nestasblade

[nestasblade]

a comment a day keeps the insanity at bay

[nestasblade]

The Heat of Memory

Pairing: Gwyn x Azriel

Summary: A small accident leaves Gwyn with a burn on her hand. It’s nothing to fret about, for her. For her mate, the incident causes bad memories to rear their ugly heads.

WC: 1.6k

Written for Day 6: Eased Souls of @gwynrielweeksofficial !!!

Note: Guess who got the flu this week! I was so sick I didn’t get to edit and post day 4 and day 5 :( but i am feeling much better sooo they are coming out tomorrow with day 6 and 7!

The library was quiet enough to hear the scratch of a quill across parchment two floors above. Gwyn liked it that way—liked the hush, the scent of old paper and ink, the way sunlight filtered through the high windows in golden beams that dust motes swam through like tiny, lazy fish.

The hearth in the scriptorium crackled softly as she fed another stack of outdated notes into the flames. Gwyn had thought that bringing Merrill new information on her research would please the older priestess. Instead, her findings had directly contradicted some of Merrill’s earlier writings. And Merrill had been very clear about what to do with the now “irrelevant” pages.

So Gwyn knelt near the fire, the heat licking her cheeks as she prodded the edge of a curling page deeper into the coals.

The flame caught with a low hiss.

She reached for the next page, another brittle scrap filled with ink that had begun to fade, and the previous sheet, half-burned, stirred on a sudden gust through the room. It fluttered up just as she dropped the next one, catching the side of her hand.

The pain was sharp, immediate. A hiss slipped from her lips as she yanked her hand back. The parchment’s rim had still been burning, and in one careless second, it had licked across her palm.

Gwyn sat back hard on her heels, clutching her hand to her chest, the beginnings of a shallow burn already pulsing. Redness spread quickly across the back of her palm.

She swore under her breath. It wasn’t bad. Stupid, more than anything. Merrill’s voice echoed in her mind: Do not interrupt me unless something is bleeding or on fire.

This counted, Gwyn supposed. Hoped.

Before she could rise, a clatter on the spiral staircase drew her head up. Shadows spilled down like a living tide, and through them came her mate. Azriel descended in long, purposeful strides, each one charged with the storm he carried in his wake. His shadows snapped and curled around him, restless, as if they too were searching. His gaze swept the scriptorium in a single, cutting pass—until it found her.

Gwyn’s head reared back as she caught sight of him. 

“His pace quickened. “What happened?” The words were low, but there was no mistaking the strain in them, the tight, barely controlled panic behind it.

“Aren’t you supposed to be out of town?” she asked, confusion lacing her tone. 

“I came back,” he replied, not breaking stride. “ I felt something. Through the bond.”

He stopped in front of her, shadows reaching out to pool at her feet. His eyes swept over her, taking in every inch of her form before locking in on her hand, still cradled to her chest, “Your hand.”

“It’s nothing, Az—”

His chest rose and fell too quickly, eyes wide.

“Show me.” The words weren’t a request. 

She hesitated, then extended her arm. His gloved fingers brushed her wrist and turned her palm upward. The second he saw the angry red mark, his breath stilled. The air seemed to constrict around them. Shadows swarmed higher, blocking out the light of the hearth, hemming them in like a cocoon.

“You got burned,” he said the words mournfully, as if something precious had been lost. 

“I was just burning some papers for Merrill. I got too close, that’s all,” she explained. “I didn’t mean to scare you, Az, I’m sorry.”

But his eyes were far away now. She noted the fracture in his focus, the way his jaw locked as though bracing for a blow. He didn’t reply. He only stared at her hand, turning it over and over.

“It’s fine,” she tried again, softer this time.

“Water,” he said abruptly, voice low but edged with urgency. “We need water. And salve so it doesn’t scar.”

Gwyn opened her mouth to tell him again that it was nothing, but then she caught the way his throat worked, the faint tremor in his breath. Whatever he was seeing when he looked at her hand, it wasn’t the here and now. 

“Ok,” she nodded. “Ok, we can do that. I just need to tell Merrill is all.”

“I’ll handle it later, “ he clipped out. “Let’s go.”

Before she could protest, he grabbed her other hand and led her up the spiral stairs. 

~~

He hadn’t said a word since they left the library. Not when he took her by the elbow and steered her toward the stairs, not as they wound through the corridors, and not when they reached his room. His shadows slid ahead of them, parting doors before he even touched them, impatient and restless.

Without a word, he lifted her onto the marble counter of his bathroom. The cool stone bit through her skirts. Azriel planted himself between her knees, a wet cloth already in hand, and wrapped it around her burn. The fabric was warm from the water, but his touch was firm, almost fierce in its precision.

He didn’t look at her, only pressed the cloth more firmly over the angry red mark. His jaw was tight, eyes fixed on the injury. As if it was a mortal wound and not just a small, very healable burn. 

Gwyn studied his face, the rigid set of his mouth, the faint tremor in his breath. Whatever was going through his head, it certainly wasn’t about her hand.

“Why didn’t you have gloves?” he said finally,  breaking the silence. “You were kneeling by the fire with your hand in it. You should have had gloves.”

The heat in his voice wasn’t anger. At least, she didn’t think it was.  It was something heavier, tangled with fear. Shadows writhed tighter around him, restless and agitated, as if they, too, couldn’t let go of the image.

Gwyn blinked. “It wasn’t—I didn’t think—”

“You have to. You have to be mindful. Around fire,” he said quickly, the words spilling without pause. “Gloves, and you shouldn’t be sitting so close.”

“Az,” she murmured, trying to meet his gaze. But he was already reaching past her, hunting through drawers with single-minded focus.

“And you should be using an iron. It’s safer. And you should’ve had your hair up,” he went on, voice tight, as though listing rules might somehow undo what had happened.

“Az, look at me.”

“I can’t tell if this will scar,” he muttered, pulling a small jar free. “With your healing, it’s slowed. Here—this salve will help, and I’ll need to wrap it. Does it still hurt badly?”

“Azriel.” This time her voice was firm, leaving no room to dodge.

Finally, he stopped moving, stopping in front of her. His eyes finally snapped up to meet hers—sudden, sharp, and so intense it stole her breath. There, she saw raw, unguarded panic shimmering beneath the surface. Something brittle and dangerous lodged deep inside him.

“I just— I need to know, love,” he said, letting out a deep breath. “How badly does it hurt? Tell me the truth.”

She exhaled slowly. “It’s getting better. Az, can you tell me what’s wrong, please?”

“What’s wrong?” He parrotted, voice incredulous.  “You’re hurt. Burns. On your hand.”

Oh. Oh.

The realization hit her like a rush of cold water. She wanted to smack herself for not making the connection sooner.  Fire. Burns. His hands. Of course, this wasn’t about her little injury. Of course it was pulling him back into a place far darker than this bathroom. 

She thought back to the stories that he’d shared with her, in the dark of night curled up together. Of his stepbrothers burning him in that dark, dark basement. Of the old High Lord making him burn his hands. 

“Azriel…” 

 “I know this isn’t the same,” he said, voice hoarse. “But seeing you like that… I can’t—”

“I’m sorry. I should have been more careful. I should have realized.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said quickly. “It’s not your fault. It’s just-” he cut off, voice breaking.

Immediately, Gwyn’s hand reached out to the back of his head, bringing it to rest on her shoulder.

“I know. I know. It’s gonna be ok.”

“You’re my mate. My mate, and I felt it, I felt the sting and I couldn’t…”

“It’s ok,” Gwyn repeated. “Hey, look at me.”

He lifted his head and obliged, meeting her eyes.

“It’s not bad. It’s barely more than a sting. It’ll be gone by tomorrow night, most likely,” she ran her uninjured hand through his hair. “We are here. Together.”

“It won’t scar,” he said, the words like a mantra. “It won’t scar.”

“No. But if it did, we’d be matching,” she said, a smile on her face.

He looked at her, a smile finally overtaking his sad expression. “That,” he started, “is extremely unfunny.” 

“Sorry,” she laughed, “I had to.”

“I still want you to see Madja,” he said, but she could see the lightness coming back into his eyes. She pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

“Hey,” she remarked. “You weren’t supposed to be back from Illyria until Thursday.” 

“Right,” Azriel said, eyes dropping for a moment. “I may have left in the middle of a meeting when I felt you through the bond. And I think I startled Clotho by winnowing straight into the library. I’ll smooth it over later.”

Gwyn’s eyes widened. “Oh gods, baby. I’m sorry. Will you get in trouble for leaving your meeting?” 

“Well, Rhys has been tapping on my mental shields for a while. But he can wait,” he said, eyes filling with affection. “You come first.” 

Her chest softened at the words. With a quiet sigh, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. This time, he didn’t hesitate—just smiled into the kiss, his shadows settling around them like a protective embrace. 

[nestasblade]

Crown and Cloak- Prelude

Pairing: Gwyn x Azriel

Summary: Azriel, the Spymaster of the Kingdom of Night, arrives in Autumn expecting nothing but deception. Yet when Prince Eris offers an alliance against Hybern in exchange for help overthrowing his father, Azriel finds himself drawn into a web of politics and peril. The agreement comes with one condition—Night must shelter Eris’s so-called mate, Gwyneth Berdara. But Gwyn’s presence is no simple matter of protection, and as hidden motives surface, Azriel begins to suspect that in this game of shadows, she may be the most dangerous piece of all.

