"But first, you're going to beg me for it,” he breathed into your ear, his voice so low you felt it more than you heard it. His words traveled straight to your core, leaving you dripping with want. Yet, you refused to let the words leave your lips. You gritted your teeth, bristled at the suggestion— pride and defiance warring within you. 

“Like hell I will.”

Azriel made a sound of disapproval, his mouth still running along your ear, “No?” he asked, hand slowly trailing from your throat to your chest, his fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake. “So you don’t want me to touch you?”

His hand fell over your breast, cupping it in his palm as his thumb brushed over your nipple. You watched as black tendrils of shadow danced around his forearm, meeting where his fingers tweaked your nipple. Their cool gentle touch sent a ripple of sensation through you and your head fell back against him as you let out a small whimper. 

“Stop being a fucking tease.” 

Azriel found that he loved the way you whimpered, loved the tinge of frustration in your voice as he touched you. Here you were, melting into his touch, attempting to avoid admitting in words what your body was showing in actions.

“I asked you to do something.” 

He rolled your nipple between his fingers. You let out a deep exhale, pushing yourself back onto him, grinding into the evident bulge that pressed against you, the thin material of your dress doing nothing to disguise his hardened length. 

“Just fuck me already,” you turned your head to catch his gaze, darkened and pupils blown with lust. “I know you want to.”

You covered his hand in yours, molding his hand into your touch, urging him to grab your breast again– harder, firmer. 

The corners of his lips quirked up. “That doesn’t matter. Beg for it.”

Agonizingly slow, his hands roamed your trembling form, lighting flames of desire that you almost feared would consume you whole. Second by second, you felt yourself losing control. The heat of his touch seared through you, eroding the last crumbs of your resistance until all that remained was a burning need to be filled by him, to succumb to the primal urges coursing through your veins. You wanted him. You needed him. 

“Please,” you whispered, the truth spilling from your lips in a voice so meek you barely recognized it as your own. 

"Please what?"

With a trembling breath, you finally let go of the last shreds of your resistance, your voice coming out in a deep, frustrated plea.  “Please fuck me.”

Azriel's lips curved into a predatory smirk. 

“Good girl,” he said, his voice low and sultry as he pulled away from you. In one movement he was pulling your ass closer to him, forcing your body forward to brace yourself on the tree. In seconds you felt the cool air on your body as Azriel pushed your dress above your hips. Naturally, you felt your body bowing at the sensation. He let out a groan at the sight. 

Then he was spreading your legs, baring you before him, glistening cunt on full display. His rough hands gripped your bare ass. He massaged it for a moment, but the motion was brief, and soon you felt a hard hand land on the fat of your cheek. You let out a small shriek, but it was followed by a low moan as he delivered another smack. Azriel smirked at the sound of it, at the sight of your ass reddening with his handprint. 

“Are you going to fuck me or not?” You managed to grit out as you pushed your ass out further,  “I’m growing bored.”

“Bored?” He ran finger through the wetness that pooled at your core. “Your cunt doesn’t seem to think so.”

You moaned at the feeling, pushing yourself back against his hand.

“Too stubborn to admit anything,” Azriel murmured, “But your body gives you away.” 

Azriel took a step back, your body cold at the loss of contact as he freed himself from the confine of his leather pants, each movement filled with a primal urgency that would’ve made him unsettled— embarrassed even— if he had been in a more rational state of mind. But Azriel wasn’t being rational. All he could think about was you, and staring at your beautiful glistening cunt, all he wanted was to fuck you into oblivion, to let his frustrations out. To tame you like a wild animal— his most tantalizing challenge yet. 

He settled himself behind you and stroked his cock along your folds, allowing it to glide against your core until both of you were slick with your desire. He teased you slowly as he moved up and down your entrance. You pushed against him, urging him inside, inviting him to take you. 

Azriel only laughed darkly at the movements, and you whined in response, frustrated and irritated. 

“Remember this the next time you insult me,” he said, “Remember how you were begging for me to fuck you.” 

Half a breath later, he pushed himself inside you, sheathing himself to the hilt. You exhaled in tandem, your cunt clenching him, pulsing around the stretch of him.  He adjusted his angle and picked up the pace, sending pleasure rising in a wave that you couldn’t hold back, your mouth falling open as he began to take you harder. 

You let your forehead fall against your hands, braced against the rough texture of the tree. You faintly felt the ridges under your palm, but there was no pain, no irritation that you knew you were bound to experience later. All you could truly feel was Azriel deep inside you, stretching you out and using you in a way you hadn’t experienced for a very long time. The lust Azriel felt, the experience of being with you, of claiming you as his, was no longer a desire, no longer a want. It was a need. An animalistic and primal need that he felt deep in his chest. 

Azriel's movements were relentless, each thrust sending ripples of pleasure rippling through your body, clouding your mind in a haze of ecstasy and melting away all coherent thought. There were sounds emitted from your lips, this you knew, but they were incoherent whimpers, quiet murmurs whispered towards the ground as your forehead dug into your hands with every buck of Azriel’s hips.

“You had so much to say earlier, Y/n,”  Azriel said, pulling out until he was barely inside you. He thrusted back in, resuming a hard and brutal pace. 

“Why so quiet now?”

Thrust.

“Did you just need the attitude fucked out of you?”

Thrust.

"What will your brothers think?” he taunted, his grip on your hips bruising in its intensity, “Your father?”

Thrust.

“If only your family only knew what their precious princess was up to. Taking it from the likes of me, like some common pleasure hall whore."

The mention of your family sent a surge of burning shame coursing through your veins, you felt the heat rise to your cheeks, flushing against your exposed skin. But amidst the suffocating shame, there was something else, something primal and insatiable that stirred within you—a hunger born of defiance, of indulging in a forbidden ecstasy. It filled you with a sense of exhilaration that bordered on madness.

Quickly, that spark of defiance ignited within you, mingling with the fiery hunger coursing through your veins, an urge to bite back at him. You craned your head to look over your shoulder, catching his eyes as you let out a moan, taking your lips in between your teeth. 

"Do common whores get you this riled up?" you purred. There was a feigned innocence in your tone that made Azriel twitch inside you. His gaze burned into yours. "Do they make you this hungry?”

A part of you wanted the confirmation, wanted the triumphant feeling of knowing you could ruin him for everyone else— that you felt better than the females he had bedded, that you, the one he loathed so openly, were the only one to truly quench his thirst.

“Do they feel as good as me, Azriel?”

He let out a deep, guttural moan. The sound traveled through your body, lighting your skin on fire as you bucked back into his movements, meeting every roll of his hips. 

“Say that again,” Azriel groaned.

When you gave no reply, he twisted your hair around one fist and gave it a tug, pulling your body up to him as before. His thrusts never staggered, not even as his hand traveled to wrap around your throat, matching the reddening print from his earlier grip. The other hand remained steady at your hip, gripping into the fabric of your dress and the exposed skin of your body. 

“Say my name,” he growled and your cunt tightened at the sound, at the way he gripped your throat harder. You grasped at his arm with your hands, holding on to his skin as he bucked into you. 

“No.” 

Azriel growled, pulling out of you almost completely before he pushed back in a heavy, angry stroke. Your body arched in pleasure, a small whimper leaving your mouth instinctively.

“Don’t be a brat.”

“Fuck you.” 

“I am,” Azriel said, “And your cunt is swallowing me whole, princess. Like it's made for me, like its been begging to be fucked.”

He released his grip from your throat, letting you fall forward as he placed his hand on the small of your back, arching your body for him as he pounded into you from behind. You fell forward, hands planted on the tree before you, fingers clawing at the bark like an animal in heat. Azriel watched as his cock disappeared into your cunt with every thrust, watched how your ass bounced back on him with every movement, how your tits moved with every roll of his hips. He fought not to finish from the sight alone. 

You struggled to find your voice through the haze of pleasure that clouded your mind, that seemed to twist and tie your tongue to where you could only gasp incoherent words of ecstasy

“Oh, fuck. Azriel.”

Azriel drank in your sounds of pleasure like a male thirsted for centuries, the sound of his name on your tongue sending a wave of pleasure through his body.

“Are you going to cum, Y/n?”

You let yourself surrender to his touch as he continued to ravage you with ruthless abandon, his voice caressing you in ways you never knew a sound could do. You wanted him to go faster, harder, rougher; wanted him to fuck you with all his might, with all that anger you saw. As if he could read your mind, Azriel’s thrusts sped up, slamming into you.

“Fuuck, yeah, you are. I can feel this pretty little cunt clenching me.”

He continued his pace, fucking you with long thorough strokes that left you completely pinned between him and the rough bark of the tree. You felt him heavy against your back, breasts pressed against his hand as he moved between gripping them both roughly, holding onto them for leverage as he fucked you from behind.

"Look at you," he taunted, his grip tightening around you possessively. "So desperate, so needy. You're nothing but a pretty little slut, begging for release, aren’t you?"

Azriel continued, moving deeper and faster, pumping into you with snaps of his hips that had you writhing underneath him. 

"And yet," you managed between breaths, gasps leaving your lips as he drove into you. "You’re the one pounding into me like a brute who can't get enough.” 

With a low groan, Azriel's hand tightened around your breast, his grip possessive as he leaned in to bite at your shoulder with a hungry intensity. He was beginning to think that you’d surely be the death of him, that he had created something, some beast inside him, that refused to be satiated by anything other than you— and that was dangerous. But he didn’t think too much about it, not now, not as he felt your cunt massaging him from the inside, felt your walls clamping onto him in a way that set his body on fire, his cock throbbing. 

Azriel railed you over and over, nothing slow or gentle about his movements. And with every thrust, you whined in ecstasy. His grip on your hips tightened, holding you in place as he kept pounding into you. He fell forward, grinding against you, pushing you further into the rough bark of the tree.

You could feel it, a deep pressure building in your stomach as his cock stretched you in the most delicious way. And you could feel him too, hot against your back, his deep breaths and the groans that reverberated through his body. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in your ears, muffling out the sound of your moans as your whole body tensed.

Then you felt it, a cool trail snaking up your legs. Dark tendrils of Azriel's shadows slithered through your thighs, caressing your skin with a tantalizing touch that made you clench at the sensation. You gasped as they coiled around your clit, winding you up with a feeling you’d never experienced before. With a loud moan, your orgasm rolled through you in a violent convulsion,  white spots dancing at the edges of your vision.

Azriel hated to think it, hated to admit that the sound of you coming undone on his cock was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever heard, that feeling your cunt clench around him as the sound filled his ear was enough for him to unravel. With a choked moan, Azriel spilled into you, spurts of his seed coating your walls. You let out a final, breathy whine at the sensation of him spilling into you, feeling as it began to drip as Azriel slowly pulled out.

With a heavy breath, his gaze lingered on the glistening trail connecting the tip of cock to your cunt. The lust in his eyes faintly faded, and a moment of clarity washed over him as the reality of what he’d just done hit like a sudden, cold wave. He didn’t regret it, no, not at all. This was exactly the release Azriel had needed. In fact, a part of him nearly grinned at the realization, at the relief he now felt in his body. But the other part of him, the rational side afraid of disappointing his family, of fucking something up, awoke in a panic. What the fuck had he just done? And why was he so proud of it? 

You slowly stood up, straightening yourself out as you turned to face him, face flushed and hair a tangled mess. There was a ghost of a smirk playing on your lips as you took them between your teeth and bit down. Your breasts were still exposed, nipples peaked and reddened marks from his rough grip. Azriel's eyes traveled down your form, swallowing hard as he took in the sight before him. He could smell the desire that filled the air around you both, could smell himself on you— the image of him plunging in and out of you still fresh in his mind. 

The idea of it alone made his cock stir again. There was something intoxicating about this situation to him. The image of you returning home, covered in his marks, in his scent, in his seed. Eris smelling him on you, realizing that you’d not only fucked someone he despised, but sullied yourself with an illyrian– just as he’d told Mor. And you, you’d remember this. You’d remember him inside you, remember how you let him use you, fuck you like a common-court whore. And you’d have to live with that. Every insult you’d give him, everytime you sneered at him in the future, there would be a part of you that remembered falling apart on his cock as you begged him for more, for him to fuck you harder.

With a gentle flick of your fingers, your dress was perfectly restored, the fabric falling gracefully around your figure as your hair cascaded down your shoulders in silky, untouched, waves. You smoothed out the sleeves of your dress with a practiced gesture before turning your gaze back to Azriel, scanning him from head to toe. Your eyes lingered on his still-exposed cock, covered in the mixed fluids of your cunt and his seed. A smirk played at the corner of your lips as Azriel looked down, realization flickering in his eyes as he hastily pulled up his pants, stuffing himself back into them. 

"Well, this was fun," you remarked casually– almost bored. Azriel resisted the urge to frown at the words, at the tone you used.  "Catch you later, Shadowsinger."

Before he could respond, you were gone, leaving him standing alone in the forest, staring at the empty space before a tree.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Part Two

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria

In love with this ^^^

honeyed temptations

pairing: azriel x reader 

word count: 2.2k

warnings: some smut and suggestive language (mdni 18+ only pls!!), swearing, azriel is whipped for u but is also very stubborn, domesticity/fluff

summary: despite azriel’s relative indifference to most things, he absolutely, undeniably hates the heat. and fucking loves when you wear sundresses.

a/n: continuation of my ongoing headcanon that azriel is actually kind of a stubborn baby, especially with his mate; i have a summer oneshot for cassian coming out soon! <3

masterlist

banners by @/cafekitsune <3

Azriel was fucking furious. It was like the sun had a personal vendetta against him, determined to steal any and all comfort from him as he baked in the hot morning sun in your shared bedroom.

Peak summer in Velaris was nothing to scoff at. Though the Night Court was hailed for the beauty of its moon and stars, the same could not be said for its seasons. It was a solar court and that meant that its moon waxed and waned through the full dearth of the seasons. And summer just so happened to be Azriel’s least favorite. 

Though he could handle the strikingly cold winters the Night Court had to offer — it snowed quite heavily in Illyria, afterall — the heat of the summer was unbearably oppressive. It didn’t help that his current residence was the House of Wind, built high on a mountain cliff where the heat rose and was entirely too close to the sun. Not even the House’s breeze helped staunch his somewhat over exaggerated agitation at the rising temperatures. 

It was still morning, but it seemed that the sun had decided that it would be especially insufferable today, showboating its prowess even at 9 in the morning. 

“C’mon Az,” you implored, gentle hand poking his bare shoulder. “Rhys is here, we have a meeting.” 

He pouted at you from where he was sprawled out on the bed, not having bothered to get up — or put clothes on — despite having been awake for an hour now. He rolled onto his side to get a better look at you, hoping that if he pouted enough you’d have mercy on him and let him stay naked and as cool as possible; the thought of putting on clothes — most of which he owned were black — made Azriel’s head ache. 

“‘s too hot.” 

You huffed a laugh at his childlike petulance. Who would have guessed the feared Shadowsinger of the Night Court couldn’t handle a little heat? 

“You’re being a baby,” you chuckled, sitting on the edge of the bed as you attempted to negotiate with your mate to get out of bed. 

It was then that he took stock of your appearance. You had always been much less bothered by the heat than he was — and much more functional in it — and so your morning routines were never disrupted. You had already bathed and gotten ready, pretty little sundress skimming your curves as the hem tickled the skin on your legs. 

“You look nice,” Azriel noted with a hum of appreciation. Ordinarily, he would’ve reached over and pulled you on top of him to make both of you late for Rhys’s meeting for an entirely different reason, but he couldn’t fathom getting any more sticky and sweaty than he already was, so he resisted. Instead, he opted for toying with the hem of your dress in contemplation.

“Is this new?” He asked, taking in the sweet honey yellow linen and thin straps. You nodded your head and smoothed your hands down your front, fixing the neckline of your dress in a way that had Azriel’s eyes burning holes through your skin. 

“Do you like it? I bought it when I went out with Feyre the other day.” You intentionally left out that you had bought it with the explicit purpose of using it to tempt your mate out of bed, knowing that he always needed a little bit of incentive in the summer. 

Assessing hazel eyes tracked the familiar planes of your body, face lit with an entirely different kind of heat now, “Yeah, I like it.” 

His gaze lifted to yours and you nearly gave into him. The adoration in his eyes and the blush high on the apples of his cheeks was mesmerizing, “You’re very pretty, you know.” 

Azriel’s unfiltered affections for you always made your heart beat quicken, and your attention shifted to his hand resting comfortably on your thigh, thumb drawing innocent circles on your skin. You bent over to kiss him briefly in thanks before patting his hand and getting up off the bed. 

You could’ve sworn you heard Azriel whine in protest, but it was drowned out by the sound of you sifting through the dresser, no doubt searching for clothes to throw his way.

He watched you from his spot on the bed, eyeing the way the hem of your dress billowed from your waist and just barely covered the curve of your ass. He was convinced that he could stare at you for an eternity and still find new parts of you to marvel at. 

Before he could get too lost in his greedy appreciation of your beauty and the stunning way your dress complimented every curve and dip of your body, you were tossing clothes at his face.

“Stop staring and get dressed!” You laughed, “You know Cass is gonna give you shit for being late. Again.”

It was no secret to those closest to Azriel that he was an absolute terror when the summer rolled around. Though it only took a week or two for him to adjust and become begrudgingly functional again, the days leading up to his revival were always a source of great amusement to the Inner Circle. Ah, the perfect Shadowsinger finally reveals his flaws, Cassian would consistently tease.

He only groaned in response, rolling onto his back once again to stare at the ceiling. 

You sighed. Truthfully, you found this side of him endearing – and quite funny – but you knew he had a job to do and nothing would get done unless he was, at the very least, clothed. Sauntering over to the bed, you looked down at him with your hands on your hips. You were met only with a stubborn look in return; you could’ve sworn you glimpsed the ghost of a defiant smirk curving his lips, “Make me.”

You reeled at his challenge. Fine, you would make him. 

The bed shifted as you straddled him on all fours, careful not to let any part of you touch any part of him. His hands came up instinctively to grasp your hips as he didn’t even try to hide his triumphant smile. But you wouldn’t let him get away with it, at least not now.

You encircled his wrists in your hands, guiding them above his head to pin them to the pillow. Both of you knew he could easily wriggle out of your grasp, but Azriel was aware that this was riling you up just as much as him so he conceded. Allowed his beautiful mate to do whatever she pleased.

“Don’t touch,” you commanded in his ear, punctuating your words with a slow swirl of your tongue along the shell of his ear. “If you listen, I promise I’ll be so, so good for you.”

Unexpected emotion flooded his chest as he resisted the urge to break the tension with his affection for you. You were already so good for him. In more ways than he could have ever wanted, more ways than he ever imagined. But he kept his mouth shut, and focused only on the way he could feel the hem of your dress kissing his skin as your mouth nipped at sucked at all the places that drove him insane. 