WC: 2.4k

Written for Day 3: AU of @gwynrielweeksofficial !!

This is going to be a full series with at least 7 parts. I’m so excited for this one!

Series Masterlist

~~

Azriel dismounted his horse at the gate of Autumn’s castle, a cloud of dust rising as his boots landed on the ground. The wind was sharp, unforgiving, and a chill settled in his bones even through the thick leathers and armor that shielded his skin. It was typical of Autumn, he supposed, but he found himself already missing the warm sun of the Kingdom of Night. 

The ride to Autumn had taken nearly a week and a half, longer than expected, even with their large party. His arms and legs ached from the seemingly endless ride, but Azriel opted for the open air of horseback rather than the confines of a carriage.  He figured he spent enough of his life tucked away in shadows, holed up in small spaces. 

Rhysand had offered him refuge in his own carriage more than once, a gilded caravan built for royalty.  Azriel had declined every time. He didn’t know what was worse: the cramped, perfumed space, or being trapped in it with his chosen brother and his wife, their happiness still so fresh it clung to the air like pollen.

“Scowling already?” came a smooth, familiar voice from behind him. 

Azriel didn’t bother to turn around. “I’m in Autumn, aren’t I?”

Rhys chuckled under his breath, stepping up beside him as he adjusted the cuffs of his silver-lined coat. “Try to contain your delight. We’re here for diplomacy, not to assassinate Beron in his sleep.”

“No promises,” Azriel muttered.

The Autumn Court loomed ahead of them, all towering crimson spires and glinting gold filigree, beautiful in a way that warned you to keep your hand on your blade. The outer walls had been scrubbed clean, the banners freshly hung, but even that couldn’t hide the rot beneath the surface.

By far, this was Azriel’s least favorite kingdom to visit. 

Amren stepped down from her carriage next, eyes gleaming with unhidden domain. “I hate this place.”

“Good,” Rhys said. “Let’s make sure they know that.”

Rhys turned to Azriel then, his voice lowered. “Be on your best behavior, please. Especially pertaining to our meeting with Eris.”

Azriel grunted in acknowledgment, though his shadows coiled tighter around his shoulders at the mention of Eris’s name.

When Azriel received a coded message from the Prince of Autumn, requesting a private meeting,  he couldn’t imagine what he would have to say. Eris Vanserra had been his father’s lackey for as long as he could remember. Rhys, ever the opportunist, had been intrigued to hear what he had to say. Azriel, on the other hand… he was sure it was a trap. With war on the horizon, Night couldn’t be careful enough about who to trust. And Autumn was about as contentious of an ally as there ever was. 

Rhysand gave him a flat look. “I mean it.”

“I always behave,” Azriel said blandly, adjusting the buckles of his leather vambraces.

Amren let out a quiet snort behind them. “That’s not what the last emissary from Spring said after he limped back over the border.”

Azriel offered nothing in return—just a ghost of a smile that never quite reached his eyes. And now that he was here, standing in front of Beron’s gilded facade, he wanted nothing more than to get inside, play nice with Beron, and find out what in Hell’s name Eris Vanserra wanted with them. 

Preferably without throttling someone.

They climbed the marble steps toward the grand arched gates. Autumn’s courtiers spilled from the entrance in a show of welcome, guards in red-and-gold armor flanking the double doors. Music drifted from within—harp, violin, hollow pleasantries.

Eris stood at the top, resplendent in tailored crimson, a fox’s smile playing at his lips. “King Rhysand,” he drawled, bowing just low enough to avoid insult. “And honored guests. The Autumn Court welcomes you.”

“Let’s not pretend it does,” Amren muttered.

But Rhysand stepped forward, all elegance and poison-coated charm. “Thank you, Prince Eris. The Kingdom of Night appreciates your hospitality.”

“The pleasure is ours,” Eris replied smoothly, gesturing to the servants behind him. “You must be weary from your journey. Allow them to show you to your rooms.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched. Eris’s words were a blade in silk—precise, deliberate, and never quite what they seemed. He tried to search for any sign of what Eris might have to say to them. A slip in his expression, a falter in his practiced tone. But Eris remained neutral, giving away no secrets.

Rhys, matching him tone for tone, asked, “Will your father be joining us today?”

Eris’s smile didn’t falter. “My father sends his regards. He is… otherwise engaged. You’ll have your audience with him tonight.”

Azriel kept his expression schooled, though he could feel Eris’s gaze lingering on him like an unspoken challenge.

~~

The wing they were given was quiet, far from the main halls. As soon as they arrived, Azriel noted every corner, every shadowed alcove, every window that overlooked the woods. He never entered a space without marking every exit, every possible vantage point. The practice was like second nature to him. 

He glanced around the hallway and spotted Rhys and Feyre disappearing behind their door—hands intertwined, laughing at some whispered joke. Azriel’s chest tightened. A deep, dull ache settled beneath his ribs. Longing. Not envy, exactly. But something close.

He was happy for them. Of course he was. But lately, that happiness came with a pang. Azriel had always loved his work. He built a network of spies across the Kingdoms, cloaked himself in secrets and silence. It was work that required patience, precision, and the ability to disappear. He’d spent years perfecting it. It suited him. 

And yet, as his thirtieth year approached, he found it wasn’t enough anymore. He had watched Rhysand kneel for a child not yet born, soft eyes full of a future Azriel couldn’t quite picture for himself. He’d watched Cassian—chaotic, reckless Cassian—win over the Queen’s sister, a woman so fierce and broken she matched him in every way. They had found love. They had built homes, forged bonds that made them softer and stronger at once.

And Azriel… remained alone in the shadows.

He’d loved before. Of course, he had. But not deeply. Not permanently. Never enough for the universe to answer him back. And as much as he tried to convince himself it didn’t matter, that his work was enough, he felt it lately—the yearning. A faint pull in the chest when he saw the way Feyre looked at Rhys. The way Nesta clutched Cassian’s hand when she thought no one was looking.

Azriel exhaled harshly, shaking the thought away like fog from his mind.

He had a job to do, a mystery to solve. And thoughts of Elain—or what he once thought he felt for her—would do him no good here.

~~

 Gwyneth Berdara was determined.

The porcelain teapot in her hands wobbled slightly as she poured its contents into a goblet. She circled the round mahogany table in silence, eyes downcast, posture impeccable. Every movement was deliberate, practiced until it was second nature.

“Rhysand and his lackeys arrived not long ago,” Beron said, his voice like honey laced with venom. Lounging in his chair, he swirled dark wine in his goblet, a smirk curling thin lips. “I sent your brother to greet them.”

“You don’t think he’ll take offense?” Bastien asked, red hair catching the candlelight. His tone was casual; his gaze was not.

“Oh, he must,” Beron replied, swirling the wine in his goblet with idle precision. “That’s precisely the point.”

Gwyn’s fingers twitched. She steadied the teapot before returning it to the tray, schooling her face into a perfect mask of compliance. Just a servant. Just a background decoration.

The arrival of the King of Night had been the undercurrent of court whispers for weeks now. War was brewing against Night—if it hadn’t already. Hybern had made its opening move, and soon every kingdom would be forced to pick a side. For now, Autumn remained perched on the fence, balancing precariously between diplomacy and betrayal of their fellow Prythinian kingdoms. 

She spared a covert look towards the grandfather clock in the room and let out a muttered curse under her breath. She would be late. 

She handed the tray to another servant with a murmured excuse about the queen and slipped out, her pace brisk but unhurried enough to avoid drawing suspicion. The scent of roasted meats and fresh bread enveloped her as she entered the kitchens. With banquet preparations in full swing, no one took note of her presence.  A tray of sugared pastries sat cooling on the counter—flaky, golden, still warm. The perfect cover, she figured. She took it without hesitation, slipping back into the hallway. 

​​At last, she reached the door to Eris’s private study. She knocked once in the pattern they’d agreed upon—three short taps, a pause, then two more. ​​A moment later, the door eased open, revealing Eris’s sharp amber gaze.

“Come in,” he murmured, already stepping aside. “You’re late.”

“Consider it lucky,” Gwyn said, slipping into the room and setting the tray down on a table. “I brought treats.”

Eris shut the door with a quiet click. “You ran late to bring me pastries?”

“I was serving tea to your father and Bastien,” she replied, taking a seat and plucking one of the pastries into her mouth. Flakes scattered onto her lap. “They sent you to greet the Night Folk as a slight.”

His jaw flexed. “Of course they did.”

“I figured,” she said around another mouthful, “I might as well bring an excuse for being here. I get enough looks from everyone around here.” She leaned back in her chair, licking the sugar from her fingertips.

A smirk curved his mouth. “A perfect segue into the reason I called you here.”

“Eris… I’m afraid fellow redheads are not my type.”

He chuckled, low and dry, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. “Yes, my dear friend, we all know of your questionable taste in men.” His eyes gleamed, fox-like. “I want to make my move against my father—before the war begins.”