“C’mon, Az,” you cooed, licking a sinful path up his neck before you blew on his skin, reveling in the way goosebumps rose on his flesh despite the sweltering weather. “Get up for me, huh?”

He didn’t miss the double entendre as you tracked a scathing wet trail down his body, your tongue — frustratingly — the only part of you touching him. He was being difficult and you were making him pay for it by teasing him in ways only you knew how to. Azriel groaned low and deep when your cool breath hit right beneath his bellybutton, abs flexing as he willed himself to maintain his composure. You still weren’t touching him, and he was already embarrassingly hard, body desperate to feel your skin on his. 

His brow furrowed with concentration and lust as he met your gaze right before your lips puckered and you took the head of his cock – pretty and swollen and throbbing just for you – into your mouth. Azriel’s head flopped back onto his pillow as he loosed a long, deep breath, a cross between a sigh and a moan so pleasing to hear that you nearly forgot your initial intentions. 

One well placed stroke of your tongue had your eyes meeting his yet again, all dark pupils and a thin ring of gorgeous hazel. You were the picture of perfect seduction, pretty lips split open on his cock, bent over him in such a way that gave him an unobstructed view of your cleavage beneath your dress. You released him with a sinfully wet pop! as you pulled back and smiled at him, sweet and teasing before you blew gently on his tip. Azriel shuddered.

Oh, Mother above. He was milliseconds away from flipping you onto your back and tearing your godsforsaken dress right off you — or maybe he’d keep it on — but you were faster, jumping just out of his reach and off the bed, as if you hadn’t just addled his mind with fantasies of all the ways he could fuck you in that dress. 

The wicked smirk of satisfaction curving your lips told him that you’d had your intended effect. Azriel was barely able to recalibrate his bearings in time for him to notice you heading towards the door. He sputtered in disbelief, “Where are you going?”

Before you traipsed out the bedroom door, you turned back to look at him, “To be continued, mate. After you get dressed.”

When you shut the door behind you, Azriel could have sworn he heard your giddy, maniacal laughter echo in time to the sound of your footsteps down the stairs. Now he had two problems: 1) he was still hot as the fires of Hell and 2) he was achingly hard and knew he’d have to make a concerted effort not to look too long at you in that dress all day if he wanted to cling to what little composure he had.

He sighed as his shadows swirled around his ears, barely offering any reprieve from the heat. 

Pretty mate. So, so pretty. Everyone thinks so. 

Make that three problems: 3) Cassian would be making innocent comments about you looking so good in that dress just to irritate him. 

The possession roiling around in his gut – courtesy of the mating bond – was his final straw as he scrubbed a frustrated hand down his face. Fucking fine, he would put the damn clothes on. 

☾𖤓 epilogue ☾𖤓

“Where’s that overgrown child you call a mate, anyway?” Cassian quipped after you made your appearance in the dining room for breakfast. 

“Exactly where you think he is,” you laughed over a bite of toast.

“What’s wrong with Azriel?” Feyre implored innocently, “Is he not feeling well?” 

Rhys chuckled and shook his head, “Azriel is not very fond of the summer—“

“That’s an understatement,” you and Cassian mumbled under your breaths in tandem.

“—and it’s a nightmare getting him to do anything in heat like this. But luckily we have Y/N.”

Before your High Lady could ask the question on the tip of her tongue, Cassian stole a piece of bacon off your plate, ignoring the way you protested, “I mean, you’ve seen how whipped he is Feyre. He’ll do anything if Y/N even suggests she wants him to. Az only gets out of bed in the summer because she asks.”

In retribution for your stolen bacon, you speared the rest of Cassian’s eggs and forked them into your mouth before he could inch away from you. You didn’t respond, knowing all too well that Azriel actually would not get out of bed even if you asked, leaving you to resort to other…tactics. 

“I’m not a child, you know.” Came Azriel’s petulant interruption as he greeted you with a brief kiss to your head and the rest of his family with a grunt of acknowledgement, “I can do things on my own, in case you forgot.”

“We’ll stop calling you one, once you stop acting like it,” Cassian taunted.

Azriel’s scoff was his only response as he sat down next to you at the table, plating two pieces of bacon in front of you to replace the one he knew Cassian had no doubt probably taken. You smiled up at him gratefully, and despite the still sweltering heat that had only seemed to have gotten worse as time progressed, he smiled back. 

Feyre was in awe; it was like the heat had melted away his stony exterior, leaving the real Azriel exposed for everyone to see. Feyre met your gaze across the table, a mischievous glint in her eyes that told you she was more than privy to the extraneous measures you had taken to coax your mate out of bed.

“How do you do it?” Cassian not-so-quietly whispered to you. 

“I have my ways,” you responded cryptically with a smirk as Azriel’s hand ventured beneath the hem of your dress, squeezing your thigh.

You would most definitely be paying for your little shenanigan in the bedroom later.  

In the Sheets | Azriel x reader

Summary: To put it in SJM's words: Azriel is a freak *wink wink nudge nudge* and his mate is a lucky lucky girl

A/N: This is honest-to-god faerie p0rn and it gets progressively worse. It's filth. No plot whatsoever. Don't come at me, I'm ovulating and have therefore decided to dump all the smut into one glorious fic. You're welcome.

(public service announcement: the smut does NOT contain degradation and/or the daddy kink because I don't roll that way and therefore our girl Y/N doesn't either)

Word count: 3506

Warnings: SMUT (18+!!!) it's nothing hardcore, just a lot of it, so (respectfully) fuck off if you're under 18

-

"So, enough with the chitchat," Mor proclaimed as she set her empty glass down on the table harder than necessary and proceeded to lean forward as though scheming. "You've been mated to Azriel for over a year now, and so far, I've been patient with you." Y/N blinked slowly, and Mor made a sound that immediately disproved her previous claim of patience. "What's it like?"

Feyre giggled from where she dipped into her third drink of the night, but Nesta sat quietly, a look of mild interest in her eyes as she locked them on Y/N.

An uncertain expression had entered the face of Azriel’s mate. "What's what like?"

Mor huffed. "What's he like. Azriel. The sex." Her eyes seemed aflame with a mixture of wine and the warm glow of Rita's faelights as she stared at her friend as though expecting her to sprout horns any moment now. "Is it good?"

Feyre sighed, though she couldn't quite keep the amusement from bleeding into her words. "Mor, that's an incredibly invasive question."

"And also unnecessary," Nesta added, her voice calm as she stirred the very tip of her finger around the clear contents of her glass. "We didn't see them for almost six months when their bond snapped. Of course it's good."

"But I'm so curious." Y/N smiled into her drink at the deep sigh Mor exhaled. "It's Azriel. The man's been a mystery for more than 500 years and now we finally have an agent on the inside."

"An agent?" Feyre asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Oh, you know what I mean." Mor waved a dismissive hand, her eyes never leaving Y/N. "I desperately need some details."

-

"Arch your back for me."

The soft fabric of the sheets brushed against her skin as Y/N stretched out her arms and let her body glide to the mattress in a slow arch from where she kneeled before him. She could feel the rough skin of scarred hands on her, broad palms pushing down the length of her back to follow the curve of her spine before retreating to hold her hips as though they'd been carved from the most precious of gems.

Her cheek lay pressed to the pillow, her hands twisted into the sheets, and when she felt featherlight kisses on the base of her spine, her back arched further down.

"You're so beautiful like this," Azriel breathed into her skin as his knee appeared between her legs to nudge them further apart. She felt him then, hard and heavy against her centre, and she shivered when he pushed forward to run his length through her folds once, twice, three times.

She sighed his name, closing her eyes at the heavy drag of him against the most sensitive part of her body, and when he finally nudged at her entrance, she did her best not to thrust her hips backwards.

Azriel hooked his hands into the flesh of her ass, grip firm enough to leave red marks, firm enough to sting in just the right way, and when he loosened his right hand, she knew what was to come.

His palm made sharp contact with her skin, and she couldn't help the quiet moan that passed her lips when he repeated it and her body gave a slight jolt.

He gripped her tighter then, pulling her apart. His voice was quiet when he spoke, deep enough to fog her mind with his words.

"Ready for me, my love?"

She was certain he felt her overwhelming need for him pulsing through the bond, because the breathless "yes" had barely just left her lips when he buried himself to the hilt with a single long thrust. She curled her fingers harder into the sheets and the moan that tore through her had Azriel's hands on her tighten even further.

As he ground into her with one harsh snap of his hips after the other, and as she moaned her pleasure into the pillows, she relished in the thought of finding his fingerprints glowing on her skin later.

-

"Don't close your eyes. Look at us."

When she pulled open her eyes, the world lay on its side and the picture that revealed itself to her brought heat to even the last inch of her body.

She'd been wondering why Azriel had relocated the huge, golden mirror that Feyre and Rhys had gifted them for Solstice, but as her gaze caught on the delicate golden edges now, she understood.

She caught her own gaze, and the version of her that was caught inside that magnificent mirror seemed delighted at the fact. She lay on her back, her head turned to the side, her legs wrapped around Azriel while he kept his own face buried in the side of her neck she couldn't see.

She licked her lips at the image. At the sinful roll of Azriel's hips, burying himself again and again in slow thrusts that had her mind swim. At the way majestic wings flared behind him as his hand held her thigh and his chest rubbed against hers with each move.

Her stomach gave a delicious pull when Azriel lifted his head to meet her eyes in the mirror, his own gaze darkened with hunger, his pupils blown wide.

"Look at you," he murmured, his lips close enough for her to feel them move against her cheek. "See how beautiful you look when you take me?"

He punctuated his words with a harder thrust, and her lips fell open at the jolt her mirrored counterpart gave, at the sounds she made, and the way Azriel's hips met hers again and again. The way each muscle in his legs, in his back, in his arms worked beneath tanned skin, it was ... breath-taking.

"Look at this," he now all but whispered as he hooked his hand beneath her knee to lift her leg higher and press it further towards her chest. She dug her nails into the skin of his shoulders at the change in depth, and when Azriel angled his hips slightly to the side, she could see the way his thick length glided in and out of her. He glistened with her arousal, his movements smooth, and she whimpered at the sight of his intrusion.

Azriel lowered his mouth back to her neck and drew her skin between his teeth.

"Keep watching, my love," he murmured into her, and as his hips snapped firmer against her, she didn’t take her eyes off the mirror once.

-

"You're in no position to tease, baby. Remember that."

A shiver ran through her body at the lips that hovered just barely above her breast. His low words washed over her nipple in warm puffs of air, and her thighs pressed together tightly in an attempt to create some friction.

"Azriel," she whispered, a plea evident in the way she spoke his name. She lifted her chest, but Azriel mirrored her movements and lifted his head a bit further, always keeping the distance between his lips and her skin.

She pulled on her restraints, but the shadows that kept her wrists locked to the pillow above her head didn't budge.

Azriel hummed, his wings tucked in closely, his eyes never leaving her face. He was careful not to touch her, his arms digging into the mattress on either side of her shoulders to keep his body hovering over her.

"Yes, my love?"

She couldn't keep the grin from her face as she sent all her desire shooting across the bond, accompanied with echoes of her moans, and flickering sensations of the pleasure she knew Azriel could draw from her.

When he shuddered against her, he finally lowered his mouth to the soft flesh of her breast, though it was only to give a sharp pinch of his teeth that had her jolt.

"Touch me," she pleaded.

A corner of his lips curled into a smile, and she watched closely as he lifted a hand only to weave his fingers through her hair.

She gave a frustrated huff. "Not like that."

Azriel tilted his head, and when he didn't say anything, she knew that he was waiting for her to specify.

"I want your tongue on me," she said, her voice breathless. Tension reached to her very fingertips as Azriel finally lowered his face far enough for his tongue to dart out and kitten-lick her nipple.

Her eyes fluttered at the sight, a full-body-shiver rolling through her at the brief, wet touch.

"Gods, you're such a fucking tease, I swear to—"

A grin flashed, and then finally, finally Azriel lowered his mouth to her breast, licking, and biting, and sucking her until her head swam and her arms shook from his mouth alone.

"Do you want me to fuck you, my love?" he hummed against her, his eyes locked with hers as he once again bit the sensitive skin of her breast, and, Cauldron, the image was sinful. Dark strands of hair fell into his face, his sole attention on her.

"Yes—Gods, yes."

She could only just refrain from whining when Azriel sat back on his feet and took all the warmth with him. He tilted his head as he trailed his eyes along her bare body.

"Open your legs for me, then."

-

"Come with me."

She hadn't heard him approach, the room filled with noise as the crowd of court visitors chatted and drank its way through the evening. She felt fingertips trail down the back of her arm until his hand found hers and he interlocked their fingers. Goosebumps arose in his wake.

"What's wrong?" she asked, having heard the urgency in his tone. When she turned, however, Azriel's heavy-lidded gaze told her the purpose of his proposal.

She smiled and put down her glass to lift her now free hand to cup his face, her thumb running along a sharp cheekbone. "Now?"

Azriel's eyes fluttered at her touch and when she let her thumb slip lower to trail along the curved lines of his lips, he pressed a kiss to the pad of her finger.

"What brought this on?"

"Have you taken a look in the mirror lately?" She noted a spark in Azriel's eyes, his hand tightening in hers. "As breath-taking as it is, I've spent the majority of the night going through all the ways I could get that dress off you as soon as possible."

It was true, the seamstresses of Velaris had outdone themselves this time. Heavy, flowing fabric bunching at her hips, a plunging neckline, a tall slit up the side for her leg to see daylight. The entire thing had been covered in diamonds barely big enough to see, though certainly big enough to catch the light and sparkle as though she'd been clothed in the night sky itself.

She couldn't help the grin that tugged the corners of her lips higher. "Careful. You'll make a girl blush."

The grin on Azriel's face mirrored hers, and when she turned to steer for the exit, she kept his hand in a firm grip.

They’d barely managed to find an empty office—Rhysand’s empty office, to be exact—before Azriel’s hands were on her. 

"I changed my mind," he all but growled against her lips as he backed her towards the desk in the middle of the room. "Keep it on."

Her hands made quick work of his pants, her breathing already laboured when Azriel lifted her onto the sturdy wooden desktop and pried her legs open wide enough to step between her thighs. Nimble fingers bunched the fabric of her dress on her hip, and suddenly he was pushing into her, his groan as sinful as the shudder that ran through his wings.

“Fuck.” He buried his nose in her hair, his raspy tone enough to have her moan as he cursed softly. “I love being inside you.”

All she could do was hold on to his shoulders, her lips whispering delicious moans right into the shell of his ear as he took her for all she was, the desk creaking beneath her with each of his pounding thrusts.

She noticed then that they hadn't closed the door all the way, and when Azriel shifted a wing just an inch to the left, her eyes locked on the wide-eyed form of a faerie standing in the gap of the door.

Y/N didn't know her, but judging by her golden-blue attire she was one of the Summer Court's emissaries.

The unknown faerie stood stock still, her lips slightly agape as she held Y/N's gaze, and when Azriel lay more power into his thrusts and pounded into his mate with the wet slap of skin on skin, Y/N's nails dug a bit deeper into his shoulder, her moans reaching a higher pitch, turning pleading.

The faerie seemed to recoil, though there was no denying the heat that had entered her expression as she watched.

Azriel sensed her then, too, though he didn't turn to throw a glance over his shoulder, but instead lowered his forehead to Y/N's, his eyes on her as he slowed his thrusts to a deep grind.

"It seems we have an audience, my love," he spoke softly enough so that only she could hear. He lifted a hand to thread his fingers through her hair, his grip tightening to angle her head back far enough to meet her gaze. "Shall we put on our best show?"

She grinned, digging her teeth into her bottom lip as she tried to urge him deeper with her heels in his lower back.

"Can't leave them hanging now, can we?"

She caught the flash of a grin before Azriel pulled out of her. She barely had enough time to register the loss when he thrust back in to the hilt, and her body jerked with the sudden intrusion.

"Fuck," she cursed, breathless as she tightened her legs around him, doing her best to brace herself against the harsh snap of his hips. "Fuck, Azriel—ah."

Azriel kept an arm tightly looped around her waist, his free hand lifting her thigh higher, his hips relentless. He buried his face in her neck then, his grunts turning into groans, and as Y/N held the gaze of the faerie in the hallway, he ground against her hard enough to have her toes curl with pleasure that wiped every thought of the stranger from her mind.

-

"Feels good, doesn't it?"

Her chest was heaving in the dim light of their bedroom, Azriel’s arms wound tightly around her waist as she leaned back against his chest. She could feel the scruff of his chin against her temple, his lips so close to her ear that she shivered with every word he spoke in that low tone of his.

She moaned softly, her head lolling back onto his shoulder, her eyes falling closed.

“No, no,” Azriel tutted quietly, one of his arms loosening its grip for his fingers to take gentle hold of her jaw and direct her gaze back down towards her centre. “Look at them go,” he sounded mesmerised as he spoke, his every word dripping with desire. “Look at the way they feast on you.”

Her lids were heavy as she followed the direction of his gaze. Her knees were bent, her thighs held open by Azriel’s legs, baring her to the room and the shadows he’d unleashed upon her.

Shadowy tendrils brushed along her inner thighs before gliding against her very centre, teasing with cool sensations and barely-there touches, licking at her skin, sinking into her.

It was driving her crazy.

“Azriel,” she breathed, her head heavy with desire, her skin burning, longing to be touched properly. “Azriel stop teasing. Please.”

She felt his teeth on her earlobe then, dragging her skin between warm lips. “What was that?”

She writhed against him, the urge to snap her legs closed overwhelming at the gentle teasing of his shadows.

“You just want to hear me beg,” she huffed, turning her head enough to catch his gaze. And true enough, Azriel’s eyes were shining with anticipation, a small smirk edged into his features.

“I would enjoy that, yes.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, lips tightly sealed, but when she felt one of his shadows curl into her, she couldn’t help the breathy moan that broke from her throat. Everything they did, every kiss of her skin, it all felt good—good enough to drive her crazy with it. But it all felt like the ghost of a touch, not the real deal, and certainly not enough.

“Fuck me, then,” she gasped, breathless. “I’ll beg all you want if you just fuck me.”

Azriel leaned down to kiss her then, the hand he didn’t keep wrapped around her waist slipping down to cup her breast. When he pulled back, he tracked half-lidded eyes down her face, a contemplative hum resonating in his chest.

Her body tensed when new shadows joined and Azriel chuckled into the shell of her ear.

“Just a little while longer, I think.”

-

"I wanna go again."

A tired laugh fell from her lips, her eyes closed as she kept her cheek pressed into the soft pillow, her arms wrapped around it. She could feel his fingertips trailing along the length of her spine and all the way down to her tailbone before returning to the back of her neck. She shivered.