“Now? Are you sure it’s a good time? Instability will be high amongst the kingdoms. You won’t get the chance to establish yourself.”

Eris shook his head. “It’s the perfect time. I want to align myself with Night. Maybe Winter, too.”

Gwyn’s eyes widened. “Night? How are you to gain their trust?”

“That’s where you come in, Gwyn. Or should I say…my mate?”

She nearly inhaled the pastry wrong, coughing as the sugar caught in her throat.

 “Come again?”

Eris rolled his eyes and rose from his chair, pacing toward the hearth. The firelight caught in the sharp lines of his face, gilding his expression in a predatory glow. “I intend to promise them our troops to stand with them against Hybern—after I take the throne. In exchange for aid in… disposing of Beron.”

Gwyn tilted her head, brows lifting. “I see. But Night cannot be trusted. Have you not heard the stories? There’s a reason they are the ones at war.”

His gaze snapped to hers, intense and deliberate. “I want you to hear me out before you disagree. And what I say to you here does not leave this room.”

That last part was unnecessary—Gwyn had been keeping Eris’s secrets for years. From the moment they’d struck their unlikely alliance, she’d carried whispers and rumors between his quiet supporters, tucking away names and loyalties like hidden daggers. There were more than a few in Beron’s court who longed to see the old tyrant gone, worn down by his cruelty and indifference while the people starved and the treasury fattened. Eris had been gathering them piece by piece, crafting a careful web that would hold the moment he struck against his father.

She was one of the many threads in that web—sometimes a shadow in the corridors, sometimes a listening ear at a feast, always the one who knew how to make herself invisible until she needed to be seen. And it only helped that there were court rumors of Eris Vanserra’s torrid love affair with a servant.

So when Eris’s voice dropped low, there was no hesitation in the way she leaned forward.

“All right,” she said. “I’m listening.”

“I am not foolish enough to depend on Night’s complete alliance. So as a sign of good faith, I will send you, posing as my mate, to Night for protection. Knowing them, they will think of you as collateral. There, you can gather information.”

Gwyn considered the plan. It could work, she supposed. If Eris is successful in striking a deal with Night, they would ask for leverage, something to hold over him. A mate is as good a bargaining tool as anything, and it would give Eris eyes and ears in Night. And much of the castle in Autumn already considered Gwyn and Eris to be lovers, and there was no way that whatever spies Azriel surely had here were unaware of that. 

There was, however, one issue.

“It’s a good plan,” she conceded. “But their Spymaster is the talk of legends. Surely, he will see right through this facade.”

One couldn’t get far in any Kingdom as a spy without hearing of Azriel. His network was everywhere.

Eris nodded. “Yes, of course. I’m familiar with Azriel,” he said the name as if it burned his tongue. “He will surely be suspicious. You’ll just have to keep him distracted. ” 

Gwyn paused, glancing up at him incredously. “You are not saying what I think you are, I hope.” 

“He is just a man, Berdara,” Eris sighed out, “seduce him if need be.”

Gwyn’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head. 

“Not outrightly, of course,” Eris said quickly, an innocent tone taking over her voice. “I’m not asking you to warm his bed. Only his thoughts.”

“You’re assuming,” she said slowly, “that the great Spymaster of Night would even notice me at all.”

“Oh, he’ll notice,” Eris said, a glint of knowing in his amber eyes. “He’ll be watching you. The question is, what will you let him see?”

The fire popped in the hearth. Outside, the faint swell of voices hinted at the feast preparations underway. Somewhere in those echoing halls, the King of Night and his inner circle were already threading their own plans.

Gwyn drew a steadying breath. “Fine. I’ll play the part. But if Azriel is as good as they say…” She let the thought trail off, the warning hanging between them.

Eris’s smirk returned, sharp as a blade. “Then you’ll simply have to be better.”

[nestasblade]

Crown and Cloak- Prelude

Pairing: Gwyn x Azriel

Summary: Azriel, the Spymaster of the Kingdom of Night, arrives in Autumn expecting nothing but deception. Yet when Prince Eris offers an alliance against Hybern in exchange for help overthrowing his father, Azriel finds himself drawn into a web of politics and peril. The agreement comes with one condition—Night must shelter Eris’s so-called mate, Gwyneth Berdara. But Gwyn’s presence is no simple matter of protection, and as hidden motives surface, Azriel begins to suspect that in this game of shadows, she may be the most dangerous piece of all.

WC: 2.4k

Written for Day 3: AU of @gwynrielweeksofficial !!

This is going to be a full series with at least 7 parts. I’m so excited for this one!

Series Masterlist

~~

Azriel dismounted his horse at the gate of Autumn’s castle, a cloud of dust rising as his boots landed on the ground. The wind was sharp, unforgiving, and a chill settled in his bones even through the thick leathers and armor that shielded his skin. It was typical of Autumn, he supposed, but he found himself already missing the warm sun of the Kingdom of Night. 

The ride to Autumn had taken nearly a week and a half, longer than expected, even with their large party. His arms and legs ached from the seemingly endless ride, but Azriel opted for the open air of horseback rather than the confines of a carriage.  He figured he spent enough of his life tucked away in shadows, holed up in small spaces. 

Rhysand had offered him refuge in his own carriage more than once, a gilded caravan built for royalty.  Azriel had declined every time. He didn’t know what was worse: the cramped, perfumed space, or being trapped in it with his chosen brother and his wife, their happiness still so fresh it clung to the air like pollen.

“Scowling already?” came a smooth, familiar voice from behind him. 

Azriel didn’t bother to turn around. “I’m in Autumn, aren’t I?”

Rhys chuckled under his breath, stepping up beside him as he adjusted the cuffs of his silver-lined coat. “Try to contain your delight. We’re here for diplomacy, not to assassinate Beron in his sleep.”

“No promises,” Azriel muttered.

The Autumn Court loomed ahead of them, all towering crimson spires and glinting gold filigree, beautiful in a way that warned you to keep your hand on your blade. The outer walls had been scrubbed clean, the banners freshly hung, but even that couldn’t hide the rot beneath the surface.

By far, this was Azriel’s least favorite kingdom to visit. 

Amren stepped down from her carriage next, eyes gleaming with unhidden domain. “I hate this place.”

“Good,” Rhys said. “Let’s make sure they know that.”

Rhys turned to Azriel then, his voice lowered. “Be on your best behavior, please. Especially pertaining to our meeting with Eris.”

Azriel grunted in acknowledgment, though his shadows coiled tighter around his shoulders at the mention of Eris’s name.

When Azriel received a coded message from the Prince of Autumn, requesting a private meeting,  he couldn’t imagine what he would have to say. Eris Vanserra had been his father’s lackey for as long as he could remember. Rhys, ever the opportunist, had been intrigued to hear what he had to say. Azriel, on the other hand… he was sure it was a trap. With war on the horizon, Night couldn’t be careful enough about who to trust. And Autumn was about as contentious of an ally as there ever was. 

Rhysand gave him a flat look. “I mean it.”

“I always behave,” Azriel said blandly, adjusting the buckles of his leather vambraces.

Amren let out a quiet snort behind them. “That’s not what the last emissary from Spring said after he limped back over the border.”

Azriel offered nothing in return—just a ghost of a smile that never quite reached his eyes. And now that he was here, standing in front of Beron’s gilded facade, he wanted nothing more than to get inside, play nice with Beron, and find out what in Hell’s name Eris Vanserra wanted with them. 

Preferably without throttling someone.

They climbed the marble steps toward the grand arched gates. Autumn’s courtiers spilled from the entrance in a show of welcome, guards in red-and-gold armor flanking the double doors. Music drifted from within—harp, violin, hollow pleasantries.

Eris stood at the top, resplendent in tailored crimson, a fox’s smile playing at his lips. “King Rhysand,” he drawled, bowing just low enough to avoid insult. “And honored guests. The Autumn Court welcomes you.”

“Let’s not pretend it does,” Amren muttered.

But Rhysand stepped forward, all elegance and poison-coated charm. “Thank you, Prince Eris. The Kingdom of Night appreciates your hospitality.”

“The pleasure is ours,” Eris replied smoothly, gesturing to the servants behind him. “You must be weary from your journey. Allow them to show you to your rooms.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched. Eris’s words were a blade in silk—precise, deliberate, and never quite what they seemed. He tried to search for any sign of what Eris might have to say to them. A slip in his expression, a falter in his practiced tone. But Eris remained neutral, giving away no secrets.

Rhys, matching him tone for tone, asked, “Will your father be joining us today?”

Eris’s smile didn’t falter. “My father sends his regards. He is… otherwise engaged. You’ll have your audience with him tonight.”

Azriel kept his expression schooled, though he could feel Eris’s gaze lingering on him like an unspoken challenge.

~~

The wing they were given was quiet, far from the main halls. As soon as they arrived, Azriel noted every corner, every shadowed alcove, every window that overlooked the woods. He never entered a space without marking every exit, every possible vantage point. The practice was like second nature to him. 

He glanced around the hallway and spotted Rhys and Feyre disappearing behind their door—hands intertwined, laughing at some whispered joke. Azriel’s chest tightened. A deep, dull ache settled beneath his ribs. Longing. Not envy, exactly. But something close.