"I can't," she breathed into the pillow. "I don't have another one in me."

She could feel his smile across the bond, could hear it in his voice when he spoke, his tone quiet, his words soft.

"I don't think that's true, my love."

A comfortable shiver shook her body when his lips appeared at her temple, breathing featherlight kisses along her cheekbone, and down towards her jaw.

She hummed, hugging the pillow tighter at the tingling his kisses left in their wake.

"How are you still going?"

"They call it frenzy for a reason."

She forced her eyes open at that—just a crack, just enough to see Azriel's smirk. "The frenzy lasts three weeks. We've been mated for a year."

He leaned down to kiss her then. It was slow, lazy, innocent, but she felt his palm flatten against her back, his warmth washing over her as he urged closer.

"I don't feel like it ever stopped," he breathed against her. "I spend every minute of every day wanting you, longing for you, aching for you."

She met his kiss firmer then, turning into his embrace until he pulled her close enough for her to feel his heartbeat against her own.

Azriel turned to his back, wincing a bit when he rearranged his wings beneath him. In truth, he was just as sore as she was—every inch of him aching with hours and hours spent loving, and fucking, and writhing in pleasure. It was the good kind of ache though. The kind he'd do anything to never lose.

She lay on top of him now, her arms wrapped around his neck, and Azriel's hands slipped to her thighs to pull her legs apart for a knee to rest on either side of his hips.

She urged closer, wanting to feel every bit of his warmth, wanting to chase away every bit of air left between them.

“I’m really sensitive,” she spoke against his lips, her eyes closed, her words barely above a whisper.

Azriel stroked his palms along her back. “I’ll be gentle.”

She couldn't help the gasp that left her when he slid into her, intruding her tender flesh with a single push to glide smoothly against the slick mess they'd left between her thighs. She dug her fingers into his skin and Azriel soothed his palms across the globes of her ass, cautious in the way he moved her against him.

It was lazy, slow, his strokes barely enough to call them that, but neither of them needed more. Sensitive from countless rounds and orgasms, she tightened around him just a few grinding thrusts later, her moans closer to whines as she buried her face in his neck and panted softly against his skin.

She shook against him, her body quaking with an orgasm, her low moans muffled against him, and when Azriel joined her, he gritted his teeth as a wave of pleasure crashed into him and he pressed their hips together with a raspy groan to crack through his throat.

"Fuck," he hissed, letting his head plop back into the pillow, his arms now moving to circle her waist.

Silence enveloped them for a while, only the sounds of their breathing mixing.

"I won't be able to walk tomorrow," she finally hummed against his neck, and Azriel smiled as he ran his finger through her hair.

"I shall carry you then, my love."

-

"Hello?" Mor waved her hand before Y/N's eyes, causing the faerie to flinch.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I was just ... thinking."

It was Feyre who grinned at her now. "I bet."

To Feel At Home

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Winnowing out from Under the Mountain, you know you need to find him—it doesn't seem real, to feel so at home.

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: Angst

a/n: A little angsty piece because I can't stop writing for some reason. I hope you enjoy :)

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

On shaking legs, you pressed forward. Rhysand was still at the Moonstone Palace—still in Mor’s arms and coping with the impossible. You had made to stay, but Mor had given you a shake of her head that conveyed more than any words could have.

Mustering up the morsel of power that had returned to you after Amarantha’s death, you winnowed to Velaris. 

Not in a good spot. You hadn’t had access to your power in over five decades and much of Rhysand’s wards were still in place. Given the circumstances, getting yourself to some random alley at the edge of Velaris was a feat. 

The sun was blinding, invading your senses that had gotten so used to the darkness Under the Mountain. You brought a hand up to cover your eyes and trekked on.

No more winnowing. 

You had tried—it hadn’t worked. 

As you walked, stumbling through families taking strolls and having normal days, you searched within you for that golden thread. It had been absent for longer than it had been alive, your time as mates barely reaching a decade before your disappearance. 

You sifted through the pain and grief and loneliness, desperate for the relief you would find once you felt the weight of him. 

Nothing yet. 

He had to know things had changed Under the Mountain. Even amidst the secrecy and the hiding, you knew he would check.  His shadows would cross continents to find you. 

But—you stressed, as you made it to a main road lined with cobblestones—that could mean he went there. Azriel could be under that mountain at this very moment, searching through the fae still sorting out their lives before they went home. 

And you were here. 

You had no reason to panic. 

You were home, safe, alive; you had more reason to feel at peace than you had in the last 50 years. But if Azriel wasn’t here… 

Your breath came out in short pants as your fingers found purchase on a wall. But you kept going, kept watching your feet as they stumbled past each other, just to have the chance of seeing him. 

There were no shadows yet. 

They always found you first. 

You weren't sure how much time had passed—seconds, minutes, hours all lost their meaning under Amarantha—but the shadow of the mountain that held your home was soon cast over your body. You gasped out uneven breaths and pressed a hand to the towering figure, to the entrance that held the ten thousand steps you had every intention of climbing. 

Your body would surely fail. 

The last five decades had not been kind. 

With a determination fueled solely by desperation and hope, you began the tunneled pathway to the harrowing climb, but then you stopped at the entryway. 

A broken rendition of your name met your ears, so cracked and ruined you could have passed it off for something else. 

But you knew that voice, the way the vowels flowed and connected. 

Another broken sound permeated the air, this time from your own lips. 

You couldn’t look. You wanted to, ached to, but you couldn’t. So much anticipation led up to this moment. And you were different now, a fraction of the person you had been all those years ago. 

“Y/n, my love, look at me,” Azriel begged, the lowest you’d ever heard him speak. But you hadn’t heard him speak in so long, so perhaps you were misremembering. “Please.” 

You couldn’t. 

Moving was impossible. 

Your legs began to shake at the sound of footsteps, and then your knees gave out. 

A loud sound vibrated against the tunnel walls as your hands slapped against the floor. On the ground, steps away from the only person who could fix this, your waterline filled with tears. 

But you didn’t have time to second-guess or run or wonder if this was all too much. You were gathered into a strong pair of arms, pressed into a firm chest that smelled like home, and tears made paths down your cheeks. They flowed in damp trails in silence, Azriel holding you closer and closer until you weren’t sure space existed between you. 

His nose pressed into your hair. 

His chest rose and fell in uneven patterns. 

More silence. You felt your body begin to rock gently back and forth. 

This wasn’t real—it couldn’t be. 

You had resigned yourself to never seeing him again many years ago. Even as you ran through the streets of Velaris without your breath or your reasonable mind, you hadn’t expected to find him. This was a dream, Azriel wasn’t here, it was only a cruel play on your mind. 

Someone was trying to hurt you, and it was working. 

Maybe Amarantha had finally gotten Rhys to crack. 

Maybe this was his doing, his manipulation of your deepest hopes. 

Something was moving against your ear, soft and rushed and incoherent. A hand smoothed back your hair. You kept rocking. 

“You’re okay.” Words filtered through ringing. “You’re okay. You’re okay. I’m here.” 

Over and over. On a loop. 

Something encased you. Darkness followed—you were used to darkness. 

The pattern of the words lulled your heart back to a normal rate. Tears continued to fall. Your breath was shaky. 

“I love you so much,” Azriel broke the repetition, shocking your system. “I love you. I love you—” 

A sob wracked your body, the first real sound to leave your mouth. Azriel shushed you in response, but when he buried his face in your neck you felt the wetness of his own cheeks. 

This had to be real, it had to. There was no other alternative. You wouldn't survive feeling this way just to be thrust back into that nightmare. 

It had to be real, it had to—

“It is,” Azriel choked out. He pulled back, your face in his hands, his expression conveying a picture of pain and love and disbelief. “It’s real, angel. Gods, you’re so beautiful. I never thought I’d—” Words cut off and restarted. “I tried so hard to get to you.” 

His forehead met yours. 

This was real. 

You felt the shadows wisp along your skin. 

You could never feel them in dreams. 

“I missed you,” you croaked, voice so unused to the words. “So much.” 

Azriel squeezed his eyes shut only to open them after not even a breath. Desperate not to lose sight of you. Anguished at the thought of missing the picture of you in his arms. 

“I’ve missed you more.”

My Brother’s Sister

Pairing: Azriel x Rhys’s Sister!reader (f). Summary: Rhys forbids reader from talking to Azriel, but she says fuck that and also fuck me😏 and Az is down with it (set before Rhys is High Lord). Warnings: 18+, smut, soft!dom!Az, fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v, pet names (good girl, baby girl), unprotected sex. Word Count: 1.4k

***

“Can I talk to you?” Rhys had cornered you in the hallway after dinner. His eyes were… sad. Something was wrong. You nodded, thinking it must be something serious. You followed him down the hallway to the private library. He shut the door behind him and was quiet for a few moments, not sure how to start.

“You know I love you, right?” he asked. You nodded, your brows furrowing. You two were close, but it wasn’t often you were so candid about your feelings. “And I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Are mom and dad okay?” Your parents had gone on a trip to Illyria and weren’t going to be back until next week. Had something happened to them? Is that why he was acting so weird?

He sighed. “They’re fine, this isn’t about them.”

“Then what is it about? You’re scaring me.” You wrapped your arms around yourself. 

“I see how you look at Az.” He crossed his arms. You blinked. That was not at all what you were expecting. Sure, maybe you had a little crush on the shadowsinger, but it wasn’t enough for Rhys to be making this big of a deal out of it.

“So?”

“So I want you to know that it’s never going to go anywhere.” Your eyes narrowed.

“Did he say something-”

“No, I just… Look, (Y/N), you know I care about you. And Az is like a brother to me; if this ends badly between you, you’ll both be hurt and I’ll be caught in the middle. I don’t want-”

“It’s none of your business, Rhysand.” He swallowed his fury, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. He always loved your feistiness, but not when it was directed at him.

When he spoke again, his voice was even. “You are forbidden to speak to him anymore.”

“That’s bullshit,” you spat. “I’m a grown female and I can do whatever I want. You’re not High Lord yet, so don’t think you can get away with bossing me around, you pretentious prick.” You fled the room, slamming the door in his face and shuffled angrily through the halls of the House of Wind. He hadn’t even bothered to follow you.

You were seething as you practically stomped down the hallway in a blind rage, and found yourself before Az’s bedroom.

You banged on the door. It took all of five seconds before it opened and a shirtless male emerged.

“(Y/N)? What’s wro-” Your lips cut him off. He was surprised at first, but eventually relaxed into it, kissing you back. You knew he’d felt the same about you; he was just too shy and afraid of Rhys to do anything about it. 

You gently nudged him backwards, into his room, and once you were fully inside, you kicked the door shut behind you, using magic to lock it. You guided him back toward the bed. He pulled away, confusion all over his face. He looked like he had a million questions, but couldn’t quite voice any of them.

“Wh… what are you doing?” His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he fought to keep his sanity. 

“I want you,” you mumbled somewhat desperately, tugging at the waistband of his pants. He glanced at the door, his lips slightly parted, as if he expected Rhys to kick it open and rip him to shreds. “Az.” The sound of your voice pulled his eyes back to you. “Please,” you whimpered.

His kiss was gentle and sweet, and he cupped your ass as he picked you up. He placed you gently on his bed, only breaking the kiss to pull your shirt off. 

You gasped as he sucked your nipple into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it. You held back a moan, arching your back. He pulled off with a satisfying pop.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he whispered, eyes drinking in your naked torso.

He kissed his way down your body, and you shivered to see him kneeling between your legs. 

He looked up at you, lust temporarily removed from his gaze. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” You could not have been more sure. He smirked, tugging the waistband of your leggings and removing them completely. 

“Mmm, you’re already so wet for me,” he mumbled. He was so close that you could feel his breath against your heat and you lifted your hips, trying to get even closer to him. “Aww. Are you desperate for me, baby?”

“Fuck, yes, Az, please-” Before you could even finish, he was licking a long stripe from the bottom to the top of your slit. Just the feeling of his warm tongue on you made you want to cum right there. Once he got to the top, he sucked your clit into his mouth, making you moan. You covered your mouth, knowing that Cassian’s bedroom was right across the hall. 

He slid a finger in you, but it wasn’t enough. A mere tease. You whimpered.

“Please…” He knew what you meant, adding another finger. Your head fell back against the mattress in pure pleasure and you had to fight to keep quiet. You arched your back again. You wanted more, and he was happy to deliver, adding a third finger. Now, you had to bite down on your fingers to stifle the ungodly noises you wanted to make. 

Your legs started to shake. He felt your pussy begin clenching around his fingers and immediately pulled out. You let out a disappointed whimper. In moments, he was face to face with you, his lips on yours.

You could taste yourself on his lips. His fingers drew agonizingly slow circles on your clit and you rutted against them, begging for more. He smirked against your lips. 

You reached down, palming his dick through his pants.

Gods, he was big. A shiver ran up your spine. 

He pulled his pants down, letting his massive cock spring free. He wrapped a hand around it, pumping it once. Your eyes widened at the sheer size of it.

He must have sensed your panic, because he said, “We don’t have to-”

“I want it,” you said, your eyes shifting back to his. You swore he looked like a god in that moment, his muscular body on display, a hand clasped around his cock. “Please, Azriel… Fuck me.” 

For a moment, all of his restraint disappeared and he was entirely primal, but he took a deep breath to calm himself. You licked your lips as he stepped closer. He leaned down, kissing you gently again as he guided his cock to your wet pussy. You wrapped your arms around his neck, excitement buzzing through you as he pushed in. 

He went ever so slowly, letting you adjust to him. You sucked in a breath as his tip nudged your cervix, and he kissed your jaw in silent encouragement. He stayed still, waiting for your signal. Finally, you began to desperately shift your hips. 

He smiled down at you for a moment, just watching you writhe on him. “My good girl,” he purred, and you swore your pussy clenched at just those words. He pulled out halfway then slowly thrust back in. You couldn’t help but moan. “Takin’ me so well… What did you say you wanted me to do to you?”

You swallowed, your brain working overtime just to get the words out. “Fuck me, Az.”

Once again, his restraint disappeared and this time, he didn’t fight it. He gripped your hips, thrusting in faster. You had never felt this good. Your brain couldn’t even form coherent thoughts anymore. You just clung to him as he pounded into you. 

He reached down, rubbing circles on your clit again, and you tightened around him. “Fuck,” he hissed. “Gonna cum for me, baby girl?”

You nodded, your mind beyond forming words. 

He smirked, leaning down so that his lips were right next to your ear as he whispered, “Why don’t you cum loud enough for Rhys to hear?”

That was all the permission you needed.

You were sure all of Velaris heard your climax. The feeling of your pussy clenching around him sent Az over the edge. You were still seeing stars when he pulled out of you. You whimpered, feeling empty. He pulled you into his arms, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear and pressing another gentle kiss to your lips.

“I love you, (Y/N).”

You were about to tell him you love him back when there was a loud pounding on the door.

In the Tent

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader. Summary: In a tent with Azriel and the reader is in absolute heat😩 Warnings: 18+, smut, soft!dom!Az, fingering, pet names (bunny, good girl). Word count: 857.

***

“(Y/N)? What are you doing?” You took in the sight of the shadowsinger, laying in his bed. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes as you entered his tent. 

You didn’t respond as you climbed into his bed and cuddled up next to him. He instinctively wrapped his arms around you.

You’d gone on a trip with the Inner Circle to one of the Illyrian camps. You each had your own tent, but you didn’t feel like sleeping alone. 

“I’m lonely,” you responded, burying your face in his neck. “And cold.” 

He held you tighter to warm you up, kissing the side of your head. You began kissing his neck as his warmth began to seep into you. 

“You’re freezing,” he murmured, a shiver running down his spine from the feeling of your ice cold lips on his skin. You smirked.

“I can think of a way to warm me up faster,” you said against his neck. You’d had moments like this with Az before - little kisses, maybe a cuddle session here or there, but it never went any further than that. His body went impossibly still at your insinuation. You slid your hands beneath his shirt, feeling his muscular chest. You leaned back in to kiss him. His tongue slid over your bottom lip and you opened his mouth slightly, letting him in. He explored your mouth with his exceptionally skilled tongue and you felt heat pooling between your legs already, wondering just how good that tongue would feel in other places... 

Without breaking the kiss, you situated yourself so that one of his legs was between both of yours, and you writhed against it. He pulled back.

“(Y/N),” he reprimanded.

“Azriel, please…” You pouted. “Don’t you want me?” You didn’t even notice his hands were on your ass until his grip tightened. 

“Of course I do,” he practically growled, making you smile. “I want you so bad, bunny.” You rutted against him again, unable to control yourself at the pet name he’d reserved for just you. “Wanted you for so long now… but when I finally do fuck you, I want to make you scream. And if we do it now, everyone in the whole damn camp is going to hear.” 

You swallowed, not used to hearing that kind of language from him. You were so far past the point of caring what anyone else would think. You tugged on the waistband of his pants, but they didn’t move. You whined desperately.

“Please,” you begged. 

“I’m not going to fuck you tonight.” You felt a frustrated sob working its way up your throat. “But if my poor bunny needs help, I suppose I could help you some other way.” 

“Yes!” you replied, almost a bit too loudly. “Yes,” you said again, quieter this time. “I need help so badly, please, Az.” He smirked. He gently grabbed your hips, placing you between his legs with his chest against your back and tugging down your pajama bottoms. Your breath caught in your throat when you finally felt his fingers where you needed them most. 

He rubbed slow circles on your clit, but even that was enough to send electricity up your spine. You bit your bottom lip. His other hand tugged your shirt up. You shivered, suddenly hyper aware of just how exposed you were. 

“Y’look so pretty, bunny,” he murmured in your ear as if he’d somehow read your thoughts. He slid a finger inside your wet pussy and you exhaled deeply, finally getting some sort of relief. You felt his soft lips on your neck as he pinched one of your nipples. 

“Fuck,” you breathed when he added another finger. You felt his smirk on your neck. It was so good, so fucking good, but at the same time, you wanted more. You wanted his cock slamming into you, his hands tugging your hair or slapping your ass. You jerked your hips against his fingers and he pulled out. “Please,” you whimpered. “‘M sorry.”

“You’re going to be a good girl and let me do it?”

“Yes, I’ll be good.” To your relief he slid back in, but went slower than before, punishing. As you fought the urge to rut against his fingers again, you noticed something hard pressing against your backside. 

“So wet for me, bunny,” he whispered, making your pussy clench around his fingers. He added a third, and his other hand traveled down to rub circles on your clit. “Gonna cum, baby?”

“Gods, Azriel, yes, fuck,” you swore as your orgasm came crashing down upon you.

“Good girl, bunny. Such a good girl for me,” he murmured as you came down. He flipped you around so you could lay on his chest while you caught your breath. He loved seeing you pant for him. Before your heart rate was even back to normal, you reached down.

He grabbed your wrist right as your hand wrapped around his clothed cock. It was probably painfully hard. Still, he pulled your hand away.

“Please,” you whimpered again. “Wanna make you feel good.”

“Don’t be greedy, bunny.” He wrapped his arms around you. “Rest.”

Letters of Desperation - Gwynriel

Part 1 - Azriel | Part 7 - Gwyneth | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 593

My sweetest Azriel,

What despairing thoughts you have, to consider yourself the sinner in my story, to see yourself as nothing but an evil spirit, a demon as if I am clean and pure and the epitome of goodness. In fact, it is quite the contrary; I have blood on my hands from the lives I couldn’t save while you have blood on your hands for the lives you took.

But if there is anything I have learned as a priestess, it is this: we are not born sinners, but rather it is our actions that decide our fate, that decide if we get entry into the immortal land of milk and honey. Sin is something we choose to do despite knowing that it is wrong, despite knowing the repercussions.

I know you, Azriel, perhaps more than you give me credit for. I know that you do not hurt people out of spite. You hurt only yourself. You withdraw into yourself so deeply and isolate yourself, building impenetrable walls and fortresses, I wonder each time if I will be able to coax you out of your shell, your sanctuary which you hide in that will become your prison if you refuse to let the light in. I see you, Azriel. I know you think of yourself as non-existent, not quite there, your pain invisible to all, but I see you. I see all of you, and I will not balk. I see your kind heart, your lively spirit, and your dry, witty sense of humour that I have come to cherish. I see your courage and your sacrifice, I see all that you do. There is not a single part of you that is undesirable or unlovable, and I need you to know this.

I see your actions, which are crafted of so much care and a love so deep I am in awe each time I witness it for my own. Each action, each deliberate movement holds so much love in it I am entranced by how a single person may hold such large amounts of it and not combust, how one can manage to hide these parts of thesmelves and not go insane. I certainly would have.

I do not see a sinner in you, Azriel. I never have. I see is a male who works tirelessly, day and night, come what may, to support his family and his court, who fights with honour and has dignity embedded into his soul, who poses such a threat to my heart, to the borders I have erected around it so that no one may penetrate. But you have managed to do just that; not with an army, but with a few kind words that had me crumbling. I had not known such support was needed until I had someone to lean on, to share the burden with, until I had you beside me. 

All I see is a male who is valiant in his glory, resplendent in his awe, who never balks, never falters; a loyal, kind male, who saved a priestess from a temple after a horrific crime, my own knight in shining armour. A patient teacher, a ravenous lover, a kind husband. A male so multifaceted and varied in his personalities I struggle to keep up with all that you are. 

I can only hope to wake beside you each day and discover a new side of you that I have yet to see. I doubt that you will ever stop surprising me. I certainly don’t intend to. 

Unconditionally yours,

Gwyneth

Part 8

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Desperation - Gwynriel

Part 1 - Azriel | Part 6 - Azriel | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 398

My precious warrior,

You are shaped like a dagger that somehow knows its way to my heart no matter the obstacles that it faces. You will seek me out no matter what, you will seek me out with such undying precision and terrifying clarity I am left breathless each time you see me vulnerable. You will find your way to me against all odds, I am left breathless each time you manage to read me like a book. It is the certainty with which you behold me that has me shaking, as if your eyes can see all the way to my battered soul and extract all the parts of me that are unlovable with a care so gentle my already fractured heart cracks just a little more, bruises a little more deeply, aches just a little more. I do not know if I shake with fear, with love, with relief, or something else entirely I do not know. I do not think I want to know, for it might just destroy me.

It is if I am shedding layers of myself around you so slowly many would not even call it shedding, or perhaps you are simply too skilled at peeling them back with those steady, stunning, unmarrred hands of yours, with a light in your eyes that is wholly unfamiliar to me. 

I had not known how flimsy my walls were until a scraped nail along them, the lightest brush of a finger had them dissolving and disintegrating into nothing, leaving my soul bare and open and utterly yours to take or consume or destroy or set fire to. Whatever you choose to do with it, whatever you do with the ruin that is me, I will willingly accept my fate, even if I am condemned by God for loving a creature as breathtaking as you, for I should have been aware of the consequences when I first became infatuated by you. When I first laid eyes upon you, when I first talked to you, I truly do not think it was possible for either of us to predict that something as explosive nor fervent could have enveloped us, a fire so purifying and cleansing it rids me of every sin I have ever committed, every malevolent thought and deed of my long-suffering existence, simply because you were not by my side. 

Your eternal love,

Azriel

Part 7 - Gwyneth

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Desperation - Gwynriel

Part 1 - Azriel | Part 5 - Azriel | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 509

My precious warrior,

Surely it must be a crime to make a five hundred year old Illyrian cry, and yet here we are. But I will admit that I sobbed upon reading your letter like never before. My tears did not stop, even as I am writing to you now. I apologise for any dark spots on the parchment, my love.

I truly have no words, Gwyn. Truly. No words, save for this immense aching and longing in my chest that increases every moment we are forced to spend apart. This chasm in me; this hole, it only makes me wish for your presence, even more than I already do. 

I had not known such unconditional support and love existed in the world, least of all concentrated in such large amounts in the heart of one person as they are in you. I had not known how full of light you were until I was blinded by it, awed by the glory in front of me and stunned by its briliance. I will admit, it took some getting used to, but now I can look at the light, if not for a long time then at least for a little while and not consider myself completely unworthy. It is a process that is taking far longer than I would have liked, but it is a process nonetheless and so I must be patient as I have been patient with love.

I must learn to be patient with myself, and I have no doubt that you will stand by me always.

I am learning to rest, learning to love, learning how to thrive, learning how to simply be, because I had not been living until I met you. Not truly. I was an empty shell of survival, a hollow husk that encased my body but had no soul. A being that wandered, searching for its purpose, until it found you. 

While the fire that is embedded in my memories destroyed a part of me, your fire ignited my own. Those flickers of light, those initial, weak sputters came together to form such a raging inferno, one that burns only for you, I will be surprised if I do not burn along with it. I will be surprised if it does not swallow us whole and leave nothing but ash and ruin in its wake.

But I do not mind. I will burn happily; I will die happily, knowing I was someone who got to spend even a moment with you and consider you an integral part of my life.

Perhaps this is ironic, coming from a male who spent the better part of his life fearing fire, to say that I was entranced by a being of such passion, such love, and such unending blazing. But I have learned to love, learned to love you and life and all the wonderful things it has to offer.

I cannot wait to experience them with you, and I can only hope that you want the same with me.

Your eternal love,

Azriel

Part 6 - Azriel

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Grief

Part 1 | Part 6 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: Inspired slightly by this Tumblr post

Word Count: 2516

Each week, each visit had done nothing to quell the rage and grief within Azriel. He’d gone on missions for Rhys, spent time with his family on Solstice; had even managed to go to Illyria and assist Cassian with keeping some of the camps in check.

Despite it all, despite his routine, the hollowness within him only grew. It was a festering wound, he knew, and would cause him to bleed and explode over people who had in no way wronged him. The problem with being far too self-aware was, he didn’t know what to do with this terrifying piece of knowledge about himself.

As the Night Court’s Spymaster, it was his job to notice subtleties about others that a usual glance or once-over would miss. The slightest pinch of a brow, the crook of a mouth, the barely-there shrug of a shoulder…Azriel had accustomed himself to observing and cataloguing anything and everything that he came across. The trait was as much a part of him as his wings. He didn’t know who he’d be without it.

A moment of weakness on a more recent mission when he’d failed to do exactly that, however, had nearly cost Azriel his life. He’d been scouting the continent for any sign of the mortal queens, any whisper from his spies that indicated a plan or even movement towards Prythian. Sitting on the roof of a ramshackle little hut that was no doubt abandoned, he got the perfect view of the palace they lived in. The decrepit little cottage sat on a small mound (it was too small to even refer to it as a hill) and provided Azriel with enough of a view that he could easily monitor any movements through the main gates.

He’d scoured the smaller, less frequently used drawbridges, though his shadows and his own findings had only ever led to the same conclusion: only the main gates were used. The queens likely preferred their servants to be kept out of sight and thus encouraged them to use to side passageways. Azriel had only ever found servants leaving to get to the stables or go to the market. It was nothing out of the ordinary.

At least, that was how it had seemed until a naga had pounced on him. Azriel barely had any time to react before it had ripped a decent chunk of armour off, penetrating through the metal until the muscle. He’d hissed in pain and barely fought it off, finally killing the damn thing, before he’d winnowed straight home. 

There was no way in hell he was surviving a naga attack when one of his limbs was rendered immobile.

Azriel didn’t remember how he ended up in a warm bed at the House of Wind that night. Cassian must have seen him and called for Madja.

Indeed, she was a talented healer who’d patched him up in less than an hour. He’d felt guilty for coming back so soon with no intel, nothing to report, but he also knew his body’s limits. He wasn’t about to stretch it for the sake of his pride, not when his ignorance had nearly gotten him killed. By a naga, no less.

Upon further contemplation, Azriel made a mental note to ask Rhys about the naga. He’d encountered a few here and there on his countless missions to the other courts, but he couldn’t remember them ever hunting faeries specifcally, or the ability to scale trees with such ruthless efficiency. From what he remembered, they preferred the safety of solid land beneath their feet and only ever hunted mortals for sport and entertainment.

Az? Why are you still awake? As if summoned by his thoughts, the High Lord of Night spoke into Azriel’s mind. A naga attacked me while I was doing reconnaissance of the palace. I’m fine, nothing for you to fret over, but I did have to come back and get Madja to heal me.

I don’t care that you had to come back halfway through a mission. I care about you. Damnnit, Az, why didn’t you tell either of us? There was irritation lining Rhys’ voice, yes, but also concern. It was palpable even through his absence.

I told you, I’m fine. Visit me in the morning. Cass will probably startle awake like a frenzied boar the moment you land. If this was what Azriel had to do to avoid Rhys getting all worked up like a mother hen then that was what he would do.

He’s a deep sleeper. I doubt he’d notice my presence until I made it glaringly obvious to him that I was staying for the night. A pause. Then…Good night, Azriel. I hope you feel better soon.

Sunlight streamed in through the now-open window, the House having drawn the curtains. Azriel still wasn’t used to the fact that the House was sentient, and had found it extremely odd to utter a ‘thank you’ when no one was around. Was it wrong to want a magical house which summoned nearly everything under the sun to like you?

Azriel was awake, and was propped up with a mountain of pillows surrounding him. He hadn’t had the heart to tell Madja that so many pillows would make him feel as if he was drowning in cotton; not as she’d fussed over him and groused over his deteriorating health.

By deteriorating health, she’d meant his lack of a structured sleep schedule, irregular meal times, lack of hydration…the usual. It wasn’t odd for Azriel to receive these comments from most of the healers he visited, each one expressing varying degrees of concern over how and why his regimes were so lax.

This time, however, it seemed that the female wasn’t going to leave without a proper argument. “You need to start taking care of yourself. This neglect and unwillingness to listen to you body’s needs is going to catch up to you one day, and you’ll be worse off for it.”

“I do listen to my body’s needs,” he protested halfheartedly, looking up at the healer who had her arms on her hips in a clear show of disappointment. “I came to you when my arm was nearly bitten off by a naga, didn’t I?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Madja.” Azriel’s tone had softened. “My body does fine on its own. There’s no point interfering in things that are working well enough unattended.”

“Except you’re not.” It seemed that Azriel’s placating voice had done nothing to ease the healer’s worry. “You neglect yourself. Your needs, your wants.”

“I go to a mind healer once every week.” That had Madja sobering up, a newer, more assessing look in her eyes as she took Azriel in again. “Since when?”

“A few months.”

“And have you found that it has helped?”

Azriel fell silent. No, the visits weren’t helping, but he wasn’t getting much better, either. It was hard to tell. A couple of months was hardly anything to the Fae, after all. The loss of his mate was still fresh as ever, the wound just as deep as the day he’d seen her die.

“I see.” Her brow furrowed, clearly interpreting the silence as a negative. Azriel didn’t even know why he’d told her. Maybe he’d needed someone to talk to, and Madja had been the closest person, the one most willing to listen. It wasn’t like there was a line of people outside his door ready to listen to his plights and tragedies, but…it felt good getting that particular truth off his chest. Azriel trusted her. She’d tell no one without explicit permission from Azriel. She was discreet that way, and that was perhaps one of the things he admired most about Madja, aside from her healing abilities.

“I will check on you once this afternoon. If the wounds are not fully healed then I will have to visit once more.”

Azriel knew his body, knew that the wounds had begun healing and would likely disappear by the next afternoon.

✦ ✦ ✦

“I just…I want to go back. To her. To a time when we would have been happy simply because we had each other and we needed nothing more. Every day, I wake up and my first thought is of her. Every morning, I think about what I wouldn’t do to go back. Just once.”

Azriel had been encouraged to go back to the mind healer even if he felt as if the visits weren’t helping. No, encouraging was too weak a word for what Madja had done. Despite being nearly a foot shorter than him, the healer had nearly threatened to freeze his balls off if he didn’t go. It had been amusing, at the very least, to see Madja so worked up, and Azriel had thought nothing but her agitated expression as he made his way down to the too-familiar, all-white room.

All laughter had evaporated, however, when she’d asked how he’d been doing and Azriel hadn’t quite known how to answer. The response he’d given had been an echo, a glimpse into the true stumbling mess that he was.

She’d looked at him as he told her the words he’d been willing to give voice to; an odd, contemplative sort of expression that Azriel hadn’t been able to place. “You could go back. But there is nothing and no one waiting for you there.”

“I am waiting for her there,” he’d answered as he fought not to let his temper get the best of him. “I’ve been waiting for her, and I will continue to wait for the day I die because then it will mean that we will be together.”

“And what will you do once you are together?”

“Simply hold each other. Bask in the other’s presence. She was my light, my sunshine, my everything, and I cannot imagine myself in a world without her.”

Audrine sighed. Not an exasperated sigh by any means, but a quieter one. No, there hadn’t been an ounce of displeasure on her face, only an exhaustion that had Azriel wondering if she was alright. It vanished as quickly as it had appeared, though, and Azriel didn’t have any more time to contemplate her well-being as she asked him another question.

“What made you decide to come down here once more?”

As always, her question had caught him completely unawares, and he was only able to utter a one-word response. “Madja.”

“She forced you?” Audrine quirked a brow, but it seemed that the situation was not unusual for either of them: Madja for having to force patients to the mind healers, and them expecting nothing less as they took in patient after unwilling patient.

“No. She…persuaded me.”

The priestess snorted. “Trust me, I know exactly how persuasive she can be.”

Despite himself, Azriel snorted. “She did play a role in getting me to come visit, yes, but that’s not the only reason I came down. I was…involved in a mission recently, so to speak. The outcome wasn’t as I hoped it would be, and I found my thoughts getting the better of me once more. I thought being in the company of others in a quieter environment would help.”

“And these sessions have helped you so much that the first thing you decided to do was to talk to me?”

“Not quite,” Azriel replied with no small amount of hesitation, attempting to soften the blow. “But I told her that I take counselling when she healed me, and she encouraged me to go even if it doesn’t help. She said I lack routine, and that this will help build it. According to her, training for hours on the roof of the House without a break isn’t acceptable,” he finished with a snicker.

“No indeed.” A small smile graced Audrine’s lips as she made more notes, hastily scrawling them in the margins of her notepad. “I do have to ask, though,” she began. “Is there any specific reason you train for so long? I mean, you’re well over five hundred now. Surely the lack of training for a few days, maybe even weeks, wouldn’t be the end of the world?”

How was it possible for someone to see through him at every turn? He’d managed for a long time, so why were his walls beginning to crack now?

“No. I suppose not.” His reply was more brittle, more jagged than he would have liked it to be. At his unwillingness to supply more, she asked again. “Then why do you train so much?’

“It’s…the only way I know how to channel my emotions. It keeps them at bay. That’s how it’s been for as long as I can remember, and I can’t think of another explanation other than old habits die hard.”

“Have you tried journaling?”

“Yes.” This time, Azriel looked away, his eyes finding the wood panelled floor in front of the priestess’ feet far more riveting than their current conversation.

“How did it go?”

“I couldn’t write more than half a page. My hand cramped up.”

“Have you been to a healer to see if anything can be salvaged underneath the scarring?” It was noble of her to care so much for wounds that would never fade.

“Yes.” These were questions Azriel had endured for as long as he could remember. The condescending, pitying tone that most took on when talking about him and his hands nearly had the male seeing red. He was tired of being infantilised, dammnit. “Nothing could be done. The healer did as much as she could, and now I must live with them the way they are.”

The finality with which he said the statement might cause a fresh wave of pity to rise in some, believing Azriel was being pessimistic. He was not. He was practical, and many seemed to confuse practicality with pessimism. If others chose to believe in fantasies they’d spun out of the seemingly endless depths of hope they somehow possessed, they could not complain when that same hope crushed their spirits as it tumbled down like a house of cards blown away with the wind.

Azriel had hoped once. Long ago, before High Ladies or mates or the inevitable grief which followed death like a shroud, an invisible veil he couldn’t seem to rid himself of. He had hoped there was a better life, one where there was no pain, no punishment, no cruelty. They had been the fickle dreams of a child, and he’d held onto them so tightly his nails and cracked and left crescent-shaped marks on his palms, until his fingers went numb and all he could think about was holding on lest he was left behind in the aftermath.

Azriel remembered the days the healer had tried for hours to save at least some part of his hands, to ensure he retained some mobility. When nothing good had come of it, he’d been given a salve for the pain until that too, and rendered the scarring permanent. He’d long since given up on trying to fix it. It was too late now.

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

A Court of Shadows & Healing

Part 1 | Part 11 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: I made sure to make this one a little special, seeing as autumn is here. I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 2610

“How long this time?” he asked and opened his eyes to the cerulean sky overhead, squinting at the sunlight now piercing daggers through his eyes. “Four minutes.” 

Azriel visibly slumped at that, and Adira pocketed the watch she’d been timing him with.

“You’re getting better,” she assured him for what felt like the millionth time today. “I know,” he grumbled. “But it doesn’t seem to be helping, does it?”

“The more you practice the easier it will get. And besides, progress at these kinds of skills is difficult to measure. We won’t know if you’re improving or not until at least a couple of months.”

“It’s already been a couple of months.”

Indeed, Azriel had spent the whole autumn here, and had watched the city shift from a warm, tropical town to one that had begun to exhibit it magnificent autumn foliage, with coloured leaves that glimmered and shone like jewels in the sunlight. That certainly hadn’t stopped the city from being any less lively, though. In fact, it was quite the opposite: the citizens had seemed to be preparing for some sort of festival or celebration, the energy more vibrant and buzzing with life.