He was happy for them. Of course he was. But lately, that happiness came with a pang. Azriel had always loved his work. He built a network of spies across the Kingdoms, cloaked himself in secrets and silence. It was work that required patience, precision, and the ability to disappear. He’d spent years perfecting it. It suited him. 

And yet, as his thirtieth year approached, he found it wasn’t enough anymore. He had watched Rhysand kneel for a child not yet born, soft eyes full of a future Azriel couldn’t quite picture for himself. He’d watched Cassian—chaotic, reckless Cassian—win over the Queen’s sister, a woman so fierce and broken she matched him in every way. They had found love. They had built homes, forged bonds that made them softer and stronger at once.

And Azriel… remained alone in the shadows.

He’d loved before. Of course, he had. But not deeply. Not permanently. Never enough for the universe to answer him back. And as much as he tried to convince himself it didn’t matter, that his work was enough, he felt it lately—the yearning. A faint pull in the chest when he saw the way Feyre looked at Rhys. The way Nesta clutched Cassian’s hand when she thought no one was looking.

Azriel exhaled harshly, shaking the thought away like fog from his mind.

He had a job to do, a mystery to solve. And thoughts of Elain—or what he once thought he felt for her—would do him no good here.

~~

 Gwyneth Berdara was determined.

The porcelain teapot in her hands wobbled slightly as she poured its contents into a goblet. She circled the round mahogany table in silence, eyes downcast, posture impeccable. Every movement was deliberate, practiced until it was second nature.

“Rhysand and his lackeys arrived not long ago,” Beron said, his voice like honey laced with venom. Lounging in his chair, he swirled dark wine in his goblet, a smirk curling thin lips. “I sent your brother to greet them.”

“You don’t think he’ll take offense?” Bastien asked, red hair catching the candlelight. His tone was casual; his gaze was not.

“Oh, he must,” Beron replied, swirling the wine in his goblet with idle precision. “That’s precisely the point.”

Gwyn’s fingers twitched. She steadied the teapot before returning it to the tray, schooling her face into a perfect mask of compliance. Just a servant. Just a background decoration.

The arrival of the King of Night had been the undercurrent of court whispers for weeks now. War was brewing against Night—if it hadn’t already. Hybern had made its opening move, and soon every kingdom would be forced to pick a side. For now, Autumn remained perched on the fence, balancing precariously between diplomacy and betrayal of their fellow Prythinian kingdoms. 

She spared a covert look towards the grandfather clock in the room and let out a muttered curse under her breath. She would be late. 

She handed the tray to another servant with a murmured excuse about the queen and slipped out, her pace brisk but unhurried enough to avoid drawing suspicion. The scent of roasted meats and fresh bread enveloped her as she entered the kitchens. With banquet preparations in full swing, no one took note of her presence.  A tray of sugared pastries sat cooling on the counter—flaky, golden, still warm. The perfect cover, she figured. She took it without hesitation, slipping back into the hallway. 

​​At last, she reached the door to Eris’s private study. She knocked once in the pattern they’d agreed upon—three short taps, a pause, then two more. ​​A moment later, the door eased open, revealing Eris’s sharp amber gaze.

“Come in,” he murmured, already stepping aside. “You’re late.”

“Consider it lucky,” Gwyn said, slipping into the room and setting the tray down on a table. “I brought treats.”

Eris shut the door with a quiet click. “You ran late to bring me pastries?”

“I was serving tea to your father and Bastien,” she replied, taking a seat and plucking one of the pastries into her mouth. Flakes scattered onto her lap. “They sent you to greet the Night Folk as a slight.”

His jaw flexed. “Of course they did.”

“I figured,” she said around another mouthful, “I might as well bring an excuse for being here. I get enough looks from everyone around here.” She leaned back in her chair, licking the sugar from her fingertips.

A smirk curved his mouth. “A perfect segue into the reason I called you here.”

“Eris… I’m afraid fellow redheads are not my type.”

He chuckled, low and dry, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. “Yes, my dear friend, we all know of your questionable taste in men.” His eyes gleamed, fox-like. “I want to make my move against my father—before the war begins.”

“Now? Are you sure it’s a good time? Instability will be high amongst the kingdoms. You won’t get the chance to establish yourself.”

Eris shook his head. “It’s the perfect time. I want to align myself with Night. Maybe Winter, too.”

Gwyn’s eyes widened. “Night? How are you to gain their trust?”

“That’s where you come in, Gwyn. Or should I say…my mate?”

She nearly inhaled the pastry wrong, coughing as the sugar caught in her throat.

 “Come again?”

Eris rolled his eyes and rose from his chair, pacing toward the hearth. The firelight caught in the sharp lines of his face, gilding his expression in a predatory glow. “I intend to promise them our troops to stand with them against Hybern—after I take the throne. In exchange for aid in… disposing of Beron.”

Gwyn tilted her head, brows lifting. “I see. But Night cannot be trusted. Have you not heard the stories? There’s a reason they are the ones at war.”

His gaze snapped to hers, intense and deliberate. “I want you to hear me out before you disagree. And what I say to you here does not leave this room.”

That last part was unnecessary—Gwyn had been keeping Eris’s secrets for years. From the moment they’d struck their unlikely alliance, she’d carried whispers and rumors between his quiet supporters, tucking away names and loyalties like hidden daggers. There were more than a few in Beron’s court who longed to see the old tyrant gone, worn down by his cruelty and indifference while the people starved and the treasury fattened. Eris had been gathering them piece by piece, crafting a careful web that would hold the moment he struck against his father.

She was one of the many threads in that web—sometimes a shadow in the corridors, sometimes a listening ear at a feast, always the one who knew how to make herself invisible until she needed to be seen. And it only helped that there were court rumors of Eris Vanserra’s torrid love affair with a servant.

So when Eris’s voice dropped low, there was no hesitation in the way she leaned forward.

“All right,” she said. “I’m listening.”

“I am not foolish enough to depend on Night’s complete alliance. So as a sign of good faith, I will send you, posing as my mate, to Night for protection. Knowing them, they will think of you as collateral. There, you can gather information.”

Gwyn considered the plan. It could work, she supposed. If Eris is successful in striking a deal with Night, they would ask for leverage, something to hold over him. A mate is as good a bargaining tool as anything, and it would give Eris eyes and ears in Night. And much of the castle in Autumn already considered Gwyn and Eris to be lovers, and there was no way that whatever spies Azriel surely had here were unaware of that. 

There was, however, one issue.

“It’s a good plan,” she conceded. “But their Spymaster is the talk of legends. Surely, he will see right through this facade.”

One couldn’t get far in any Kingdom as a spy without hearing of Azriel. His network was everywhere.

Eris nodded. “Yes, of course. I’m familiar with Azriel,” he said the name as if it burned his tongue. “He will surely be suspicious. You’ll just have to keep him distracted. ” 

Gwyn paused, glancing up at him incredously. “You are not saying what I think you are, I hope.” 

“He is just a man, Berdara,” Eris sighed out, “seduce him if need be.”

Gwyn’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head. 

“Not outrightly, of course,” Eris said quickly, an innocent tone taking over her voice. “I’m not asking you to warm his bed. Only his thoughts.”

“You’re assuming,” she said slowly, “that the great Spymaster of Night would even notice me at all.”

“Oh, he’ll notice,” Eris said, a glint of knowing in his amber eyes. “He’ll be watching you. The question is, what will you let him see?”

The fire popped in the hearth. Outside, the faint swell of voices hinted at the feast preparations underway. Somewhere in those echoing halls, the King of Night and his inner circle were already threading their own plans.

Gwyn drew a steadying breath. “Fine. I’ll play the part. But if Azriel is as good as they say…” She let the thought trail off, the warning hanging between them.

Eris’s smirk returned, sharp as a blade. “Then you’ll simply have to be better.”

[nestasblade]

Crown and Cloak-Masterlist

Pairing: Gwyn x Azriel

Summary: Azriel, the Spymaster of the Kingdom of Night, arrives in Autumn expecting nothing but deception. Yet when Prince Eris offers an alliance against Hybern in exchange for help overthrowing his father, Azriel finds himself drawn into a web of politics and peril. The agreement comes with one condition—Night must shelter Eris’s so-called mate, Gwyneth Berdara. But Gwyn’s presence is no simple matter of protection, and as hidden motives surface, Azriel begins to suspect that in this game of shadows, she may be the most dangerous piece of all.

Prelude- coming for Gwynriel week day 3!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

[nestasblade]

Wallflower

Pairing: Gwyn x Azriel

Summary: The night of Starfall stirs an unexpected (very expected) heat in a newly mated Azriel when Gwyn shares a dance with another.

WC: 1.2k

Written for Day 2: Tropes of @gwynrielweeksofficial!

Hope you all enjoy :)

The bright glow of the night sky illuminated every arch and balcony of the House of Wind. Even with every lantern extinguished, the shimmer of Starfall’s ribbons left no room for darkness or shadow. Decorations spilled like liquid glass across the air, the night delicate and luminous and achingly beautiful.

And yet, even against the splendor of Starfall’s light, no star shone brighter than Gwyn.