The servants had been preparing these last few days, too. Pumpkins of all shapes, sizes, and colours were being hauled away, presumably to be carved, and lights being strung up for the long winter ahead. His Fae eyesight helped him see, even from here, that children gathered hordes of crimson and amber coloured leaves, jumping up and down on large piles they’d managed to gather. It warmed his heart, to know that there were children here who were happy; who could enjoy life and their childhood. Who hadn’t spent years being locked up in their father’s cells simply because of hatred.

Shaking his head, he tried his best to clear his thoughts and made to get up. “I honestly don’t think I can train for any longer.”  She brushed off his complaint with a wave of her hand. “Nonsense. You’re doing wonderfully.”  He very much doubted that, but decided to keep his mouth shut. “We’ve been going at it since eight in the morning. Please.” The clock had struck over half past nine a few moments ago, and he was tired. “Once more and then you can go down.” He groaned at that, and sat back down. “I heard that,” she hummed. “And just for that, you’re getting an extra five minutes.” Azriel made sure to keep his groan strictly internal at that. 

✦ ✦ ✦

Those ghastly mind-stilling exercises were only the beginning of the training Adira made him do. They made him unusually tired, and asking her about it seemed…Azriel didn’t let himself finish that thought. What would it mean for him if he couldn’t do what Adira had asked of him? He didn’t know, mostly because he hadn’t failed at anything, and so he didn’t know if Adira would be mad at him. 

“Focus.” Her sharp voice cut through the haze of his thoughts and he blinked, trying to clear his messy thoughts away. “Sorry,” he mumbled, and glanced back down at his hands placed over the piano, the scars making them seem uglier and more vivid in the mid-morning light. “Saying it doesn’t mean anything. I won’t be convinced until I see at least some improvement.”

Adira had begun to be harsher on him these past couple of weeks, crticizing his piano playing skills more firmly than he would have liked. They’d moved on to the more intermediate skills now, including basic chord progressions. He knew she wasn’t doing it to hurt him, he knew she’d never do something like that willingly. And yet it did. He was trying, after all. He was just…overwhelmed. Yes, that seemed to be a good word for what he was feeling right now.

“Adira,” he started, his voice softer than what was normal, even for him. She merely hummed, encouraging him to continue. “I’ve been feeling slightly overwhelmed lately.” She turned fully to him at that. “Is there any reason why?”

How was he to tell her that it was because she was pushing him too hard?

Adira understood though, even through his silence, and her expression softened immediately. “Cauldron, it’s been me, hasn’t it? Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize-” She took a breath, cutting herself off. “I’ll make some changes to our training plan. We’ll do one thing at a time, if that sounds alright?”

He nodded. He could feel a stress lifting itself off his shoulders even when he hadn’t said anything. It was enough that Adira understood. He felt lighter, and sat up straighter. “I’d like to keep the piano lessons though, no matter what.” 

“Of course. Is there anything you want to keep? Or something you have a moral aversion to?”

“Mind-stilling,” he grumbled. She let out a laugh at that. “Alright. We’ll reduce the times of your mind-stilling. But we’re not getting rid of it.”

He rolled his eyes. Of course she wouldn’t. 

“I would actually like to start with something though. Something new.” 

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, aren’t you the teacher? Shouldn’t you know?” She laughed at that. “Very well, you had me there. We won’t be able to start with something new though. Not right now.”

Azriel couldn’t help that his face fell. Adira noticed, and rushed to console him. “We will start with something new, I promise you, but I mean that something’s come up and I won’t be here for the next couple of days.”

He knew Adira travelled, but she’d never travelled while he was at the house. Anxiety pooled in his gut; sour and constant, the feeling unwelcome. 

“It won’t be for long, just until the celebrations are over.” He decided to change topic just then, and asked instead, “What kind of celebrations?”

Her eyes sparkled with mischief and knowing. “You’ll see.”

✦ ✦ ✦

There was so much merriment and commotion Azriel wished he had about five more pairs of eyes. Bundled up in a warm coat, scarf, and gloves, they walked through the centre of town, though his winter gear still let some of the chill in. He shivered once more, and shoved his gloved hands deeper into his pockets. 

She’d dragged his ass out here right after lunch, after he’d spent the morning practically moping around seeing as Adira wasn’t here. She’d left early nearly a week ago, long before dawn, and he hadn’t had the chance to even talk to her before she’s left for wherever it was she needed to go.

He’d had nothing better to do this past week, and so he’d decided to sit trying to play the piano. It had been harder without her seeing as she wasn’t there to coach him through his warm-ups. It wasn’t his piano playing that was suffering, but rather the state of his hands, even if he didn’t want to admit it out loud. No, he’d rather drink a bottle of acid before his ego would let anyone admit that they tended to become stiff with the cold, and the skin cracked, making his scars all the more painful.

Thankfully though, she was here in this evening, and had insisted that they step out to spend some time together. Not wanting to disappoint her, Azriel had relented, and decided that he was going to keep as close to her as he could. 

He thanked himself for that decision later, as the crowds in the streets were simply ridiculous. He didn’t think this many people lived on the continent, let alone this city. Although Windhaven was relatively large as compared to the villages in Illyria, it was still small, with only a population of a couple of hundred. It drove him mad, to know that there were this many people who could afford to live in this glittering jewel of a city.

“Everyone is allowed here,” she’d explained to him as they walked the length of the now crowded and bustling street. “For one night, no matter who you are, the doors of the city are open to anyone and everyone. Each person, resident or otherwise, is allowed to come here and sell whatever it is they want to sell, or buy as many trinkets as one can possibly carry.” He’d nodded, and then asked her, “By ‘otherwise’, do you mean the people from just outside the city?”

“Oh, Cauldron no,” she’d said. “When we say everyone, we mean everyone. All the folk from the countryside and people from other lands than ours are invited too. When we celebrate, Azriel,” she’d said, a hint of mischief in her caramel eyes, “We really celebrate.”

He supposed the celebrating involved immense amounts of liquor, and he wanted to be home before the drinking and debauchery truly started. He was sure that despite this being the continent, there were still immense amounts of drunkards hulking around the city at night, especially on an occasion like this, and every passing moment caused him more anxiety. He had always assumed that the city was relatively safe, but who knew what it became like after nightfall? He’d always grown up to be wary of his surroundings, and the training that had been drilled into him didn’t suddenly leave his body as he came to the continent.

He tore his eyes away from Adira, instead looking at the mountains in the distance. They loomed in the background, and he saw the snow coating the tip of it too, snow that was there all year round, no matter the weather.

“Adira,” he asked, tugging on her navy coat sleeve when she didn’t respond. She leaned down to hear him, and he asked, “How come the climate here is so different all year round?” He’d only every lived in Illyria, not counting the years in his father’s keep. He didn’t know much about how warm it could really get, seeing as the North of the Night Court was known to be brutally cold and unforgiving, local or no. 

“Since the mountains are to the North but we’re still surrounded by oceans, it makes sense that the weather fluctuates so. I suppose we’ve got the best of both worlds.”

As the meandered through the winding streets decorated with faelights, Azriel couldn’t help but fall in love with the city even more. It was even more stunning up close, and now that he’d truly experienced it he didn’t think he wanted to leave. He had half a mind to ask Adira why she didn’t have a house in the city rather than have to winnow at least a couple of miles to get to centre o the city.

Realizing Adira had halted and he could barely see her, he stopped too. 

“Honestly, it’s absolutely ridiculous,” she was saying to a faerie dressed in all black as he made his way back to her side.

“I know,” he replied, his accent thick in a way he hadn’t heard before. Chalking it up to how those on the continent must talk, he ignored it, and instead moved closer to Adira’s side.

As Adira stood talking to her friend (or acquaintance, he couldn’t tell,) his eyes wandered over to a nearby stall. A stall of weapons. Daggers, swords, maces, bows and arrows and at least a hundred other weapons he didn’t recognize sat on proud display as the man behind the stall sat in a chair and dozed. With a hat pulled over his face and the man sprawled out over his wicker chair, Azriel was seriously contemplating whether or not to go. 

It was almost like he was drawn to the dagger then, the blade newly sharpened and lethal in its own ethereal and charming way. It enticed him, to know there were weapons so carefully crafted and made around the world.

He knew it was far too big for him, and that there was no way he’d be able to properly wield the dagger unless she taught him. But that didn’t stop him from wanting it.

However, Azriel made up his mind, and as he made to approach the male, he seemed to sense him, somehow, and woke immediately, stirring before taking the hat off.

“Buenos,” he mumbled, his voice still slurry, either with the nap he was taking or with the alcohol he’d likely been drinking last night. 

“Hi,” he said, his voice quiet and uncertain, suddenly feeling insecure. Why was he here? He certainly couldn’t afford to buy any of these handcrafted weapons.

“Do you want it?” a soft voice asked from behind him. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly-” he started. “Nonsense.” She waved him off with a hand, and instead faced the man, talking rapidly in a language he didn’t understand. He must have realized Azriel didn’t speak it though, as he looked at him and said in a thick accent, “Three hundred gold.”

His eyes nearly popped out of his skull. He’d never even seen three hundred gold marks in his life, and this man was so casually asking for it.

Adira however, seemed unphased as she said coolly, “One.”

“No madam no, is very…how you say, hard to make. Very good quality, promise.”

“Yes, I know that,” she said stiffly, “But surely it can’t cost three hundred?”

“Expensive metal,” he merely said, and crossed his arms over his chest as he awaited her response.

“You’re not even going to bargain?” she asked. The man merely hummed, looking up in confusion. Adira switched language, and it seemed as if they were arguing as she finally let out a clipped sigh, the air around her puffing like a white cloud, and said, “Fine,” before rolling her eyes.

“How much?” he asked her immediately. “Never you mind,” she said, albeit a with a little more bite than was necessary.

“But I do mind,” he insisted. “If you’re going to buy it for me, which you really don’t need to, then I need to know how much it’s for.”

She turned then, and glanced down at him as she remarked, “I’m covering all your expenses. Food, clothing, shelter. Why would you possibly need to know how much it costs?”

He started at that. “Well if you’ve been paying for everything, then surely I’m expected to pay you back.”

Her expression softened at that, and she looked as if she might pull him into a hug. Instead, she said, “I gave you all of this because your living condition in Illyria wasn’t healthy. To demand that you pay me back when I provided for you at your time of need is simply cruel. I would never.”

It was Azriel that pulled Adira into a bone-crushing hug then, and she crouched down to hug him better. As she stroked a warm hand over his hair and whispered, “Hey,” it only made him sob harder. “Thank you,” he managed to get out before another round of sobs overtook him. No one had ever bought him anything that was solely his. Adira held him through it all, soothing and consoling him, ever a steady presence.

But that didn’t sit right with Azriel as they made the trek up to the house. “What are you thinking about?” Adira asked as she realized he’d fallen behind in his own world of thought. “Nothing,” he mumbled. She smiled at that. “You’re sure?” 

“Yes.”

“Very well then,” she said, a little too coolly, almost as if she knew that he was, in fact, thinking of something. 

He lay awake that night, glancing up at the stars. And as his mind kept drifting to his dagger, he decided on a name for it. His new companion.

Truth-Teller.

A/N: I really wanted to write lore for how Azirel got his favourite dagger. What better way than to get Adira to buy it for him? It just seemed right yk?

Part 12

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

A Court of Shadows & Healing

Part 1 | Part 10 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: Chapter includes descriptions of injury and blood (very little though, it doesn’t get descriptive)

Word Count: 2783

Sweat dripped down Azriel’s body, doing absolutely nothing against the bitter wind of the Illyrian mountains. He had shed his jacket at some point during his training, Rhys following suit not long after. Their shirts had long since been soaked through, and his fingers had turned numb, skin on the verge of cracking from the frost. As they circled each other, Rhys’ eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to decipher his next move. Azriel only grinned, and rolled his neck, trying to loosen his muscles. 

Rhys made the first move. Lunging, he tried to get Azriel with a blow to the side. Merely ducking nimbly out of his way, Azriel retaliated with a hook to his left flank. Rhys blocked it, and Azriel was forced to spin to avoid getting a fist to the stomach.

And so their training continued. Spinning, twisting, dodging, neither seemed to show signs of exhaustion, even as their official lessons neared an end. Azirel’s resolve was beginning to crack, and he was trying his best not to let it show. Just as he was about to call it quits and ask Rhys to call it a draw, pride be damned, Rhys managed to disarm him.

One moment, Rhys was in front of him, and the next, he lunged so abruptly that Azriel did not anticipate it. He was thrown onto the ground so quickly that the air was knocked from his lungs. As Rhysand hovered over him, his body reacted and he jerked violently. He didn’t quite know what happened in that moment, only that something dark struck Rhys in the stomach and he collapsed on the other side of the ring, coughing harshly. 

Azriel himself, however, seemed rather unharmed as he got up, his lungs screeching in protest, and made his why to his brother.

“Rhys-”

“Get my mother,” he rasped. Two large, violent gashes seemed to have appeared on his abdomen and Azriel’s stomach turned at the sight of it, at the sight of his torn shirt and the blood now seeping through it.

“But I can’t leave you-”

“Go.” Azriel sprinted to their cottage, as fast as his legs could carry him, and he could have sworn that he’d never run so fast before in his life. 

Not bothering with formalities, he rushed in, his cheeks flush from the cold and his breath panting. His hazel eyes were blown wide, and Rhys’ mother appeared from the kitchen. “What’s wrong? Why are you scared?” she asked, drying her hands on a rag. He supposed it would make sense she would smell the fear on him after he’d come barging into the house like a feral animal.

He barely managed to get the words out. “It’s Rhys. He’s hurt. I don’t know-”

“Take me.” She grabbed her healing kit, throwing on her threadbare coat and worn-out shoes. Just seeing the woman he had come to love as his mother in such clothes tugged at his heart, but they had bigger problems as of now.

He jogged along with Rhys’ mother until they came to the clearing where Rhys lay sprawled on the ground. Devlon, conveniently, was nowhere to be found. Bastard. There was, however, a crowd of onlookers by his brother, all murmuring and pointing at him as if he was an animal on exhibit. “Move, all of you.” His voice rang out, louder than he’d normally speak, but no one did. Not one person spared him a glance. It was only when one of the older Illyrians whose name he didn’t know called out, “Leave the boy alone. He’s injured.” Finally, people began dispersing, though it was clear most wanted to stick around, if only to see whether the High Lord’s heir would live or die. 

Azriel and Rhys’ mother made their way to Rhys. Crouching down, she began examining him. “Don’t you want to transfer him to a bed or something?” Azriel asked, and remained standing. He’d seen her work on enough patients to know that the first thing she did before even touching the wound was making sure they were in a sterile environment. “It’s too dangerous,” came her reply. Azriel didn’t want to think of what that meant for Rhysand.

✦ ✦ ✦

Curled up in the tattered sheets of his moth-eaten mattress on the floor, Azriel stared out at the night sky. Some dark part of him, deep, deep down, knew that it was his magic, his shadows that had attacked Rhysand. What would he have done if his brother had died today? Would he have been able to live with himself? He didn’t think so.

It was only when the first rays of the sun began creeping in through the cracked window, its buttery light casting a soft glow over the wooden floor, that he made his way down to the kitchen where he knew Rhys’ mother would be making them breakfast. “I’m sick,” he said, trying to make his voice sound extra raspy, and coughed a few times for good measure. He hoped it was believable. Her brow furrowed. “Sick? You were fine yesterday.”

“Yes, but I feel a fever coming on. I don’t know if I’ll be able to train today.”

“Go upstairs and rest then, I’ll make sure to send Cass or Rhys up with a cup of warm tea and porridge.”

“Thank you.” He felt bad, exploiting her kindness like that, but he couldn’t bear to be around Rhys right now. Not after what he’d done.

The afternoon passed by agonizingly slowly. Rhys’ mother kept him company the whole time as lay in bed, pretending to be ‘sick’. His guilt ate away at him, both for hurting his soul brother, and even more for taking time away from the chores that needed to be done. 

At long last, however, she hobbled down to the kitchen, telling him that she had to start preparing for dinner for when Cass and Rhys came home. “Will you be okay on your own until dinnertime?” she’d asked. He merely nodded, and let her go. As soon as she closed the door behind her, he hopped out of bed, and started writing.

Dear Adira,

I’m terribly sorry for running, but I need your help.

Squinting at the words he’d written, he scrawled another word on the slip of parchment before praying that she’d answer. 

Please.

“I feel better today, I think I can train.” 

Rhys’ mother had only narrowed her eyes at him, arms on hips. “You’ve barely just recovered. At least give it another day.” He refused, claiming he felt much better after a day of rest, and that he might have overreacted. Begrudgingly, she served him breakfast at the table with the others, and he did his best to avoid Rhys’ eyes. Cassian, mercifully, seemd to be the only normal one, clearly not picking up on the awkwardness of the situation. Azriel was sure he knew, but it was likely that he’d forgotten about it. As Azriel got up to make his way out, (Rhys was still healing as was sleeping on the bottom floor for his mother to keep a watch on him) he saw a piece of paper appear on the worn-out dining table before him, right where the porridge had been a moment ago. It was an effort to keep his face neutral as he read Adira’s response, and an even bigger effort not to rip the damn thing open.

Meet me by the main training ring at nine. 

∼ A

“Got a lover, brother?” Cassian teased. Azriel only blushed slightly, shaking his head, and pocketed the note. Cassian smirked at that, but decided to keep his mouth shut.

When he arrived at the training rings with Cassian, a couple minutes late because of Adira’s letter, he found her waiting by the main training ring, simply observing everyone. Far too many Illyrians tried to look at her, (or rather, certain parts of her, Azriel realized with no shortage of horror). Looks that Azriel could see, even from here, were far from friendly. Either Adira did not care or did not notice that the males were eyeing her like a piece of meat. 

“See you later.” Cassian clapped him on the shoulder and made his way to training ring five. 

Devlon had insisted that Cassian and Rhys train together, while he trained with the beginners. No matter that he was far from it, but Azriel never had the energy to argue with Devlon. It was enough that him and his brothers knew of his skills when it came to combat.

Merely nodding, Azriel watched Cassian leave, and made a beeline for Adira, nearly tripping over himself in the process. 

He barreled into her, and he could tell she was caught by surprise as she stumbled back a step. She recovered quickly, however, and a lithe hand caressed his head. He relaxed instantly, the adrenaline now wearing off. “Easy,” she whispered. “I’m here.” He let out a small sob at that, and burrowed his face deeper into Adira’s warm embrace.

He didn’t care who saw. They likely all knew that he was training with her anyway.

“You and I put on quite the show back there,” she smirked as they winnowed in to the house. The Lakeside Chateau, it was called, he remembered her telling him during one of their piano lessons. Gods, that felt a lifetime ago. 

“Adira, please. I’m really sorry. I need your help. My magic, it just-”

“I heard,” she cut in, a tad sharply. Sighing, she ran a hand through her hair and said more softly this time, “I heard.” 

“It was so scary. I didn’t know what happened. One minute I was fine and the next…” he trailed off, not quite knowing how to finish. One minute I felt fine and the next I’d thrown Rhys onto his ass with his guts near spilling out.

“I can only imagine how scary that was for you.” He only nodded mutely at that, not quite sure how to respond. “And I have a solution. I promise you, nothing like this is going to happen. At least not if you train your magic.” She fished in her robes, and pulled out a package. It was small, maybe a couple of inches. 

“Here, put these on.” She pulled back the paper from the package, and inside were two stones of the deepest cobalt, as if they’d been crafted from the oceans themselves. Siphons. He’d seen the older Illyrians, the ones who had gone through the Blood Rite, wear them, but for him to be getting them at such a young age… “Aren’t I too young for these?”

“It’s…complicated,” said Adira with a wince. “Normally you wouldn’t even get to touch a siphon until you passed the Blood Rite, but I’m sure you already know that.” He nodded his confirmation, and she continued. “The thing is, your power is growing very quickly. If we don’t find a way to harness it, there will be severe consequences. But before we start actually using them, how much do you know about siphons?”

“Not a lot,” he admitted sheepishly. No one had bothered explaining to a bastard-born Illyrian what siphons were or how they worked, and the little he knew of them was information he picked up from listening in to the older Illyrians’ conversations. Adira nodded, her brows pulling together. “I thought as much.” 

“I know that they’re used to control your power, and the more siphons you have the more powerful you are,” he said. 

“Very good. Think of them as…channels, shall we say, for your power. They help you hone and control it, helping it to flow more easily. Without your siphons you power would be…crude, to say the least,” she explained.

“You know, I’m honestly surprised not one person has tried to give you siphons. As shitty of a person as Devlon is, I thought he cared for his warriors.”

“They hate me,” he said flatly. “And besides, Devlon loves his warriors, not the low-born children like me that he thinks are pests.”

“Low-born you may be, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t Illyrian. If not Devlon then there must surely be one half-decent person willing to help you?”

“None,” he shook his head definitively.

“Well then, I suppose you’re stuck with me,” she joked, winking.

“Try them on,” she coaxed again, and placed holsters on the table in front of them. “Fasten these around your wrists, and place the siphons in them. “And they’ll fit?” he asked, still skeptical. “Yes. I had these siphons made for these specific holsters.” Swallowing back his nervousness, he fastened the holsters on his wrists. He tried not to let it show, how much these basic motor skills were hurting his hands, but if Adira noticed, she made no comment. Finally picking up the siphon, he examined it. It caught the sunlight streaming in through the windows, and made it glow from within, as if the siphons themselves were magic. He supposed they were. 

Placing the stone above the oval shaped crevice in the holster, he pressed. The siphon fit like a glove, fastening with a soft click. He repeated the movement once more for his other hand, until he had polished cobalt siphons gleaming in the light of day. Twisting his arms this way and that, he didn’t quite know what to make of them just yet.

“When do I start training with these?” he asked her, still not looking up from his newly adorned hands. 

“Whenever you want to.”

“Now?” She chuckled at that. “I always forget how eager children are. Yes, you can start now.”

She spirited them away to the training ring at the top of the house, not bothering with stairs, and said, “The first thing you need to remember is that you control your power. Not the other way around. Secondly, when your emotions get high, it’s easier for the power to break through and flow more naturally. To avoid that happening, it’s vital that we start with mindfulness exercises.”

“Mindfulness exercises?” he repeated. He’d never heard of these before. The ways of the continent truly were different from Prythian’s. 

“Yes. They include everything from breathing exercises to observing the thoughts that enter our minds to help us develop razor-sharp focus. This focus, this…concentration, it helps us regulate our emotions and avoid any unwanted outbursts. It’s essential, not only for being a good warrior and a successful athlete, but also to be a calm and rational person.”

“I’ll start off by showing you how to do these exercises, and soon enough you’ll be able to do them quite literally wherever and whenever you wish.” She took a seat on the edge of one of the training rings and crossed her legs. Azriel copied her, although still a tad bit unconvinced. 

“Now close your eyes, and focus on your breathing. Inhale for four counts, hold for four, and exhale for four. Focus only on each breath that goes in, and each breath that comes out. Nothing else.”

Not two seconds in and he could already feel his thoughts drifting. Gods, it was warm up here. And was that the screech of a seagull? He hoped that Adira couldn’t hear his stomach rumbling. This mindfulness exercises felt like eternity.

“I can feel your restlessness from here,” came Adira’s voice, laced with amusement. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled. He really was trying his best to focus, but the sounds around him…

It was as if all of his senses had been heightened considerably now that he had his eyes shut.

“It’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s a skill. And like any skill, you can develop this too. It takes practice, and loads of patience. I know it’s not easy, but you’ll get better.”

“How long, exactly does it take for someone to be able to properly meditate?” 

“It depends. For some who have done similar exercises in the past; weeks. Others; months.”

He started at that, his eyelids flying open, concentration be damned. “Months?” 

She laughed openly at that. “It all depends on how much you practice and how much you’re willing to improve.”

He reined in a sigh, and tried not to look too dejected at the fact that his next few months were to be filled with learning to breathe. 

A/N: I don’t know anything about mindfulness or meditation, I just went off what I know (don’t come at me please). If you have any tips or suggestions though, please comment!

Part 11

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

A Court of Shadows & Healing

Part 1 | Part 9 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 1622

Azriel woke, panting, his hazel eyes blown wide open. Sweat ran down his body, having soaked through his nightclothes and dampening the pristine sheets.

And yet everything seemed to be in order. The hills and fields gleamed as the moon illuminated the lands beyond, the stars an eternal witness to the everlasting beauty of the continent. 

Pulling the covers back, he stood on shaky legs and ran a hand down his face. Adira. He had to find Adira- tell her what had happened. A part of his mind told him he didn’t need Adira, that she wasn’t his mother for Cauldron’s sake. He’d dealt with nightmares like these for a long time. He didn’t need to be coddled. And yet he was sure it was something Adira would want to know about. She’d cared for him until now, and he was certain that involved his mental wellbeing too. After all, how was she to teach a student who woke with such horrifying nightmares that would make any sensible person practically heave their guts up?

Navigating the mansion at night seemed to prove far more challenging than he’d initially expected. All the hallways looked the same, with the same wallpaper, identically carved doors, and perpetually spotless flooring, and it wasn’t long before he realized he’d rounded what looked to be the same corner at least twice. 

He was lost. Truly and utterly lost in this labyrinth of a house, and he had no idea how to get back to his room, much less find Adira. Perhaps wandering the house at godforsaken hours wasn’t the best idea. He could tell her about his nightmare tomorrow during his lesson. 

Just as he made a left that he thought would get him back to where he started, he heard two familiar voices. Pressing his back to the wall to avoid being illuminated by the light overhead, he recognized one of the voices as Adira. The other sounded familiar, though she spoke just as smoothly. 

- “doesn’t know, and I don’t know what to do.” All thoughts of telling Adira about his nightmare eddied from his mind, a newfound focus on the conservation just a few steps away from him. 

“Obviously. Have you considered actually telling him?” This voice was colder, and yet smooth. Polished, as if they’d grown up around nobility, or at least adopted their ways of speech. She. It was a she, he noticed, the way her voice seemed to flow around Adira’s in the otherwise empty room.

“I did. He panicked. He fainted, for Cauldron’s sake. I won’t speak a word of it until I know for certain he’ll be okay with hearing it.”

Him. Who was this person they were speaking about? Did he, whoever he was, know?

“He fainted?” the voice scoffed. “Well then, that just proves he’s-”

“Do not,” warned Adira. “Finish that sentence.”

“Honestly, Adira. You’ve got to stop being so emotional. You’re treating him like your own-”

“Enough,” she bit out.”I’ve heard enough. If you cannot hold your tongue and show a lick of respect when it comes to him, then get out.”  Azriel had never heard her voice sound like that before, and even from outside the lounge he felt goosebumps rack his body at her tone. He felt sorry for whoever was sitting in that room, though he supposed the female must be used to that tone of voice if she sat there, unbothered.

Azriel didn’t want to get in the way of whomever Adira was livid at. He had no intention of being caught in the crossfire should she lash out at him, too. It had happened enough times at Windhaven for him to know that it was better to stay away from whoever was pissed and wait it out. Turning around, he managed to take a few paces, when he heard Adira call out, “I know you’re there, Azriel.”

His eyes widened, and he froze mid-step. Shit. She wasn’t supposed to know that he was listening in. Mentally, he prepared himself for whatever punishment was sure to follow. Adira didn’t seem like the type to whip him raw, and yet she radiated power. She might even get someone else to do it for her, seeing as how she practically bathed in riches. No, Adira wouldn’t want to get her hands dirty on something like this. 

Swallowing his fear, he inched forward into Adira’s lair.

“Perfect timing. Come, sit with us,” she said, waving him over, either not caring or not willing to bring up the fact that he had been eavesdropping on them a moment before. “Caoimhe was just about to leave, though I suppose it’s good she hasn’t.” Caoimhe sat across from Adira with her legs crossed, wearing what looked to be expensively made trousers and a sweater that practically screamed royalty. The jewellery she had chosen to accentuate her High Fae features didn’t go unnoticed by him either, and Azriel thought recognized her from a few days ago, when he’d seen her and another female training. 

Azriel didn’t miss the sharp look Adira gave her apprentice, as he stood there and admired the female who had been insulting him. Caoimhe looked as if she couldn’t care less, simply rolling her eyes. Their hierarchy must be completely different to that of Illyria, if the female could roll her eyes at Adira without having a limb chopped off.

“Now then, darling Caoimhe, do tell Azriel what you were saying before.” He didn’t miss the smile or the edge in her voice, both of which held none of the warmth she had shown him before. No, this facade was pure intimidation, and didn’t reach her eyes one bit.

Caoimhe shrugged, looking directly at his teacher. Without missing a beat, she said, “I was just saying that if the boy can’t handle his own shit, what’s he to do when Adira’s not around?” Not waiting for a response to her rhetorical question, she continued, “I supppose he’ll hide in that little den of his and piss his pants at the prospect of leaving his sanctuary, all coddled and perfect.”

The words found their mark as Azriel fought to hold back tears. He was used to profanities being hurled at him in Windhaven nearly every other day, and yet this one hurt. He’d thought he was in a safe space where he would be respected, and it was in that moment his hopes that had been so carefully crafted out of glass came shattering onto the ground.

Thankfully, Adira decided to cut in at that exact moment. “He’s just over a decade old, Caoimhe, cut him some slack.” Ignoring her completely, Caoimhe turned to Azriel.

“Are you mute? Cauldron, she’d told me you were pathetic, but it turns out you’re just a coward.” Not waiting for a response, she threw back the rest of whatever it was she’d been drinking, and strode out, the sound of her heels a hammer to his heart. 

As soon as she was out of earshot, Adira turned to Azriel, concern limning her eyes. She lay gentle hands on his shoulder, and whispered, “I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve that. What she said-” He pushed her arms away roughly. Thankfully, Adira didn’t try to hug him again, and simply sat there, worry written all over her face. But Azriel couldn’t deal with her now. He couldn’t deal with anyone now. He was going to be sick. 

“Take me home,” he said, his voice cold and foreign, even to himself. “Adira, take me home. Now.”

“Look, I know-” “No, you don’t,” he practically snarled, whipping his head towards her. “You don’t. I thought I’d be safe her, that I wouldn’t have to deal with people like that. You told me this was a safe space, Adira. You promised.” His voice broke on the last word, and the dam inside his heart broke completely. As the tears he’d been trying so desperately to hold back began to flow freely down his cheeks, he hissed, “I don’t ever want to come back here. And if you try to make me, I swear by the Mother I’ll rip you and your entire damned palace apart.”

For the first time, he saw Adira look…sad. He didn’t care though, not in that moment. Not as the trust he’d built up so carefully had come crashing down. All he cared about was going home to his brothers.

She didn’t object further though, as she took his hand, more tenderly than she’d ever done, and whisked him home.

He’d had no desire to go back to the continent since the incident with Caoimhe. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He had, if he was honest to himself those nights when sleep evaded him, but the thought seeing the vile female again made his stomach roil with nausea and anxiety, and all desire was magically quenched.

He missed the beauty of those lands; that much he could admit. The city, the ocean. The piano. His piano. His heart ached, if only for the peace that the citizens of Qardala seemed to take for granted.

It normally hurt too much to even think about the continent now, and he avoided remembering as much as he could lest he burst into tears. He’d been training more than ever, and he could sense Cassian’s and Rhys’ unspoken worry for him growing day by day as he pummeled whichever sorry ass Devlon paired him up with into the dirt. Mother help the idiots that crossed his path. Was it healthy, what he was doing? No. Was he still going to do it? Yes. It was better than allowing his emotions to catch up with him and leaving himself vulnerable in the den of wolves that was Illyria. 

So he continued. The days bled into weeks, until thoughts of Adira and the continent no longer plagued his every waking moment, and breathing became easier. 

She had not tried to contact him. He had not wanted her to.

Part 10

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

A Court of Shadows & Healing

Part 1 | Part 8 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 1833

“This is middle C,” said Adira, placing a neatly manicured thumb on the key. “It’s called that because it’s in the middle of the instrument.  Your right hand’s thumb goes here.” 

She had explained to him earlier this morning that the instrument he’d been losing his mind over was called a piano, and was quite popular on the continent.

“Now you try.” Gingerly, he lifted a finger and put it down on the piano, his movements far less elegant; his posture a mess. 

You’re not going to be amazing at this right now, she’d said. It’s your first time. You shouldn’t expect yourself to be a professional at something you’ve only started twenty minutes ago.

He’d nodded along, still not quite convinced. Back at Windhaven, it was either you were good at something immediately and got rewarded for it, or you were left in the dirt while everyone else around you slaughtered their way to the top.

He’d told her that much, and she’d hummed in response, her lips pursing slightly in distaste.

Shaking his thoughts off, he tried again, the sound clearer this time. “Better,” she said. “But you want to curve your finger more. That’s what will help you move your hand across the piano more smoothly, and make sure that you don’t hurt your fingers while you play.”

Pointing to the key on his right, she said, “Now try placing your index finger on the key beside it. That one’s called D.”

“So all the notes are named after the letters of the alphabet?” That seemed like an odd way to go about things, seeing as there were many more keys than twenty-six. 

“Yes. But they repeat themselves after they get to G, so we don’t run out of names for the keys. That’s something called an octave, but we’ll get to that later.”

“Would the next key be called E?” he couldn’t help but ask. Adira broke into a grin. “You’re a quick study.” He shrugged, and she continued, “Don’t worry about the other keys just yet, we’ll get to them later. For now, I want you to be comfortable playing these three white keys: C, D, and E. We’ll work through the rest when we get to it.”

✦ ✦ ✦

He missed his brothers, he realized as he sat down at his desk. It had been nice, he supposed, being able to spend some time alone without them, but he was starting to feel quite lonely without their boisterous nature. Cassian’s laughter, Rhys’ comments, and the moments they spent together in the evenings or after training made him long for them more than ever.

About half an hour later, he’d managed to write them a letter.

Hi Rhys (and Cassian, obviously),

It’s dreadfully boring here without you. I am learning loads though. The female who came to Windhaven said her name was Adira, and I’ve been training with her recently, working on ways to strengthen my muscles. It’s really different from what we do back at Windhaven. Oh, and you wouldn’t believe how large her house is. It’s practically a mansion, I don’t know how she finds her way around without a map. It’s got so many floors and fancy furniture, it’s absolutely ridiculous. She could probably pay for all of our expenses for a year and not make a single dent in her finances. She’s really kind though, she’s helped me a bunch.

Never mind me, how are you? How’s training? I hope Dove isn’t giving you a hard time. Have you started learning anything new? I’m going to suppose no, since all we’ve been doing since I arrived is hand-to-hand and the occasional spar.

I love you both. I really hope you haven’t pissed too many people off.

~ Your brother, Azriel

 And Rhys, say hello to your mother for me. Gods, I miss her cooking.

Every single letter that entered or left Windhaven was moderated and checked thoroughly, which was why they’d had to decide on code names to talk about people. Dove was their code name for Devlon. It was ironic on purpose: Devlon was anything but peaceful and full of harmony, the very things a dove represented. He would hate it if he found out what they’d been calling him; another reason they’d picked that particular name for him. They laughed every time they used it. It was defiance, he supposed. They couldn’t directly call Devlon out on his bullshit, but small things like this? This they could do without consequences.

Getting up and stretching like a cat, he folded the paper in half and decided he’d give it to Adira the next time he saw her. Surely if she was as powerful as she claimed then she could get a letter to Windhaven?

✦ ✦ ✦

He found Adira propped up on a couch on the top floor, a pile of documents beside her and a frown on her face as her eyes scanned the paper in her hands. A whole heap of what he took to be reports were scattered around the room, too.

Noting his presence, she looked up, and her frown gave way to a tight-lipped smile. “Hi.” She gestured for him to take a seat, then realized her mistake. “Actually, I don’t know how you’d sit down with the amount of papers I have practically littered all over this couch.” With a snap of her fingers, half the papers vanished, presumably into her office. “Those seemed important,” Azriel said neutrally. Actually, he had no clue as to what she’d been reading. “I’ll worry about them later,” came her reply as she waved a hand and set down the papers she’d been holding on the side table. “How can I help?”

Fishing the note out from his pocket, he gave it to her. “Could you send it to Windhaven? It’s a letter,” he added hastily as she didn’t comment. “Of course. To Rhysand and Cassian, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah. I just wanted to let them know I’m alright, and that I’m training here with you.” She smiled, albeit a bit sadly. “You’re entitled to your own thoughts and correspondences, you know. No on’es going to be checking them. Honestly, it’s really none of my business.”

He didn’t know how much he’d needed to hear those words until she’d said them. He’d grown up with the need to overexplain himself constantly, first in his father’s keep where he wasn’t believed no matter what he said, then at Windhaven with Devlon.

Adira must have scented his shift in emotions, because she steered the topic to less depressing subject. “What else did you need me for? I’m sure you didn’t climb a good four flights of stairs just to give me a letter.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“I…it’s something I’ve been wondering, actually.” Adira hummed, encouraging him to continue. “What, exactly, do you do when you don’t train me?”

“I take care of a lot of things,” she responded coolly, and Azriel knew he wouldn’t have gotten a straight answer out of her no matter what question he asked.