She moved easily through the room in a dark blue gown that trailed just slightly on the floor behind her, sheer, light sleeves whispering against her arms. Starlight caught on every inch of the fabric, illuminating her as if she were part of the night sky itself. Her neckline dipped just below her collarbone, and with her hair pinned up, the long, elegant lines of her neck were bared and unguarded. Azriel couldn’t look at her for long without feeling heat crawl up his spine. 

He had attended hundreds of these nights before, each one bleeding into the next. A parade of music, light, and politely empty conversation. He’d endured it all while secretly dreaming of one day having his mate beside him, to watch the beauty of the sky’s display. And now she was here. And she was his. It was the happiest he’d ever been.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” Cassian stated, coming to stand next to him against the wall. 

“What are you on about?” Azriel replied, a teasing edge to his tone, although he never took his eyes off Gwyn as she spoke to Nesta with an animated sweep of her hands. 

“I mean, look at you. You’re smiling so wide I’m shocked your lips don’t burst. Usually, you sulk through this and bolt the second you get the chance.” 

Azriel let out a slow sigh before turning to look at Cassian. Unsurprisingly, his eyes were also fixed on the same spot, watching his own mate engaged in conversation.  “It’s a beautiful holiday, brother.”

Yes, they had truly become two pathetically lovesick males. First, it was Rhys, and Azriel thought back to when he and Cassian used to tease him about his lovestruck expression. How the tables had turned. 

He only looked away for a moment, but when his gaze returned, Gwyn and Nesta were no longer alone. A tall, golden-skinned male stood with them now, dressed in flowing silks that shimmered with every movement. The High Lord of the Day Court. Helion’s easy, brilliant smile made Nesta smirk at something he said before his gaze shifted to Gwyn.

Azriel wasn’t intimidated by Helion. Not in the slightest. And it wasn’t as if Helion was a threat; he would never do anything to Gwyn, or try anything with a mated female. If anything, he would make some outrageous invitation to both him and Gwyn to his bed for the night. 

Still, something sharp twisted low in Azriel’s gut, an ache that had very little to do with logic. His shadows curled tighter around his shoulders, restless. The bond inside him twisted hard, flaring with a burst of possessiveness that sent him pulse into a flurry. It increased tenfold when he saw Helion take Gwyn’s hand and lead her to the middle of the dance floor. 

Azriel’s jaw locked, the smile quickly fading from his face. 

“Keep a lid on it, brother,” Cassian warned from beside him. Azriel had forgotten about his brother’s presence next to him. 

“I’m fine,” Azriel gritted out, the words coming out far harsher than he intended. 

“Tell that to your Siphons,” Cassian replied, amusement curling in his tone. 

His siphons had, in fact, taken on a small glow, painting the corner of the House he was watching from in dark blue. 

Helion turned to face Gwyn in the center of the floor, taking her other hand in his. Every muscle in Azriel’s body tensed at their closeness.  And when Helion’s palm slid to the small of her back, guiding her into the first step of the slow dance, Azriel was unable to suppress a snarl from ripping from his lips. 

“Easy there, tiger.” Cassian laughed. “Helion is our friend, yes?” 

Azriel didn’t respond, keeping his eyes locked on the dance floor, on Helion’s hand as it rested on Gwyn’s back. 

Cassian muttered something again, although Azriel didn’t care to listen too closely.  Likely a plea for Azriel not to make a scene, that it was just a dance. 

“Need I remind you of a Solstice dance last year between Nesta and Eris Vanserra?” Azriel retorted, not sparing Cassian a look as he kept his eyes on Helion’s hands. “Was that just a dance?” 

“That was very different.” Cassian countered without hesitation. “That was Eris.”

“Right.” 

The more primal and basic side of his mating bond dared Helion’s hand to wander, to give him an excuse to pummel the High Lord into the ground. Azriel could take him; he was sure of that.  It would be worth it, too, he figured, to keep any other male from Gwyn. 

His shadows curled tighter, restless and agitated, their whispers sharpening into a single, unanimous urge: Go. And deep in his chest, his Siphons pulsed in time with the mating bond’s demand. Protect. Claim. Keep.

Helion leaned in to murmur something to Gwyn, and whatever he said drew a small laugh from her, soft and warm. Azriel felt it jostle his chest like a blow to the ribs.

Gwyn’s hand shifted in Helion’s grasp, and Azriel’s fingers twitched at his sides. His shadows were a dark halo now, curling low and sinuous around his boots, agitated enough that Cassian swore under his breath.

“Az,” Cassian murmured, once again, that warning note back in his tone.

He ignored it, and instead, his eyes tracked every turn, every step, memorizing the distance between their bodies, the angle of Helion’s palm, the dip of Gwyn’s smile.

The music swelled once more, then tapered into a soft final note. Helion bowed, all gleaming charm and golden smiles, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of Gwyn’s hand before releasing her. Azriel’s shadows hissed at the gesture. He didn’t move, but his eyes followed every motion.  She parted from Helion and began to make her way towards him, a chatising smile on her face. When she reached him, her cheeks were flushed from the dance, teal eyes bright under the spill of starlight.

 “Azriel,” she started, tilting her head, “plotting murder over here?”

“Maybe,” he said, unable to stop the softening of his expression when she reached for his hand. Cassian snickered from next to him. 

“Helion is very nice. Funny.” Gwyn laughed, moving in to hug him, nestling herself into his side. 

“Careful, Gwyn,” Cassian said, outright laughing now, “Before Azriel starts a war with Day.”

“Ah,” Gwyn said, “jealous much, shadowsinger?”

“I am not jealous,” Azriel replied, though even he could hear how unconvincing it sounded.

“Well, if you were,” she said breezily, “I’d think it was cute. Just saying.”

Heat crept up the back of his neck, betraying him entirely. “I’m a better dancer than him,” he muttered.

“Oh, I’m sure,” Gwyn said with mock sympathy, her lips curling into the most infuriatingly endearing pout.

He looked down at the floor, trying to hide the blush coloring his cheeks. 

“Don’t worry, my love. You’re still my favorite dance partner,” Gwyn cooed, brushing her hand along his jaw. 

His eyes snapped to hers, the lovesick feeling from earlier swelling again in his chest. Out of the corner of his vision, he noted Helion watching them discreetly.

Azriel’s mouth curved into something that was almost a challenge. “Helion’s looking this way. Come, mate, dance with me.”

[nestasblade]

guys drop an ask or reblog on what you want to see next from these two i do want to write more but idk what

The Meeting

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

WC: 1k

Summary: You and Azriel’s first meeting, where you both get a shock. Can be read as a standalone, but is a prequel to this fic!

New blog and new writer, so pls reblog and drop a follow, it would make my day!!

The bell above the door rang out, slicing through the silence of the small shop.

As you looked up, you saw the most beautiful man you’d ever laid eyes upon.

He was towering—impossibly tall and broad—with wings tucked neatly behind his back. He looked wildly out of place in your humble apothecary, like a portrait that had wandered into the wrong frame.

You pushed yourself off the counter you’d been leaning against, standing up straighter. Something about him made you want to appear more composed. More put together, maybe?

You’d heard about him. The Shadowsinger. The Spymaster. He did the court’s dirty work—and did it quietly. You’d never met him officially, or even glimpsed him in passing. But you knew it was him. It was obvious. From the way shadows clung to his shoulders like fabric, to the soft, soundless steps he took despite the creaky floorboards beneath him. Even his massive wings, somehow maneuvering through the narrow shelves, didn’t disturb a single bottle.

“Hello,” you said, your voice squeaking with an unfamiliar timidity.

He watched you closely as he turned fully toward you, his eyes widening with something like veiled interest. Under his watchful gaze, you felt small—unnerved, like you’d somehow been stripped bare.

“Can I help you find something?”

A small smile ghosted across his lips, and you could’ve sworn the room got a little brighter.

“Yes. Headache powder. I was hoping for another dose.”

“Perfect! I brew my own. Do you like lavender?”

You stepped out from behind the counter, moving to stand beside him. Now, next to him, he somehow felt even larger. Solid. Unbearably present. You could feel the heat of him.

“Lavender?”

“I mix herbs into my brews,” you explained, suddenly aware of how fast you were talking. “The scents are relaxing. They’re really popular. I have lavender, rose, eucalyptus… peppermint from the Summer Court. I also make them unscented, but in my opinion, that’s a bit boring. Lavender is my favorite.”

Gods, you were rambling. You needed to get it together. This was a business transaction, not a flustered performance.

You clamped your mouth shut.

“Lavender sounds nice. I’ve never used a scented one,” he said. He sounded almost… nervous. But that couldn’t be. He was the Shadowsinger. You couldn’t possibly make him nervous.

Wordlessly—and blushing for some godsforsaken reason—you reached for the shelf and handed him the purple bottle. The moment your fingers brushed his, something snapped. A warmth bloomed deep inside you, anchoring itself in your chest and reaching for him. It was like a lock sliding into place. A part of you becoming whole, as if it had been waiting—empty—all this time without you ever realizing.

You stared up at him, your lips parted in shock. His eyes were fixed on you, wide with wonder.

There’s no way.

It wasn’t possible.

Was that…?

He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. Behind him, his wings gave the faintest twitch—subtle, instinctive. When he spoke again, his voice was lower. Softer. Laced with awe.

“What’s your name?”

The question caught you off guard, but you answered anyway. “Y/N. It’s… it’s on the sign.”

“Y/N,” he repeated, like he was tasting the sound. “I’m Azriel.”

You let out a nervous breath, bordering on a laugh. “I know who you are. I’m positive all of Velaris does.”

Truthfully, you hadn’t known his name before today. To you, he’d simply been the Shadowsinger—a shadowy figure of myth and whispers. Someone whose world couldn’t be farther from yours.

Azriel.

“You felt that,” he said—not a question, but a certainty.

“I… don’t know.” Gods, how stupid must you look right now?

You searched his face—those dark, carved features that once seemed so intimidating. But now, you saw something else beneath the surface. Vulnerability. Hope. Fear.

“I… is that… a mating bond?” you asked, though you already knew. It was unmistakable. Still, saying it aloud made it terrifyingly real.

He looked at you like you were something rare. Sacred. “Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, Y/N.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. You had no idea what to say.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted after a painfully awkward pause.

Azriel blinked, brow furrowing. “For what?”

“I don’t know what to do. What to say.”

“That’s okay.” He hesitated. “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure either.”

You felt raw—your nerves exposed, your thoughts spiraling. You’d imagined what meeting your mate might feel like. But not like this. Not someone like him. Part of you whispered that you should be afraid. That he was the Shadowsinger, the Illyrian of legend. But the way he looked at you now, eyes soft and curious in the golden morning light filtering through the window… you couldn’t believe the rumors were true.

A laugh bubbled up—quiet at first, then spilling out of you unexpectedly.

Azriel looked startled, then amused. A small smile graced his face. His brows raised slightly. “Is something the matter?”

“No. It’s not funny,” you managed between shaky breaths. “I just… I don’t know what else to do. Gods, I swear I’m not normally like this.”

“I don’t mind,” he said gently. “It’s… intriguing.”

You scoffed. Intriguing? You were grossly embarrassing yourself.

“Do all mating bonds start like this?”

Azriel tilted his head. “I wouldn’t know. This is my first.”

“Yeah. Me too.” You exhaled. “Um… we should do something, right?”

His eyes widened slightly. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Nothing. I would never—”

“I meant dinner,” you interrupted, smiling. “Can we maybe do that?”

“Oh.” His voice was barely a breath. A faint flush colored his cheeks. Gods, he was beautiful. “Yes. Yes, dinner sounds perfect. May I pick you up when you close?”

You were going to melt right there on the spot. “Six o’clock. I close at six.”

“Lovely. I’ll see you then?”

“Yes.” You grinned. “Don’t forget your headache powder. On the house.”

He stared at you in disbelief, like you couldn’t possibly be real. “Y/N, no. How much?”

“Hush,” you teased. “You’re buying me dinner tonight. Remember?”

He smiled—truly smiled—gave a small nod of thanks, and walked out.

The bell above the door jingled softly behind him.

And you returned to work, cheeks flushed and heart full, blushing to yourself for the rest of the day.

~~~

Hope you enjoyed! Feel free to let me know what you think!

[nestasblade]

Lover

Pairing: Gwyn x Azriel

Summary: Gwyn gives Azriel an important first. He wants to give it back, he does. But he freezes. Only later does he realize he may never get the chance.

WC: 3.2k

Written for Day 1: Firsts of @gwynrielweeksofficial !!

I hope everyone enjoys! Let me know what you thought :)

~~

Gwyn took the first sip of her iced tea. 

“What do you think?” Azriel asked, staring at the sunlight melting into her copper hair. The strands caught the light in a way that reminded him of the Dawn, and he had to stop himself from reaching out to touch it. 

He sat close, trying to keep his voice casual. Eagerness thrummed within him as he watched her intently. Gwyn had a way of dragging his childlike sense of wonder into the light, a side of himself that he so seldom embraced.  He’d never been able to explain it. Maybe because he didn’t want to pick apart the one thing in his life that felt unshakably good.

“This is amazing, Az!” she beamed, taking another long sip. “How do you make this?” She turned toward him, teal eyes bright enough to make him blink.

“It’s a family secret. Can’t tell you,” he teased. “You’ll just have to come to me whenever you need a cup.”

Her laugh rang out, warm and easy, and they fell into the kind of comfortable silence that Azriel had never known with anyone else. This kind of moment had become a common occurrence for them. Shortly after her triumph in the Blood Rite, their extra training sessions gave way to something stronger. At first, he considered it fleeting, something to pass the time as he pined after Elain. But it grew, and Gwyn quickly took over his mind. It was so different from what he’d considered affection in the past. It was warmth, sunlight, light. 

Today, Azriel had pulled her after training for a picnic. He’d been away for a day and figured a quick lunch would be a perfect way to steal her away before she surely ran off with her Valkyries.  So he’d set up a small blanket just next to the training ring, facing the city below them. He woke up extra early that morning to make her a spread with all her favorite fruits and small sandwiches. And of course, a helping of pistachio cake. 

He had also made an iced tea drink for her to try, a recipe of his mother's. She would make it for him whenever he would be allowed to see her as a child, and whenever he was able to visit her, even now. He followed the recipe exactly, and while he couldn’t get it to taste just like his mother’s, he still relished in the idea of Gwyn trying it. He told her as much.

Azriel saw Nesta walk by from the corner of his eye, shooting a wink towards him and Gwyn. He sent her a playful warning look in return. Gwyn only waved before turning her attention back to Azriel.

“Are you working in the library today?” he asked. 

“No. Shockingly, Merrill gave me the day off. I’m spending the day with Nesta and Emerie… but I’m yours in the evening. If you’ll have me, that is.”

Azriel rolled his eyes, moving to wrap his arm around her, “Always.” 

She leaned against his bare chest like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her touch didn’t spark the frenzy of affection he knew so well. Instead, it calmed him — a weight in the right place. Quieting some chaos deep within him that he hadn’t even known about. 

“What about you?” Gwyn questioned.

“A quick report at the River House. Then paperwork. Nothing but paperwork.” 

“Paperwork?” she tsked in mock horror, “What a thrilling aspect of the spymaster life.”

He laughed, brushing a hand through her hair. “Says the priestess who spent yesterday buried in record logsy.”

“That’s different. Mine had poems in the margins.”

Azriel was smiling wider than he had in a century. If his brothers could see him now, he’d never hear the end of it. 

Then-

“I love you,” she said, simply. No ceremony. No buildup, although he could hear the slight breathlessness that took over her tone. 

Azriel’s hand stilled on her arm. His breath caught.

She…loved him?

She loved…him?

Love. I love you. 

Something icy, something foreign, filled his head, and all he could do was stare at her. 

A silence overtook them again, heavier and so far removed from the comfortable silence they had enjoyed earlier. 

A few seconds pass. Then a few more. Azriel wills himself to do something, say something. But the muscles in his body grew heavy, and every word he wanted to say stopped on his tongue. 

Slowly, Gwyn pushed herself from his side, moving to support her own weight. She carefully avoided gazing at him, and all he could do was stare at the back of her head.  

By the Mother, he needed to say something. 

He screamed at himself internally, a chasm growing within his stomach.

“Um…sorry. I didn’t mean to- it just slipped out. Don’t worry about it,” her voice came out shaky, and all he wanted was to bury her face in his chest. To kiss her. 

“Gwyn-” he finally managed to say, his voice cracking over the word. 

“It’s fine. Sorry.” 

“Gwyn.” he tried again, but she cut him off once again. 

“I have to go. I’m late to meet Nesta and Emerie. I’ll see you later,” she rushed the words out as she stood, turning to leave without looking at him.

 Do something, he screamed at himself, but all he could do was stare at her as she left. 

He didn’t follow. 

What the hell did I just do? 

~~

Azriel fucked up. Fully, brutally fucked up. 

No one had ever said those words to him — not like that.  Not romantically, that is, and certainly not with the weight Gwyn had given them. 

And he had never said them to anyone else. Not aloud. Not where they could matter. He’d thought them before, of course — to Elain, when he’d been lost in the soft dream of her, and to Mor, through centuries of ache that never eased. In those days, the words had lived in his head like a caged bird, fluttering against the bars, waiting for a perfect moment to break free.

He knew he loved Gwyn. He did.

But it wasn’t the way he had “loved” before.

With Mor, it had been the fever of longing, sharp and unrelenting, every interaction laced with an ache for something that could never be. With Elain, it had been a fragile vision, beautiful and untouchable, something to be admired from a distance. Both had been edged with restlessness — the constant hum beneath his skin, the need to flee and pursue in the same breath. His shadows would fall silent around them, not in peace, but in watchfulness, as though holding themselves back.

But with Gwyn, there was no sting, no cloying ache. The quiet between them wasn’t tense or loaded; it was whole. Solid. There was no waiting for the moment to end, no itch under his skin. His shadows curled lazily around her as if they’d found where they belonged. Being with her was like stepping into sunlight after a lifetime in the cold — not blinding, but warm enough to sink into. It wasn’t fire consuming him; it was the steady heat of a hearth, something he could lean toward for the rest of his life, basking in it.

It made him question what kind of “love” he’d ever truly known before her.

His Gwyn was peace. His Gwyn was home.

And he had sat there, mute, when she’d offered him the very thing he’d been sure he felt.

Her breathless voice replayed in his mind, over and over, her teal eyes dimming as she pulled away, and he wondered if he could even remedy the taint he’d put on their relationship. 

On their love. 

Gods, he was pathetic.

~~

By the time Azriel finished his report, Rhys was watching him — that infuriatingly perceptive look in his violet eyes, as if he was peeling back every layer Azriel had worked years to build.

“You’re distracted,” Rhys said lightly, leaning back in his chair.

Azriel kept his gaze fixed on the desk. “I’m fine.”

A raised brow. “No, you’re brooding. Brooding more than usual.”

Azriel’s jaw worked. The silence stretched until he finally exhaled through his nose. “I fucked up.” The words landed between them like a blade. “Gwyn probably despises me, and I am not sure I can fix it.”

Rhys’s eyes soften slightly. “What happened?”

Azriel relayed the events of the day to Rhys, eyes repeatedly darting to the floor in shame.

Rhys was quiet for a long moment after Azriel finished. Too quiet. Azriel hated it. It immediately transported him back to this morning, sitting on the ground with Gwyn. 

“So,” he drawled, “let me see if I understand this correctly. She told you she loved you… And you just sat there?”

Azriel growled under his breath. “Don’t—”

“Just clarifying,” Rhys said innocently, holding up his wine as if it were evidence. 

Azriel slumped back in his seat, running both hands over his face. “I froze. I—I didn’t even look at her.”

Rhys let out a deep sigh. “Did you want to say it back?”

Azriel’s hands dropped into his lap. He looked down at the scarred skin of his palms. “Yes,” he said quietly.

“You love her.” It wasn’t a question, barely even a speculation. It was clear as day to anyone who knew him, let alone his chosen brother. 

Azriel didn’t look up. “Yes.”

“You’ve known for a while.”

Azriel nodded once, jaw tight. “Yes.”

“And yet, when she told you first—when she gave you that—” Rhys’ voice didn’t carry judgment, but something heavier. Understanding. “You said nothing.”

Azriel finally lifted his eyes. “I couldn’t. I don’t know why. My body… it just shut down.”

“Were you afraid?”

“No,” Azriel responded immediately. “I’m not afraid to love her. Of loving her. I just… I don’t know.” 

“She’ll forgive you,” Rhys said eventually. “But only if you stop sitting in your guilt and start fighting for her. Don’t wait. Not with Gwyn.”

Azriel swallowed. “What if she won’t hear me out?”

“Say it anyway.”

Before Azriel could respond, a shadow darted around him, panicked. His shadows never panicked. “The House. Attack. Our Priestess.”

Azriel looked up to find Rhys staring at him, eyes unfocused as if he was communicating in his head.

~~

They arrived in less than a minute.

The world narrowed to the sight before him—Cassian kneeling with Nesta beside him, a cut bleeding freely across her temple. And lying on the floor in front of them was Gwyn, crushed against the marble, her body curled unnaturally, a dark stain spreading beneath her.

He was moving before thought could catch him, shadows whipping out to encircle her as if they could shield her from what had already happened.

Azriel’s vision tunneled.

“Az…” Cassian started, his voice hoarse. 

Azriel dropped to his knees, gathering her into his arms before Cassian could finish. Her weight felt wrong, slack, unresisting. Her head lolled back against his arm, and the sight nearly stole his breath. And that’s when he saw it. The wound in her stomach, deep and gaping.

A savage, gaping tear across her stomach, the kind that didn’t just steal blood — it stole time. Stole futures. Stole her.

Something in him splintered, sharp and violent, but underneath the panic was a deeper terror — the knowledge that this wasn’t just someone he cared for lying in his arms. This was the only person who had ever made him feel peace, the only place his restless soul had found a home. And she was slipping away.

“Rhys…,” Cassian croaked. “Madja, get Madja.” 

Rhys vanished, but Azriel barely registered it.

He was going to be sick. 

“Gwyn. Gwyn.” 

His voice shook as he pressed his hand to the wound, fingers trembling. Hot blood surged up between them.. Far too much of it. And she didn’t move. Not even a twitch.

“Gwyn. Stay with me. Please.”

Her lips were parted, her eyes closed.. Her skin had lost its glow, the freckles across her cheeks stark against pale skin that made something in his chest seize. There was too much blood. The smell of iron filled his lungs.

“I’m here,” he whispered, the words cracking under the weight of them. “I’m here, love. I won’t leave. Just… stay with me.”

Earlier today, he had let her leave, unspoken words on his tongue. Now, he begged her to stay.

“Open your eyes.” His voice frayed apart. “Please, please. I love you.”

He didn’t think about the words. They were instinct, a confession pulled from the deepest part of him, the part that had frozen in the morning light earlier that day. He wrapped his wing around her, trying to hold in what was spilling away — her warmth, her light.

It was a dark, cruel mirror to this morning, sitting on the training field, holding her. 

He looked up for air, breathing raggedly, and in that, the world lurched. It wasn’t magic. It wasn’t his shadows; they were already woven through her hair, coiling around her body in a protective shroud. It was something else. Ancient. Primal. Something that he had never dared hope for out loud. 

A thread snapped taut in his soul, anchoring itself to hers — new, yet somehow as familiar as his heartbeat. Something deep and wordless reached out to her, flooding his body with warmth, with sunlight, with the scent of open air after rain. Its song filled his ears, the melody one he’d been straining to hear his entire life.

A mating bond. His and Gwyn’s mating bond. 

Rhys appeared with Madja, stepping closer. A deep instinct surged within like a blade unsheathed, and a level of rage that he had never known filled his chest. Azriel let out a snarl that split the air, raw and dangerous. His wing snapped over her like a steel-forged barricade. 

“No.”

Madja only stepped closer, unfazed, “Let us help her, Azriel. Let me heal her.”

But the bond raged inside him, flooding his veins with the certainty that no one could care for her as he could. No one else could be trusted to shield her properly, to protect her as he could. To place her in another’s hands felt like leaving her in the open during a storm.

They had only just found each other. The thought of her slipping away — of the bond severing before it had truly begun — was unbearable.

The truth slammed into him — if he didn’t release her now, she might not have the chance to breathe again. She may never open her eyes again, and would never hear of his love for her.

With a sound that was half a growl, half a broken plea, he forced his hands to loosen. Every muscle rebelled, his body screaming its protest even as Rhys moved in, swift and sure, to lift her. Every part of him screamed, his shadows wailed. She must stay with him. They must stay together.  

Madja was already at his side, but Azriel barely registered her. His gaze stayed locked on Gwyn, even as she was pulled from his arms.

Azriel could only watch as Rhys carried her away, Madja hot on his heels. He knelt there, on the floor and covered in her blood, as she was taken from him. 

His soul pried open, reaching out for her.

Again, he was frozen. Watching as Gwyn left him sitting on the floor. 

A scream tore out of him before he realized it, raw and guttural, filled with rage and grief enough to shake the ground beneath him. Then he collapsed forward, his palms smearing red across the marble as the weight of the moment drove him closer to the floor.

~

Four days had passed. Gwyn was healing, though she had yet to wake up. The wound on her side was knitting together slowly, and Madja told them that now, it was a waiting game. She couldn’t say for sure whether she would stay or slip away. 

She would wake up. Azriel could not comprehend the possibility of any other outcome. His mind refused to form the thought. All he knew, all he could bear to know, was that his mate, his light, the only true peace he had ever known, lay still and silent on the bed.

The newfound bond within him chafed and pained, reaching out towards Gwyn, only to be met with a wall. Every part of his body ached with the weight of it. 

He kept vigil almost every hour of every day, allowing only Nesta or Emerie to take his place when exhaustion clawed at him. No one else was to be alone with her; he had made that clear in his rage.

When they’d first taken her to be healed, he’d collapsed on the floor, the blood still wet on his hands. Nesta had tried to hold him, but he’d ripped free, his cries echoing through the stone halls. He had screamed her name, screamed that he loved her, hoping somehow she would hear and follow his voice back to him.

Now he said it constantly. Whispered it against her ear, into her hair, into her limp hand. He begged her to wake up, not to leave him.

His shadows had stationed themselves along the edge of the bed and the door, silent sentinels. They didn’t roam now — they waited, still and sharp, as though anything that crossed the threshold without permission would never leave alive.

And when she woke, when all was well,  he would hunt the bastards who had done this and skin them alive. Illyrians, Nesta had said, and Azriel had already set his network to work. There was a cell in Hewn City waiting for them. That was the merciful option, if she survived. Should the worst happen, Rhys would have to clear out a mountain for the carnage Azriel would bring.

He took her hand again, pressing it to his lips. The taste of her skin mixed with the salt of his tears, a flavor he’d come to know too well these past days.

“I love you, Gwyn. I love you. Please come back to me,” he murmured. The words had become his prayer, repeated so often they had worn grooves into his very being.

Her face was so still. Pale, except for the freckles scattered across her skin. He wanted to kiss each one, to feel her smile against his mouth again.

His vision blurred. He stared down at his boots, heavy with the weight of too many tears. He was so tired of crying.

“You said you loved me,” came a voice, hoarse and slurred and tired.  But unmistakably hers.

.The sound struck him like sunlight cleaving through storm clouds, warm and blinding. His head snapped up, and there they were — her teal eyes, heavy with exhaustion but open, seeing him. A small smile tugged at her lips, and something inside him broke and mended all at once.

The bond flared like a struck match, flooding every vein with molten gold. His shadows surged toward her in a frantic rush, curling along her hair, brushing her cheek, as if confirming for themselves that she was truly here. As if they, too, had been holding their breath for four endless days.

His chest swelled until it hurt. The tears pricking at his eyes spilled freely, streaking hot down his face without restraint.

“I did,” he said, voice rough but steady, the truth vibrating in every word. “Sorry it took so long.”

[nestasblade]

Snippet #3 for @gwynrielweeksofficial!!

y’all this is definitely one of my favorites.

“I want him to take me. Hard.” Gwyn blurted out, eyes screwing shut in embarrassment. “Like how they do in the books.”

Nesta gasped, coughing on her toast. “Gwyneth!”

[nestasblade]

“First and foremost I’m writing for myself,” I hiss through my teeth, resisting the urge to refresh my email for an Ao3 message for the 100th time.

[nestasblade]

Snippet #2 for @gwynrielweeksofficial !!

Guysss I can’t even express how excited I am for you guys to read everything I have ready! I’m still a new blog so this is my first writing event, and it was a challenge but I loved writing these.

She knew Azriel. She knew him. He would never say that. Never think that.

Would he?

What if his silence was just masked disappointment? The ugly thought appeared in her head quickly and died just as fast. So sickening, so unlike the Azriel she knew that she felt a rush of guilt immediately.

[nestasblade]

Snippet #1 for @gwynrielweeksofficial!!

Hey everybody! I’m going to be posting one snippet a day for Gwynriel weeks leading up to the event. I’m so excited to share this with everyone!!

I think this is one of my favorite pieces that I’ve written so far for this event :)

~~

Pink filled his cheeks at the sight of her nightgown riding up her thighs. His thoughts shifted. The feeling of her soft skin on his, the brush of his lips over the freckles dotting her skin. They ran up her arms, decorating the small amount of her chest that he could see. Where else on her body was sprinkled with those light brown dots? Could he count them?

Gods, he needed to get it together.

Tea. He was making tea.

[nestasblade]

me because i’ve been posting my shit and people actually seem to like it instead of taking time out of their day to tell me i’m awful and should never write again

[nestasblade]

just wanted to let you know i think your writing is so wonderful and that i look forward to more!! 🩷🩷

arghh ur so sweet! tysm :) and dw bestie i have some stuff lined up to post soon!

[nestasblade]

Hi!! I just wanted to let you know that I really like your writing for Az and the apothecary owner, you really bring them to life💕

omg i’m so glad you like it!! i def want to write more for those two in the future :)

[nestasblade]

The Meeting

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

WC: 1k

Summary: You and Azriel’s first meeting, where you both get a shock. Can be read as a standalone, but is a prequel to this fic!

New blog and new writer, so pls reblog and drop a follow, it would make my day!!

The bell above the door rang out, slicing through the silence of the small shop.

As you looked up, you saw the most beautiful man you’d ever laid eyes upon.

He was towering—impossibly tall and broad—with wings tucked neatly behind his back. He looked wildly out of place in your humble apothecary, like a portrait that had wandered into the wrong frame.

You pushed yourself off the counter you’d been leaning against, standing up straighter. Something about him made you want to appear more composed. More put together, maybe?

You’d heard about him. The Shadowsinger. The Spymaster. He did the court’s dirty work—and did it quietly. You’d never met him officially, or even glimpsed him in passing. But you knew it was him. It was obvious. From the way shadows clung to his shoulders like fabric, to the soft, soundless steps he took despite the creaky floorboards beneath him. Even his massive wings, somehow maneuvering through the narrow shelves, didn’t disturb a single bottle.

“Hello,” you said, your voice squeaking with an unfamiliar timidity.

He watched you closely as he turned fully toward you, his eyes widening with something like veiled interest. Under his watchful gaze, you felt small—unnerved, like you’d somehow been stripped bare.

“Can I help you find something?”

A small smile ghosted across his lips, and you could’ve sworn the room got a little brighter.

“Yes. Headache powder. I was hoping for another dose.”

“Perfect! I brew my own. Do you like lavender?”

You stepped out from behind the counter, moving to stand beside him. Now, next to him, he somehow felt even larger. Solid. Unbearably present. You could feel the heat of him.

“Lavender?”

“I mix herbs into my brews,” you explained, suddenly aware of how fast you were talking. “The scents are relaxing. They’re really popular. I have lavender, rose, eucalyptus… peppermint from the Summer Court. I also make them unscented, but in my opinion, that’s a bit boring. Lavender is my favorite.”

Gods, you were rambling. You needed to get it together. This was a business transaction, not a flustered performance.

You clamped your mouth shut.

“Lavender sounds nice. I’ve never used a scented one,” he said. He sounded almost… nervous. But that couldn’t be. He was the Shadowsinger. You couldn’t possibly make him nervous.

Wordlessly—and blushing for some godsforsaken reason—you reached for the shelf and handed him the purple bottle. The moment your fingers brushed his, something snapped. A warmth bloomed deep inside you, anchoring itself in your chest and reaching for him. It was like a lock sliding into place. A part of you becoming whole, as if it had been waiting—empty—all this time without you ever realizing.

You stared up at him, your lips parted in shock. His eyes were fixed on you, wide with wonder.

There’s no way.

It wasn’t possible.

Was that…?

He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. Behind him, his wings gave the faintest twitch—subtle, instinctive. When he spoke again, his voice was lower. Softer. Laced with awe.

“What’s your name?”

The question caught you off guard, but you answered anyway. “Y/N. It’s… it’s on the sign.”

“Y/N,” he repeated, like he was tasting the sound. “I’m Azriel.”

You let out a nervous breath, bordering on a laugh. “I know who you are. I’m positive all of Velaris does.”

Truthfully, you hadn’t known his name before today. To you, he’d simply been the Shadowsinger—a shadowy figure of myth and whispers. Someone whose world couldn’t be farther from yours.

Azriel.

“You felt that,” he said—not a question, but a certainty.

“I… don’t know.” Gods, how stupid must you look right now?

You searched his face—those dark, carved features that once seemed so intimidating. But now, you saw something else beneath the surface. Vulnerability. Hope. Fear.

“I… is that… a mating bond?” you asked, though you already knew. It was unmistakable. Still, saying it aloud made it terrifyingly real.

He looked at you like you were something rare. Sacred. “Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, Y/N.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. You had no idea what to say.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted after a painfully awkward pause.

Azriel blinked, brow furrowing. “For what?”

“I don’t know what to do. What to say.”

“That’s okay.” He hesitated. “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure either.”

You felt raw—your nerves exposed, your thoughts spiraling. You’d imagined what meeting your mate might feel like. But not like this. Not someone like him. Part of you whispered that you should be afraid. That he was the Shadowsinger, the Illyrian of legend. But the way he looked at you now, eyes soft and curious in the golden morning light filtering through the window… you couldn’t believe the rumors were true.

A laugh bubbled up—quiet at first, then spilling out of you unexpectedly.

Azriel looked startled, then amused. A small smile graced his face. His brows raised slightly. “Is something the matter?”

“No. It’s not funny,” you managed between shaky breaths. “I just… I don’t know what else to do. Gods, I swear I’m not normally like this.”

“I don’t mind,” he said gently. “It’s… intriguing.”

You scoffed. Intriguing? You were grossly embarrassing yourself.

“Do all mating bonds start like this?”

Azriel tilted his head. “I wouldn’t know. This is my first.”

“Yeah. Me too.” You exhaled. “Um… we should do something, right?”

His eyes widened slightly. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Nothing. I would never—”

“I meant dinner,” you interrupted, smiling. “Can we maybe do that?”

“Oh.” His voice was barely a breath. A faint flush colored his cheeks. Gods, he was beautiful. “Yes. Yes, dinner sounds perfect. May I pick you up when you close?”

You were going to melt right there on the spot. “Six o’clock. I close at six.”

“Lovely. I’ll see you then?”

“Yes.” You grinned. “Don’t forget your headache powder. On the house.”

He stared at you in disbelief, like you couldn’t possibly be real. “Y/N, no. How much?”

“Hush,” you teased. “You’re buying me dinner tonight. Remember?”

He smiled—truly smiled—gave a small nod of thanks, and walked out.

The bell above the door jingled softly behind him.

And you returned to work, cheeks flushed and heart full, blushing to yourself for the rest of the day.

~~~

Hope you enjoyed! Feel free to let me know what you think!

[nestasblade]

ACOTAR Masterlist

Hi! Welcome :)

read on my ao3!

Azriel

Shadows and Spiral Mode

Ephemeral

The Meeting (prequel to Shadows and Spiral Mode)

Nessian

A Blade Between Us

Gwynriel

Lover

Wallflower

The Heat of Memory

Crown and Cloak (ongoing)

thanks for reading <3