She continued this time, not leaving him on a cliffhanger. “I usually take care of the more serious or high-profile cases, patients that require special care or certain equipment that only we have.” 

“Who have you healed?”

She waved a hand nonchalantly. “Oh, thousands of people over the centuries. But I did help the High Lord of Autumn, and the Emperor of the East. I’ve healed Generals, Commanders, Valkyries, goodness, who haven’t I healed?” His eyes widened at that. High-profile indeed. He’d expected some lousy count or duke that she’d helped heal, but Adira was far more modest than she gave herself credit for, he decided. He wanted to tell her how talented she was and how much he admired her, but his speech, ever-eloquent, failed him. “Woah,” was all that came out, his mouth agape.

She gave him a couple of seconds, and when he didn’t exactly recover, she said, “I’m heading down for dinner. Would you like to join me?”

He hesitated for a moment before saying, “I…sure.” It wasn’t like he had anything better to do. Besides, he was probably expected to dine with her more often now that she was training him. The thought of putting on an appearance and fake smiles every meal from here on after made his stomach plummet, and he swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

“It’ll just be us,” she said. “As this is my private residence, no one is allowed in here unless I give them outright permission. Not even the students you saw this morning,” she added as Azriel made to open his mouth.

Feeling slightly more relieved, he followed her down the winding steps until he got to the dining room. 

Glass chandeliers with burning braziers filled the room with an warm, flickering glow. The walls framed stunning paintings of landscapes, and the furniture was so ornately carved Azriel couldn’t help but wondering which artisans worked in that wondrous city of hers to have crafted something so regal. 

“I thought you said you didn’t have a ceiling,” he asked as he inspected the fractals of light dancing over the walls.

“This dining room is slightly more…formal,” she said. “Recieving guests in an area that might well be a spa doesn’t bode well for negotiations, I’m afraid.” He supposed she was alluding to the room he’d first seen when he’d arrived. Indeed, it seemed far less daunting than the room he was currently in.

“Sit, sit,” she said breezily as he stood, slightly awkwardly too, he realized, as food appeared on the table. 

Dinner went fairly well, he supposed. He dined with Adira on what could only be considered a whole plethora of foods. Honeyed sweets and nuts, warm, spiced rice with the richest meats, and drinks that left bubbles in his mouth left him reeling. It so was unlike the food from Prythian, and yet he loved it as soon as he tasted it.

“How come I didn’t try this food before?” he asked as he chewed on a particularly sweet candied nut, his stomach sated and full. Adira finished chewing before she replied, wiping her mouth gently on the napkin beside her.

“I thought you’d be more comfortable with your own food. You’d already gone through so many changes in such a short amount of time that I didn’t think you’d want even that to change.” Azriel nodded, considering. Yes, he supposed, she was right. 

As Adira made to rise, he rose with her. “Thank you for dinner,” he said, giving her a tight-lipped smile. “No problem at all. Keep practicing on the piano. It’s yours for the time being. No one used it anyway,” she said as Azriel made a noise of protest. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

And so Azriel made his way to his chambers that night, more full and happy than he had felt in a long, long while.

A/N: This is a bit of a filler chapter, sorry if it’s a little boring

Part 9

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

A Court of Shadows & Healing

Part 1 | Part 7 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: Special thanks to thevelvetgoddess on AO3 for all her support (for this story and emotional support, I wouldn’t have been able to get through shit without her). This chapter was also written with her in mind :)

Word Count: 1296

Azriel hadn’t had the guts to go up to Adira’s office and apologise for his shitty behaviour that morning. What would he say anyway? I’m sorry I’ve been acting like an ungrateful Illyrian brat lately and keep throwing temper tantrums like a child. Now that that’s out of the way, do you think you could train me? The words sounded infinitely stupid, even in his hed.

After an evening of sulking and generally feeling quite sorry for himself, he decided to at least come out of his room and explore the house. Adira had promised him a tour, but that was to be unlikely, considering she most likely hated his guts at the moment. She’d never said anything about not exploring the house on his own or avoiding certain rooms, so Azriel took it as an invitation to look around, trying to see if he found anything useful, or at the very least, interesting, on the floor where he resided.

Taking the first left, he found himself in a small library of sorts, with bookshelves lined along one wall and a pale table of a wood he couldn’t name, large enough to seat around twenty people in the centre. This had to be some sort of meeting room, then. Adira must have frequented it too, since the bookshelves and table were immaculately polished; not a speck of dust to be found anywhere.

He spent a good ten minutes there, examining, wandering, prodding and generally trying to find anything that would tell him about what sort of person Adira was. He wasn’t trying to spy on her, he told his conscience, he just wanted to get to know her better. She’d never given any information up about herself, but then again, Azriel had never asked. Deciding this room wasn’t to prove of any more interest to him, he left, lightly shutting the heavy wooden door behind him.

Azriel spent the better part of the morning exploring the different rooms. So far, he’d come across a dining room, pantry, and storage room, all of which did little to pique his curiosity.

At least until he went into the final room in that hallway. As soon as he stepped in, he saw odd contraptions of all kinds stacked up against the wall. Trying to take in as much as he could, one thought sparked in his brain. Was he allowed in here? He’d grown up being shooed away from things he wasn’t supposed to be doing or looking at, and naturally that made him more conscious than it was wise for an eleven-year-old to be.

There was one mechanism though, that seemed to catch his attention almost immediately. Large, sleek, and utterly massive, it looked like something extraordinary, waiting to be explored. 

Against his better judgement, Azriel took a couple of steps further inside. Adira would have placed wards or some sort of protection if it was a room I wasn’t supposed to go into, he grumbled to his mind.

Upon further inspection, Azriel realized, the contraption had a lid. Slowly lifting it with trembling hands, he let it rest at the back of the contraption with a soft thud. Hundreds of alternating black and white keys stood lined up, and he resisted the urge to press one of them. Instead, he satisfied himself with sinking down onto the stool that accompanied the behemoth in front of him and simply observing.

When he couldn’t take it anymore, he gingerly lifted a finger, and pressed softly on a white key. The machine emitted a sudden noise, causing him to jump. He lifted his finger immediately, and it stopped. What was it? It didn’t seem to serve any purpose otherthan to simply exist and make noises whenever a key was pressed. He couldn’t understand why she’d have something like this in her house anyways.

He simply sat, observing, and thinking, until the sun shone through the large windows that lined one wall of the room.

“Sneaking around?” Adira’s voice caught him off-guard, and he jumped, slamming the odd keys with such vigour that the horrible noise echoed all around the chamber. She cringed, and said, “I hope that’s not how you’ve been treating this while you’ve been here.”

“No,” answered Azriel, still recovering from the shock and immediately retracting his hands lest he cause any more damage. “Today is actually the first day I’ve been here. I…didn’t really have the energy to explore the house before today.” She cracked a small smile. “I’m just joking. I do hope you’re enjoying yourself, though.” He didn’t quite know what to say. He had no idea what the strange contraption was, only that it made sounds once certain keys were pressed. “I mean, I don’t really know what it is.” She grinned properly at that, a wide, proper one, full of mischief and eagerness. “Well then, let me introduce you to the wonderful and simply immense world of music.”

Adira took a seat beside him on the stool, her cream sweater and navy pants swishing with the movement. Ever so carefully, she placed a hand on the white keys, and began to play.

✦ ✦ ✦

While Azriel had only managed to make noises from the contraption, Adira crafted melodies out of thin air.

Her hands flew over the instrument like birds, singing, curving, arcing. It was such wondrous music, music he’d never heard before, and yet his soul told him he had. There was a familiarity to be found in it, he supposed, and his heart reveled in it, soaring and flying over the highest peaks. The music managed to evoke emotions in him he didn’t realized he had; feelings he didn’t know the name of.

The sharp, crisp notes melded together with the softer, lighter ones in an aria that seemed to describe everything and nothing, the beginning and the end all at once. Swirling, gliding, and prancing through the room as if it were elegance itself.

He didn’t think a hundred centuries of practice could get him anywhere near to replicating music of this sort.

But none of that mattered: all that was important now was that the music never stopped. He was sure that if it stopped, so would his heart. He didn’t know when the music had taken such an iron grip on his mind, his heart; his very soul, but he didn’t care.

He didn’t know how long he sat there with Adira: simply indulging in the music as it if it was wine and he was parched and drunk, as if he couldn’t get enough of it. He knew then he never would. Music was a sort of drug, he supposed. One so lethal and yet so alluring it was impossible to resist.

All at once, the music halted, and Azriel was wrenched from his daze, his daydream shattered like a mirage on a lake. He looked up at Adira then, and asked hoarsely, his voice overcome with emotion, “Why did you stop?”

“My hand was cramping. I haven’t been practicing as much as I wanted to.” Azriel started. What did she mean she hadn’t practiced? It was the most ethereal music he’d ever heard.

Looking at the shift in Azriel’s expression, she chuckled lightly. “It may not seem that way to you, but to a trained musical ear, it would have been all too easy to point my mistakes out. As many as they were,” she added disapprovingly, as if disappointed in herself.

“I want to learn,” Azriel blurted out. “Teach me. About this instrument. Everything there is to know: how to play it; all of it.” Even he wasn’t quite sure where the words came out of.

Adira simply looked at him for a moment. Considering. Weighing. Until finally, she uttered a singular word.

A/N: I tried to describe a piano and Azriel hearing music for the first time here (emphasis on TRIED, don’t come at me, okay?) but I don’t think it turned out well at all. Please tell me if there’s something you’d like me to fix or if the descriptions don’t make sense!

Part 8

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

A Court of Shadows & Healing

Part 1 | Part 6 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: This chapter was particularly hard to write because of all the descriptions so if something doesn’t make sense or you want me to add something please comment! I’ve read my own work so many times nothing makes sense anymore lol I’ll probably come back to it like a month later after realizing I made a stupid typo 💀

Word Count: 2729

The next morning was surprisingly sunny and warm, seeing as the past week had been fairly gloomy.

After Azriel had washed up and eaten breakfast, he heard a knock on his door. Could that be Adira? She certainly hadn’t bothered to knock last time, so that wasn’t likely.

He cracked the door open a fraction of an inch, but no one was waiting for him. Instead, a fresh set of training leathers had been left by his door, along with a note. Picking both up, he set the clothes on his bed and opened the slip of parchment. With elegant and angular writing scrawled on one side of the sheet, Azriel’s eyes drifted over the note: 

Walk straight along this corridor, up the stairs, and take the second left.

~Adira

P.S.

I hope you’re not scared of heights.

Scared of heights? Whatever the hell did that mean? 

Azriel had always done fairly well when it came to high places, but what exactly did Adira have planned for him? If she planned to throw him off a ledge, he’d have to tell her he couldn’t fly.

As much as he hated telling others about his inexperience and inability when it came to being airborne, he supposed he’d have to tell her one of these days. If he was to train with her like she had said, then it was surely inevitable.

Casting the note on the small table by his bedside, he changed into his new leathers. As he opened the door and started a brisk walk along the hallway, he couldn’t help his eyes drifting over the pale, opalescent marble floors and curtains of the lightest jade billowing on a light breeze. Surprisingly, it seemed to be deserted. Even as he ascended the stairs that would bring him to the training centre, he didn’t see or hear the signs of people at all. No footsteps, voices, nothing. Adira couldn’t be the only one living in this colossal house. 

Deciding to ask her about it when he managed to find his way to the training centre, he continued upwards and took the second left as she had instructed. 

The breath left his lungs as he turned to look at the sight before him. Quaint houses, bustling market squares, and lush gardens surrounded by fountains lay spread out over the rolling green hills, the sun illuminating them so they seemed to form a glittering blanket over the Earth. All of it was surrounded by a gleaming turquoise ocean that seemed to stretch on forever, the sun glinting over the water and making it shimmer a thousand different colours that Azriel didn’t know the names of; couldn’t know the names of, not even if he tried.

In the distance, he could just make out white shapes. Boats, he realized. Boats, both small and large, floated over the water like intricately crafted figurines, leaving ethereal ripples in their wake. A sign of life, prosperity, and wealth. Of success, and happiness. 

Azriel hadn’t realized how large the world was. He knew it was big, and that Fae, Lesser and High alike, inhabited quite a bit of it. And yet, looking at a city that size…truly looking, well, he might have just collapsed to his knees had he not been holding onto the railing, the cool metal biting into his fingers and turning his hands like that of a glacier, the stubborn cold seeping in, even with his gloves on.

“What do you think?” A soft voice asked from behind him, and Azriel seemed to awaken from a trance, his line of thought shattering like a carefully crafted mirage over a lake, finally realizing that he was standing perilously close to the edge. 

“It's beautiful.” Liar. It was so much more than that. Ethereal, enchanting, graceful. He didn’t think he had the words to describe it, nor did he think he ever would. He could be blessed with the ability to draw and paint, as no other had done before, and he still wouldn’t have been able to do this city and the land it occupied justice. Yes, he realized. It was a city. And the first one he had seen. It was so utterly captivating, and he didn’t want to look away. Now he understood why people became so attached to their homes and the cities they chose to call home. Only a madman would choose to leave a paradise like this. 

Suddenly, he found himself resenting Windhaven. Not like before, where he had simply wanted to get out with his brothers and Rhysand’s mother in tow because of how they had been treated. He hadn’t know where he wanted to go, only that he wanted to leave and never come back. He resented Windhaven differently now, though more so because he felt as if he had been trapped there, prevented from leaving. Mostly, he found himself loathing his father with every ounce of his being; hated him for keeping cities and oceans and life from him for so long.

How much of his childhood, of simply living, had he missed out on in those years trapped in that suffocating keep? How much had been taken away; stolen, from him simply because he was considered illegitimate and low-born? A bastard?

His thoughts became too much for him, and as Azriel began to spiral again, a hand grasped his elbow lightly: not enough to hurt, but firm enough that he knew he was being led away to the safer, middle part of the training centre where he couldn’t accidentally be thrown off the platform; either by an unusually powerful gust of wind, or someone that would no doubt hate his guts.

Adira sat him down on a bench overlooking the training area, and she plopped down beside him with a sigh. She reeked of sweat, he realized. She must have been hard at work well before he’d arrived. 

“Where are we?” He whispered. His voice seemed to have come back to him at last. “Are we in Summer? Is that why I feel…” He didn’t know how he felt, only that he had felt something out of place. It wasn’t necessarily bad, but the core of this house, the energy it seemed to emanate felt foreign to him. Adira nodded in understanding. ”Yes, you’ll feel different. It won’t last long though, it usually clears up after a week or two. It’s the magic that can make you feel a little…well, odd.”

“You still haven’t answered my question. Where are we? And why-”

“You, and by extension your magic, feel isolated here because we’re not in the Night Court anymore. Or even in Prythian, for that matter.”

Well, that answered that question. He stilled, realizing all at once that he was utterly at Adira’s mercy, and stuck here until she decided to take him anywhere. “If we’re not in Prythian…where are we?”

“We’re on the continent. Well, the southern part of it, really.”

“How did you even manage to winnow us so far from Windhaven without any stops?”

It was common knowledge that only some of the more powerful High Fae could winnow long distances without having to make stops in between, but for Adira to come all the way to the continent…“That’s where your little training centre is?” She bristled slightly at that, but merely said, “Yes. Though it’s far more than a training centre, and we call it that simply for lack of a better word, as you’ll soon realize.”

“How many train here?”

“Oh, hundreds,” she said casually, and was about to continue explaining when Azriel interrupted her.

“How come I didn’t see anyone on the way up? Or during the time I was…” He wasn’t sure what to call the time he spent in his room feeling sorry for himself. The time I spent being an absolute pathetic excuse of an Illyrian didn’t seem like the thing to say, anyway. Thankfully, Adira understood what he’d implied and said, “You said you wanted to be left alone while you mulled over the new information about your powers. I wanted to respect you and your privacy, so I made sure that everyone who either visited stayed away. And besides, you only explored a small part of this house. Remind me to give you a tour someday. A proper one. We can’t have you as a resident of this house not knowing where everything is.” 

“Nevertheless, most of the apprentices here are hard at work, and tend to spend their time in the city below. They only come up here occasionally, either when they need my help with something or when I have need of them.”

“What exactly are they apprenticing for?”

“Surely you saw the sigil on your way up? The one above the door?” Azriel cursed himself mentally for being so inattentive and for having missed something as vital and visible as a sigil. “No.”

Adira pointed to the centre of the training ring, where a blooming lotus was engraved into the stone. “Do you know what that means?”

Azriel vaguely remembered that flowers, specifically lotuses, were symbols of…what were they symbols of? As he tried desperately to remember what it was that lotuses signified, it dawned on him. “Healing,” he breathed. “Lotuses signify healing.”

“Yes,” murmured Adira. “This is a healing academy, where students from all across the world come to train. It doubles as a hospital in the city too, to give my students patients to practice on.”

Azriel had heard brief mentions of a healing academy in the heart of the continent, even in far-off locations like Windhaven where receiving any sort of news at all was a rare occurrence. It was famed and highly prestigious, that much he knew. But for Adira to be referring to the students here as her students… He felt the breath being knocked out of his lungs. “Holy Gods, is this your academy?”

No one knew who ran the academy, the only known fact about the Head was that they were ancient and extremely powerful, possessing abilities that made Fae tremble in their wake. It wasn’t even known if the Head was male or female, only that they possessed raw power.

“Yes.” That was pride and adoration lacing her words, pride that could only come from someone who had dedicated their entire lives to such a noble cause. Somehow, it made sense that a female like Adira was Headmistress of an institution like this. She seemed flawlessly crafted for this role, and now that Azriel knew of her healing powers, he couldn’t fathom Adira being anything but a healer.

Azriel knew the academy was old, far older than he was, possibly dating back to at least three hundred years before it was born. For Adira to hone her craft, then earn enough money to establish a healing academy of this size, that too on her own… “How old are you?” He dared ask. Thankfully, Adira didn’t take offence to the question.

“Very,” she replied with a smirk. “Though this city is far more ancient.”

“It’s called Qardala,” she said after a pause, her gaze drifting over to the metal railing and the glowing city beyond. “The King built this city with his own two hands after he fought off the rogues and bandits that had been plaguing the citizens for decades. Had they won, the continent would have looked so, so different today. Practices like my own wouldn’t have been allowed to exist, and any faeries they deemed ‘lesser’ would have been wiped off the face of the Earth long before you or me.”

They sat in thoughtful silence, Azriel soaking up the new information like a sponge. It seemed that every time he met Adira, he was hit with hordes of new information that seemed to flip his worldview upside-down, and then some.

As he mulled over what she’d told him, his eyes drifted over to two females sparring with their hands wrapped. One was blonde, the other brunette. They didn’t wield weapons at all. No, this was pure hand-to-hand combat, and even from this distance, Azriel could see their faces screwed up in concentration as they each tried to anticipate the other’s next movement.

Quick as an asp, the blonde one lunged with an outstretched fist. The other one seemed to be anticipating it, however, as she retaliated with a roundhouse kick of her own into her opponent’s side.

“Does hand-to-hand combat pique your interest? I mean, is that something you’d like to start with?”

Azriel didn’t know any other ways of training other than swordplay and hand-to hand. He’d always been lousy at swordplay, and fighting with his body was the only option. “Yes,” he answered immediately, not giving it too much attention.

“Do you want to?” Adira repeated, and Azriel reconsidered.

“No,” he said after a moment’s thought. “I’d be perfectly happy just watching.” Indeed, the females were like the wind; cold and brutal, and yet so elegant and graceful in their movements.

“I thought so,” came Adira’s reply as she got up and began to make her way to the sparring females.

“Neria, you’re not twisting your foot enough when you kick,” Adira called out. “And Caoimhe, you keep leaving your left flank exposed. There were well over a hundred opportunities where she could have broken your jaw. You’d better thank the Cauldron she didn’t. Now, go freshen up you two, I’ll see you upstairs after lunch.”

“Who were they? “ Azriel asked as Adira walked back to where he sat and the two females made their way in. “They’re two of my best, and oldest students. They come up here to train as often as they can, when their own duties allow them to do so. But never mind them,” she broke off. “We need to talk about how you’re going to train. Since you don’t want to start with hand-to-hand combat just yet, how about we work on strengthening your hands?”

“What’s wrong with my hands?” His answer came out colder than he’d intended it to, but there was a part of him that simply couldn’t help becoming defensive whenever this particular subject was brought up.

Adira’s gaze softened at Azriel’s irritated tone, but before it could morph into something else, she said softly, “There’s nothing wrong with your hands, Azriel. All I’m saying is that it’s probably best if we strengthen those muscles before you start to wield any of the more dangerous weapons, lest you hurt yourself and damage your hands even further.”

“The muscles in my hands are fine. They don’t need any extra training.” Adira sighed. “Azriel…there’s nothing wrong with needing a little extra help now and then, especially considering what you’ve been through.”

“You know nothing about what I’ve been through!” He didn’t know when he’d stood up, only that he was standing with his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white.

“Be that as it may, that doesn’t change the fact that your hands do need help. I’ve seen the way you hold a glass of water, how much effort it takes for you to put your gloves on. I wouldn’t be surprised if you experienced recurring pain of some sort.”

Azriel’s eyes widened. She’d known so much about him and the way his body worked, things that he hadn’t told anyone.

“I’m a healer,” she continued, raising her brow. “It’s my job to know things like this and to pick up on small movements to know how my patient is doing. Don’t act so surprised.”

“I’m not your patient. I’m not sick. I’m fine, so stop acting like I’m a desperate child who can’t do anything for himself,” he spat out, his breath coming in harsh pants. What would she know?

She sighed. “Think over what I’ve said. If, after a while, you decide it’s not something you’d like to do, send me a note. Or you can come talk to me, if you want. My office is on the top floor. Take the flight of stairs you took this morning and keep going up until you can’t go any further.”

With those words, she winnowed out to Cauldron knew where, and Azriel was left sitting on the bench, the feeling of the sun on his face now burning and unwelcome. Heaving a sigh of his own, Azriel stood up, and started making his way to his room.

A/N:

Qardala (pronounced “kar-dah-lah” )is based on modern-day Spain and the Balearic Islands (Majorca, Menora, Ibiza, etc) especially with the warm weather and surrounding water.

The women training/Adira’s students are Valkyries, since they existed canonically way before the War

Caoimhe is pronounced “kwee-vuh”

Also I hope this storyline isn’t becoming boring or repetitive, please comment below if it is, I would really appreciate feedback :)

Part 7

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

A Court of Shadows & Healing

Part 1 | Part 5 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 905

Azriel spent the next week or so holed up in the chamber that had become his. Adira had never officially said anything about it being his room, and he hadn’t had the guts to ask, but seeing as she hadn’t barged in to throw him out on his ass, he was fairly certain he was allowed to stay here.

The days mostly consisted of him waking up later and later each day, with breakfast right outside his door. He’d always wondered what people on the continent ate, but it didn’t seem to be any different from Prythian’s food: Bacon, eggs, toast, and a cup of tea or coffee seemed to be the norm.

After breakfast, he’d usually mope around his room, either taking a nap or wondering what he was going to do now that he was here. He couldn’t very well go back; not yet at least. Adira had told him about his powers after he’d woken up that day, and he didn’t want to go back to Windhaven without knowing what it was, exactly that he could do with them. If she didn’t manage to teach him anything, he could always travel to the continent when he was older and ask someone else for help. If not, well, he’d survived well enough on his own without them, and would surely continue to do so.

Just as he was beginning to become bored of his own company, and the racing thoughts circling in his head like vultures, waiting to pounce, he decided to send her a letter. After scrounging the room for spare parchment and a quill, he sat down and began to write.

✦ ✦ ✦

The letter shouldn’t have taken him that long to write, seeing as it was only a couple of lines:

Dear Adira,

I’m starting to become frightfully bored of this chamber. Any chance you could teach me more about these powers of mine?

The Illyrian brat you picked up from Windhaven,

Azriel

Folding the piece of parchment in half, he slid it under his door, and awaited her response.

✦ ✦ ✦

One morning, just as Azriel had finished bathing and dressing himself for the day (never mind he didn’t go further than the attached balcony), Adira breezed in, donning robes of opal which glowed with the early morning light.

“Well then, it seems someone is done moping around,” she said by way of greeting. “I got your piece of parchment last night.”

“I wasn’t moping,” he grumbled.

She winked. “Sure you weren’t.” Rolling his eyes, he asked her, “Are you going to teach me more about these powers of mine or have you come to bully me?”

“I never bully you,” she scoffed, taking a seat on the edge of his bed, which somehow seemed to make itself every morning. Some odd magic of this place, he supposed. He’d been too preoccupied with his own thoughts to question it.

“Before we start training your powers, we’re going to need to train your body. Magic takes a very heavy toll you, mentally and physically, and can be absolutely exhausting to recover from if you’re not used to wielding it to such an extent,” she started, crossing one leg over the other.

“I train my body plenty at Windhaven.” Surely sparring, footwork, and other menial chores around the camp had to be enough?

“Yes, but that’s not anywhere close to where I want you to be. Swordplay, sparring, abdominal exercises…they’re useful, and a wonderful start, no doubt about that. But to make sure your body is at its healthiest, we need to train it in different ways. That way, we train and strengthen all the different muscles and body parts. And besides,” she added. “Consider this extra preparation for the Blood Rite.”

“Now, have you ever wrestled before? What about archery? Horseriding?” She asked as Azriel shook his head at each one. “Alright then. We’ll start with the basics, then have a look at other styles and training techniques. Meet me at nine tomorrow morning. You’ll stretch, warm up, and then you can show me what you already know from your time in Windhaven.”

“We haven’t done anything besides practising with wooden swords, footwork exercises, and the occasional spar.”

“I want to see how much you know, so I know where to start. I’m not risking hurting you.” It was a blunt statement, leaving no room for arguments.

Azriel blinked. No one had ever cared for him outright, as she was doing now. Devlon hadn’t given a shit whether he’d lived or not, usually treating him like some sort of feral animal. Rhys’ mother and his brothers cared about him, though none held enough sway to change anything about their living conditions or their training.

Not quite knowing how to respond, he settled instead for a murmured “thank you,” refusing to meet her gaze, lest she find pity in it, and looked at the armoire beside him, suddenly finding it very interesting.

Adira rose, and exited the room with a soft click of the door. He could have sworn she’d paused by the threshold for a split second, almost as if she was going to say something, but had thought better of it.

Now alone, Azriel didn’t know what to do with his half-formed and utterly chaotic thoughts. He sighed, lying down on his bed, and awaited dusk, as well as the impending anxiety that was sure to follow.

Part 6

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

A Court of Shadows & Healing

Part 1 | Part 4 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 753

The bright lights pierced Azriel’s blurry vision, and he blinked furiously, trying to desperately to make sure he wouldn’t fall unconscious again.

He tried to sit up, but his head swam, and he slumped back down on the bed, groaning. Even in his almost stupor-like state, he could tell that this bed was expensively made. Silk sheets of mint green, along with what could only be described as an army of pillows and blankets watched over him like sentries.

Just as his mind was gushing over the make of the bed, his half-awake brain managed to register footsteps coming his way. Thankfully, it was only Adira, who crouched down beside his head and whispered, “How are you feeling?”

“Like I was run over by a horse. Repeatedly. Then thrown off a cliff,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking. Adira grinned. “Good to know that even after you fainted, your sense of humour is still perfectly intact.”

“What happened? How did I end up here?”

“You had a panic attack and then passed out. You’ve been out for…” she trailed off, turning, and glanced at the clock above the doorway. “Well over three hours.” As Azriel opened his mouth to ask her more questions, she cut him off. “Fainting, usually for hours at a time, isn’t uncommon for someone who’s used a lot of magic in an extremely short period. Especially if they’re untrained.”

He hadn’t used any magic recently. He didn’t have any magic in him at all. At least not that he knew of.

Suddenly, it dawned on him: why there had been darkness all throughout the room as soon as she’d told him to imagine it. “The darkness…that was me?” She was silent for a moment before she asked, “Do you know what a shadowsinger is?” Azriel furrowed his brow in confusion, and shook his head. Adira hummed in acknowledgement, then said, “A shadowsinger has the ability to wield, control, and manipulate shadows however they wish. They can use their shadows to transport them wherever it is they wish to go, and blend in with the darkness as well as any creature of the night. Naturally, this makes them highly coveted faeries, not only in Prythian. Much like the daemati, they’re used by many courts and kingdoms around the world, not only for spying, as one might suspect, but also because they tend to pick up on things most people miss. Subtleties, usually, things like tells, weaknesses, mating bonds. The shadows are extremely sensitive to any change in their environment, and are, in some strange way of the Gods, as much of a part of their wielder, as the shadows, them.”

“So I’m a shadow…singer, then?” the word sounded foreign and odd on his tongue, and he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. Adira merely nodded.

It made no sense, and somehow, it made all the sense in the world. Those years he had spent in his father’s keep, playing with the darkness as if he was born to wield and master it. An angel of the night. A god of darkness, death, and brutality. An emperor who bowed to nothing and no one, who was efficient, vicious and bloodthirsty with every ounce of his being.

As Azriel lay processing this information, his mind reeling at uncomfortable speeds, she added, “I know it’s a lot to take in right now. Take however much time you need. If you want to be alone, I’ll make sure no one disturbs you.” He merely nodded, and Adira stroked a hand through his hair once before she was gone, carrying the scent of peonies and pear with her.

✦ ✦ ✦

After she had left, his mind was empty save for one thought: what would Rhys and Cassian think when he told them who he was? What he was? Would they look at him differently, act differently? Or would they simply refuse to talk to him at all?

It had been hard enough telling them why he hated physical touch, or why he couldn’t bear anyone looking at his hands.

They hadn’t judged him, but their relationship had been…odd, the first couple of days after he’d told them of those years in that gods-forsaken cell.

If it meant losing his friends, he didn’t think he’d ever tell them what dark and horrible power roiled beneath his blood. That he wasn’t normal; not really. He’d never been normal. 

He was a freak, an abomination, and they’d be better off without him in their lives.

Part 5

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

A Court of Shadows & Healing

Part 1 | Part 3 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: In this chapter, Azriel hasn’t learned how to fly for long distances and he can’t winnow either (no one’s taught him or bothered to explore his abilities yet, even he doesn’t know they exist). Also: slight claustrophobia at the end

Word Count: 1495

As they landed, Azriel took all of a second to steady himself, not even bothering to take in his surroundings, and pressed a dagger against Adira’s ribs, having drawn it out from a sheath moments before. “Start talking,” he hissed, looking up at her. Her eyes widened in surprise, clearly not expecting him to threaten her, but she raised her hands in surrender. “Very well, I suppose I should have expected that, though the dagger seems to be a tad extreme no?” His only response was to push the dagger further into her leathers. She sighed, or at least exhaled as much as she could. “If you want answers, boy, then you’re going to have to start asking questions. Preferably sometime today,” she quipped, when he didn’t say a word.

“Why did you bring me here?” It seemed like the most logical question to ask, considering he might very well be hundreds, if not thousands, of miles away from Windhaven. By the Mother, was he even in the Night Court?

He didn’t know how he was going to get back; at least without Adira’s help. He couldn’t fly for long distances, though he knew how to orient himself. Granted, by the time he escaped, she’d probably have tracked him down easily anyways.

Rhys and Cassian would start worrying after a while when he didn’t come back, and Rhys’ mother would be worried out of her mind. Those three would be the only ones who would bother to look for him anyway. He knew Devlon certainly wouldn’t; and seeing as Rhys’ mother and the camp lord were the only two people who knew of his current location, he wasn’t exactly feeling safe at the minute.

“Because you need to train.”

“Train for what?” He was already training for the Blood Rite; as all Illyrians did when they were old enough to wield a weapon, he supposed.

“You’re not training for anything. Gods, you’re thick, aren’t you?” Adira let her annoyance show, scoffing, and even with Azriel holding the dagger to her, it still seemed like she had the upper hand. His tether on his emotions snapped, and at that comment, Azriel drew blood, managing to elicit a hiss from the female. “If you want to ask me questions, you’re going to need me alive and breathing.” He refused to break his gaze from her, until she raised a brow in question. Azriel dropped his dagger from her side; wiping the blood from his dagger on his thighs before sheathing it in one swipe.

“Much better. Now that we’re civil again, we can talk this out without acting like lunatics and stabbing people,” she said a tad irritably, brushing off the blood as if it were nothing, the wound already beginning to heal.

“I didn’t stab you!” He objected.

“Oh really? I would call holding a knife and threatening them, then drawing blood; stabbing. I suppose they call it something else in Windhaven, do they?”

“You deserved it!” He nearly screamed.

“Deserved it? Deserved what? Getting threatened by a youngling who can’t even hold a dagger properly and hardly over a decade old?”

"I-" He started, but she ploughed on, completely, either disregarding or ignoring him. “Believe me when I say I do want to tell you what’s going on, and I will, but first, I’m going to need you to put that dagger down. And take off all your weapons while you’re at it. I don’t fancy being held at knifepoint again.”

“You first,” Azriel said, looking her up and down, trying to figure out where she might have weapons concealed. She didn’t look like the type to start a brawl, least of all with a young Illyrian-in-training, but he knew looks could be deceiving.

Rolling her eyes, Adira started to undo the buckles on her holsters, carefully removing lethally crafted blades from all across her body. Placing them on a low-lying table close by, she raised a brow at Azriel, crossing her arms across her chest. Your turn.

Begrudgingly, Azriel removed his weapons, though it took far less time, seeing as he wasn’t covered head to toe in blades as Adira was.

He looked back up at her expectantly, but Adira didn’t look pleased. “All of them.”

“This was all of them,” he said, staring her down. “These were all the weapons I have.”

“Stupidity I will tolerate, but insolence I won’t. I know you have a knife tucked in those leathers somewhere, boy.”

Huffing in annoyance, he unsheathed a small dagger from his side as well, practically throwing it onto the side table with the other weapons. He’d done his best to conceal all his weapons, and yet somehow she seemed to know his tells suspiciously well.

“Satisfied?” Ignoring his snarky little comment, Adira gestured for him to sit on a plush divan of the richest emerald, and it was then he realized how vibrant and utterly majestic this behemoth of a house actually was. The sheer size of it overwhelmed him, and no other word, save for mansion, would even begin to describe how stunned he was.

The hall they were currently in could have fit Rhys’ mother’s cottage in it well over three times, and he hadn’t even been to the other rooms yet. 

Gossamer curtains of the lightest sage were billowing in a gentle breeze that brought with it the soft scents of peony and pear, immediately helping to ease Azriel’s aggravated nerves. Plush divans of rich velvet and low-lying tables made of crystalline glass were placed throughout, likely for drinking and debauchery when night fell.

The entire house was almost entirely open to the elements, with only the occasional pillar for structural support. As Azriel trailed his eyes up a particular pillar, (a rather beautiful one at that, he admitted to himself, with intricate carvings of flowers and vines snaking up the length of it), his eyes managed to find the ceiling.

Or rather, the lack of one. His eyes met a cloudless, cerulean sky, with the occasional bird flitting across like some old mosaic of the Gods. He blinked a couple of times, trying to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. “There’s no ceiling,” he breathed finally. A soft smile tugged at Adira’s lips.

“No, indeed.”

“But how-”

“Magic,” she replied simply. “When I first became owner of this house, I decided that the climate was so beautiful we simply didn’t need a roof. So I took it away.”

Deciding that was all he was likely to get from someone he’d met a couple of hours ago, he decided to change the subject. “I want to call in my bargain. Starting now.”

Sighing, she leaned back, and waved a hand at him. “Ask away.”

“Why am I here?”

“I told you: to train.” Azriel frowned at the non-answer, and Adira continued. “You have a certain, shall we say, skill set. It’s better for you, and everyone around you, that you know how to use those skills to your advantage.”

“What skills?” He bit out. She went quiet for a moment, then said, “Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Just do as I say, and close your eyes.”

“What if you hurt me?” Azriel’s skepticism shone through, but Adira was undeterred. “I’ve taken all my weapons off. There’s no way I can attack you unless my limbs somehow stretch like jelly.” Her sarcasm wasn’t lost on Azriel, though neither laughed. Instead, she continued, “Do you want to make a bargain for that too?”

“No.” It was bad enough that he’d had to make one bargain; he wasn’t about to make another one anytime soon.

Relenting, Azriel shut his eyes, and Adira’s voice drifted over to him.

“Good. Now, think of the night sky, of the darkness between the stars. The frigid, unforgiving cold; and the smothering blanket of something foreign and heavy settling over you.” Azriel scrunched up his face in concentration, and all was silent for a moment before he heard a barely audible gasp.

He opened his eyes to ask her what had happened, but he couldn’t see Adira. The room was shrouded in pitch-black darkness, and suddenly Azriel felt trapped. The room was too small, and he couldn’t see anything half an inch from his face. Panic washed over him, and breathing had become difficult all of a sudden. 

There was a reason Azriel still slept with the lights on back in Windhaven. There was a reason he despised the dark; why it felt like the air was being sucked out of his soul every time he entered a room devoid of light.

Some days, it felt like those manacles and chains of the heaviest iron were stuck to him. The chains his father had insisted on putting him in, even when he had screamed and thrashed and fought for all he was worth.

Azriel didn’t know what happened next, only that strong, firm, and distinctly feminine hands caught his traitorous body as he went under.

Part 4

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings