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serpentandlily · 7 months ago

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Birds of a Feather - Azriel x Reader

Birds of a Feather - Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel had been your closest friend, made from the very same things as you—birds of a feather, as they say. But you were not the girl he chose to fall in love with. So all you could do was love your mate in the shadows until the day you died.

Warnings: angst angst angst

A/n: Inspired by Birds of a Feather by Billie Eilish, but this is a more sad interpretation of the song. Hope you enjoy! (Epilogue HERE)

• ───────────────── •

I want you to stay

'Til I'm in the grave

'Til I rot away, dead and buried

'Til I'm in the casket you carry

• ───────────────── •

A flick of golden brown hair caught your eye as Elain tossed her head back with her lilting laughter. So soft. So beautiful. So charming. You could hardly blame Azriel for being so enraptured by her. To him, she was probably the answer to all his questions, all his insecurities and doubt. To have someone like Elain look at him like that…Well, it seemed like it had healed something in him.

Unfortunately for you, it had done the opposite. It had completely destroyed you. Torn your heart into pieces. Opened new wounds and old wounds. It had shined a light on every single insecurity you felt. Because you had been praying for the day that Azriel would look at you the way he looked at her. But that day had never come and it never would.

You hadn’t been good enough for him. Hadn’t been beautiful enough to catch his attention like Mor and Elain had. Hadn’t been sweet enough to serve as a beacon of light for him. Hadn’t been soft enough to bring him comfort.

You slipped out of the back door. No one even noticed your disappearance, all too happy in this new little family they had created with all three of the Archeron sisters.

Tears lined your eyes as you hugged yourself, slowly walking along the Sidra towards your apartment. You had been naive to think you’d ever have a love like Feyre and Rhys or Nesta and Cassian. Azriel had been right that night you’d overheard him in the High Lord’s office.

The Cauldron had gotten it wrong. It had gotten it all so wrong.

Azriel was your mate. He was supposed to love and cherish you. Not her. But he had never looked your way once—not like that. You’d been best friends since the dawn of time, since you had entered each other’s lives. But that was all the companionship he could give you.

On nights like this, you almost wished you had told him about the mating bond when it had snapped for you. But you had hoped and prayed that he would come to love you for you and not for the mating bond. So you never spoke a word of it to anyone and maybe that had been your mistake.

But you didn’t want a love that only existed because of the mating bond. You wanted a love that felt real and deep—with the mating bond only serving as the cherry on top. You didn’t regret not telling him. But you did regret sticking around to watch him fall in love with another girl.

It didn’t help that Elain was the opposite of you. She was all sunshine and flowers, soft warm bread and honey. You were a creature of the night. You were the moon and its shadows, cryptic and grim. It was why you thought you and Azriel got along so well. You were made of all the same things. But he had always hated that about himself so really, it shouldn’t have been so surprising that he would look for someone who embodied the opposite.

It hurt though, it hurt so much.

You were his equal. You lived in the shadows as much as he did. Your soul was made from the same essence as his. You were birds of a feather. You were companions. He was the only one who understood you completely and you were the only one who saw him and loved him as he was—darkness and all.

You were supposed to stick together through it all.

But…he hadn’t chosen you.

You finally made it back to your apartment and hung up your coat before collapsing on your bed and letting the sobs ricochet through the utter silence of your home.

Alone once again.

As you always would be.

• ───────────────── •

Birds of a feather, we should stick together, I know

I said I'd never think I wasn't better alone

Can't change the weather, might not be forever

But if it's forever, it's even better

• ───────────────── •

All you had wanted to do today was get lost in your book and forget about your own life for a few hours. That was what you had planned, why you were even in the private library at the River House. But of course, the Mother decided to spite you once again.

Azriel sat on the armchair across from you, fiddling with Truth-teller as he ranted about Rhysand for the millionth time. He was still upset about your High Lord telling him to stay away from Elain, even though he had completely ignored those orders anyways. As far as you knew, Rhys hadn’t brought it up again.

Your jaw was clenched as he brought up Lucien, laminating on how much Elain didn’t want him or the mating bond between them. You blinked away the tears that threatened to come. It almost felt like he was talking about the mating bond between the two of you—the one he still had no idea existed.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, your stomach tossing and turning. You were so in love with the male sitting before you, so in love with your best friend. And here you were, listening to him talk about another girl the way you wished he’d talk about you.

You cleared your throat when silence finally overtook the library, your eyes darting to the fireplace that was lacking any light—cold and dusty—the same way you felt inside.

“Don’t you think…” you started, not looking at Azriel, not sure you wanted to say the words lingering in your throat.

“Do I think what?” Azriel raised an eyebrow at you.

You looked away again.

“I don’t know,” you hesitated before continuing, “Don’t you think that Rhys might actually have a point?”

You were still focused on the fireplace as you awaited his response with a bated breath. It was the first time you’d addressed his interest in Elain without being positive. But you just had to poke at it once—just once to make sure you were right in keeping the mating bond from him.

“Oh Gods,” Azriel groaned. “Not you, too.”

“I’m just asking,” you said in your defense. “What if…what if in ten years Elain decides she does actually want to give Lucien a shot? The mating bond—”

“Is godsdamn stupid, is what it is,” Azriel scoffed. “She doesn’t want Lucien, Y/n. She wants me. We want each other. Is that such a bad thing?”

“No, I’m not saying that,” you grimaced, “But what if you find your mate? Would you…would you stay with Elain?”

“Of course I would,” Azriel answered without missing a beat, digging that dagger into your heart a little more. “I don’t have a mate and even if I did, I would only ever feel sorry for her. For being cursed and shackled to me. At least Elain is choosing me. She is choosing me, Y/n. Over her own mate. If that isn’t love, then what is?”

“I don’t know, Az.” You swallowed harshly, your throat closing up the further this conversation went on. You wanted to scream and sew your mouth shut at the same time. “Is that what this is? Are you truly in love with her?”

This was it. The question you had been avoiding for months. And his answer would solidify everything. It would either put the nail in the coffin between the two of you or it would lighten the weight on your shoulders for just a minute—give you a modicum of hope to hang onto.

“I am,” Azriel snapped, surprising you with his sudden ire. He rose from his seat, his eyes narrowing at you. “What is wrong with you? I thought you cared about me. I thought you were my friend, Y/n, and you’re acting just like Rhysand.”

You shot up from your seat, eyes wide. “No, Az, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way, I just—”

“No, I get it,” Azriel scoffed, cutting you off. His eyes were ice cold. He had never looked at you like that before. It made your heart pause. “You just want me to continue being miserable. Because that’s always been why the two of us got along so well. Both lonely and so unhappy and now that I’m finally not, you want to drag me back down. Maybe one day someone will love you the way me and Elain love each other. But just because no one does right now, does not mean I have to give up my happiness to keep being miserable with you.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, your lower lip wobbling. All you wanted was Azriel to be happy. It was another reason why you hadn’t said anything about the mating bond. Because he was happy with Elain and you didn’t want to throw a wrench into that. You hadn’t meant anything by asking him those questions—only wanted a bit of closure for yourself.

Well, you had gotten closure, all right. Azriel would never choose you. He was right. You were miserable and lonely and heartbroken. Why would he choose you? But you hadn’t expected him to be so harsh. A simple yes would’ve done the same. Tears slipped down your cheeks and the anger from Azriel’s eyes was washed away.

But you didn’t stick around to hear his half-assed apology. You couldn’t. Not when your heart was being ripped apart in your chest, not as bile was rising in your hoarse throat. You dropped your book down on the coffee table before fleeing from the room, ignoring his calls of your name as you left.

• ───────────────── •

But you're so full of shit,

Tell me it's a bit,

Say you don't see it, your mind's polluted

Say you wanna quit, don't be stupid

• ───────────────── •

Months went by, all meshing together. You had avoided Azriel since that day in the library. It hurt but being around him hurt even more. It was all you could do to protect your already broken heart. He didn’t reach out to you either, instead all of his attention went to Elain.

Elain who had finally told Lucien she would never accept their bond.

And so Azriel and her had finally proclaimed their love to the whole family. A family you felt yourself slipping away from bit by bit. No one even seemed to notice. After all, it had always been you and Azriel hiding away in the shadows—content to observe and love from the corners of the room.

But now it was just you in that corner, all alone.

You stopped going to family dinners, stopped hanging around the River House, stopped going to training with the Valkyries. You began to disappear from their lives day by day. You couldn’t bring yourself to stay. Not when your mate was in love with someone else—not as they all started new chapters in their lives and left you behind.

You had overstayed your welcome. No longer Azriel’s closest friend and confidant. No longer Cassian’s sparring buddy. No longer an extra ear for Rhys to run court decisions by. No longer Mor’s dancing partner or Amren’s pupil to bully.

You became a shadow of yourself. Sleepless nights led to a lack of energy and focus. Constant tears led to being voiceless. You couldn’t even resort to alcohol because it made the steely barrier you had put up to block out the mating bond come tumbling down, flooding you with all of Azriel’s feelings. Happiness, joy, lust, desire, satiation.

It was just a reminder that you weren’t the one giving him those things.

But you couldn’t disappear the way you wanted to. Not when a new war started with Koschei. Despite months of not being around, Rhysand still sent you a notice to come to a meeting to discuss strategy and to inform everyone of new developments.

You wanted to ignore the summons but the thought of Azriel going into battle again without you around to watch his back nearly sent you spiraling. So you made your way to the River House, eyes on the floor the whole time as you stepped inside and hung up your coat.

You were about to go up the stairs to get to Rhys’s office when a hand on your shoulder stopped you. You spun around and your breath caught in your throat as you came face to face with Azriel. You took a shaky step away from him, your hand coming up to grip at your chest. The mating bond you had been trying to ignore shoved its way through your defenses—bombarding you with Azriel’s emotions once again.

His hazel eyes were filled with a bit of guilt and remorse. “Y/n, I was wondering if you were going to show up today. I…I’ve been wanting to talk to you but you haven’t been around much.”

Your mouth opened and closed, no words coming out. You didn’t trust yourself to speak. Azriel hesitated for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck before speaking, “I never got to apologize for the things I said to you. It's not an excuse, but Rhys had just laid into me again about Elain before I found you in the library and I took my anger out on you when you were just trying to be a good friend and I am truly sorry for what I said to you. I didn’t mean any of it.”

“It’s okay,” you mumbled, looking away from him. His words had felt true that day. Besides, what he said to you might’ve been wrong but that didn’t take away from the fact that he was in love with someone else. Regardless of his apology, there was no way you could go back to being his friend. It hurt too much.

Azriel seemed to be waiting for you to say anything else and his shoulders deflated a bit when he realized you weren’t going to. He gave you a weak smile before summoning something from his shadows. An envelope. He held it out for you to grab. You took it from him with a questioning look.

“It’s an invitation,” Azriel explained. “Me and Elain are getting married. I wanted to deliver this to you in person. It would mean a lot to have you there, Y/n.”

You stared at the envelope in your hand.

Stared and stared and stared.

Even throughout the whole meeting with the Inner Circle, all you could do was stare at that godsdamn envelope. Because inside of it was the last piece of your broken heart, smashed and weeping. Azriel was getting married…and not to you. To her.

So when Rhys announced his plans of attack for Koschei and how he needed someone to act as bait for the Death God, you were the first to volunteer because you truly had nothing left to lose.

• ───────────────── •

And I don't know what I'm crying for

I don't think I could love you more

Might not be long, but baby, I

Don't wanna say goodbye

• ───────────────── •

“Are you sure you don’t want to sit up front with the rest of us?” Feyre asked.

You looked up at her from your seat in the very back of the temple, shaking your head. You gave her a blank look. “No, it’s all right. I’m fine back here. You know I don’t like that attention of sitting near the High Lord and Lady.”

Feyre gave you an understanding nod. “Okay, but you will sit with us at the reception. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

You nodded to appease her, knowing you had no intentions of staying past the ceremony. You were only here for one reason—because Azriel had asked you to be here and you could never say no to him. So here you sat, your chest empty and your eyes sore from the tears you spilled last night.

This wedding felt more like a funeral to you and in some ways, it was. You were saying goodbye to a future you could’ve had with your mate, giving up the final piece of yourself for his sake, and getting to watch him be happy and free, such a bittersweet feeling. All you had ever wished was that he could be happy with you but that was just a dream—that’s all it would ever be.

Elain looked so beautiful in her wedding gown, as she always did.

Azriel’s eyes lit up the moment she came through the doorway, striding down the aisle to him. He held out his hand for her, helping her up the steps to stand before him. They didn’t look away from each other for a single moment during the ceremony. He was so in love with her. So in love with her and not you…never you.

The whole room was bursting with joy but not you. You were happy for him, of course. But you couldn’t help but feel that ache in your chest and everything that came with it. The hurt, the jealousy, the grief.

Had he even really wanted you here or had it been a pity invite? It didn’t matter because he took no notice of anyone but Elain. So when the ceremony ended and everyone began to make their way to the reception, you slinked into the shadows and disappeared once again.

• ───────────────── •

I'll love you 'til the day that I die

'Til the day that I die

'Til the light leaves my eyes

'Til the day that I die

• ───────────────── •

The battle was over. Koschei had been defeated. You had gone through with serving as the bait for this plan to work. It had cost so much to finally take him down. So many lives, so much power. And you. It had cost you everything.

You were dying. Slowly.

But you knew this was the end for you.

Even if you could be saved, you didn’t want to be.

You wanted to let death embrace you in his cold arms.

You wanted to leave behind this life finally.

Everyone was still cheering and hugging with relief when you stumbled back into the war camp. You pressed a hand against the deep wound in your stomach, blood bubbling through the cracks in your fingers as you passed by everyone—no one taking notice of you or your severely injured state.

Not until you made it to the main tent where the rest of the Inner Circle had begun to celebrate the victory.

It was Feyre who noticed you first, her gasp alerting the rest of them to your presence. But you were only looking at Azriel as you stumbled into the tent, barely making it past the threshold before you crumbled to the ground. You choked on the blood filling up your mouth, some of it trickling out of your lips.

Azriel shouted your name, pushing Cassian out of his way to get to you. He knelt before you, eyes wide with panic as he grasped your shoulders. In the background, you could faintly hear Rhysand shouting for a healer but you knew it was too late for that.

You weakly smiled up at Azriel. This is what you wanted. To just see him one last time. To let his face be the last thing you see before death came to take you. You reached a hand out, letting your fingertips brush against his jaw.

It took you being gravely injured for the mating bond to finally snap in place for him. You knew the minute he realized. The mating bond hummed in your chest but its song was so quiet now…so, so quiet.

It was slowly fraying as your life dimmed.

“Mate,” Azriel choked out in a whisper, his hand resting on your cheek. His eyes were still full of panic. “You’re…You’re my mate.”

You nodded, coughing again and more blood slipped out of your lips and down your chin. Azriel shouted frantically for a healer before focusing on you again, his eyes searching yours. “You knew?”

You nodded again, your body sagging in his hold. He let out a panicked cry and pulled you into his lap. “How long? How long have you known?”

“A while,” you managed to croak, your fingers raising to caress his jaw again.

Azriel stared at you in horror as he shouted again for a healer. You could hear the pounding of feet and other panicked whispers but you tuned it all out. You just wanted to go peacefully. No screaming, no cries. Just you and Azriel for the last second of your life.

“Why?” he cried out, wiping one of your tears away. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You…were…happy,” you struggled to get out, your eyes closing with the effort. Azriel shook your body, tears filling up in his eyes.

“No, stay awake, Y/n, you have to stay awake,” Azriel pleaded with you. “The healer is almost here, okay. Just stay awake a little longer.”

“I-It’s…okay,” you mumbled. “Want…want to go.”

You coughed again, blood splatting your face. Azriel released a cry that nearly caused the ground to shake. “No, you can’t. You can’t go. You’re my mate, Y/n. You can’t do this to me!”

“I’ll find…you…again,” you slurred out. “Maybe…maybe I’ll be…good enough….then.”

You blinked once, your vision blurry but you could see Azriel’s beautiful face. Gods, he was so beautiful. He was screaming something but your hearing went along with your vision, slowly worsening until finally, your heart stopped beating in your chest.

And with that, the pain was finally gone.

• ───────────────── •

I knew you in another life

You had that same look in your eyes

I love you, don't act so surprised

• ───────────────── •

Epilogue

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar x you #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel angst #azriel spymaster #acotar angst #Spotify

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the-lonelybarricade · 2 years ago

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Oh my GOD 😭😭😭🥺

I AM SO TOUCHED. THIS IS IS AMAZING. OH MY GOD???

Bestie I am literally speechless thank you so much for making this 🥺 You included everything, even the heart shaped eggs 🥺🥺 And the customary shirtless husband 🥺🥺🥺

i am in PIECES thank you so much 😭 I LOVE YOU SO MUCH YOU ARE THE SWEETEST ANGEL OML

💕Happy Valentine's Day to @the-lonelybarricade💕

Thank you my love for welcoming me into this fandom, you are such a bright star and you have a wicked sense of humour 😂!! I cherish our friendship and I have created a moodboard for the latest Grim!Rhys chapter as my Valentine's Day pressie for you.

I have never done something like this before and I was SUPER nervous to share this but thank you to @velidewrites for checking this for me and encouraging me to do this.

LB I am sending you loads of love and kisses and I hope you are feeling better. ❤️💕❤️

#GOSH this was so sweet #AHHHHHH #i can’t believe you did this for me 😭😭😭#thank you so much!#grim!Rhys #Till Death Do Us Part

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peachesofteal · 5 days ago

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Tip of my Tongue - single mom fic Azriel/female reader

Original musing - based on/rewritten for this anthology

He hears the beginning of the conversation before he sees it.

"Eight copper marks." The merchant drawls, tone half soaked in disdain.

"Eight for five ... ? That's robbery."

"You're either good for it, or you can move along." Azriel's brow furrows. You're not wrong, it is robbery to charge that much for a measly five apples. The going rate is one for four, at the most. One copper mark is usually enough to buy a loaf of bread.

He shakes it off. Market value and bartering is not within his scope of interest.

None of his business.

"I can give you four."

"Not interested." He turns at that, looking over his shoulder to find the source of the back and forth, curious to see who the merchant is, the one gutsy enough to rip someone off. He expects to see some pompous High or Lesser Fae, a male with his nose in the air, a sneer scrawled across his lips.

Instead, all he sees is you.

An Illyrian? You're rigid in your stance, a half stride away from the stall, hair and skin glowing in the midday sun, trying to face off with the extorter. The shadows make a rare daylight appearance, peering curiously through the crowd, assessing you with interest, and he cocks his head. You look like an Illyrian, almost, but... no wings, shorter stature. Why?

Above all, you're beautiful, but it's marred with a bone deep exhaustion, expression kind but grim at the same time, impatience and stress battling for the brilliance shining in your eyes. His muscles tense as he sweeps the market looking for another, a male, shadows on high alert. It's not that Illyrians are forbidden from entering Velaris since its existence was exposed, it's just that they choose not to.

An Illyrian in the city could be cause for alarm, or at least, suspicion.

His breath catches in his chest when you shift your weight.

There's a baby on your hip. A baby... with wings. Tiny, delicate, claw tipped wings. Membranes so thin, so fragile they're almost see through, flexing and fluttering while also trying to stay tucked together.

The sight of them does something to him. Scrambles his mind, distracts him, nearly blackens his vision. He's not sure he understands what he's seeing at all.

What're you doing here? Are you alone? Is that your baby?

And why do you look so damn exhausted? Are you sick? Is there something wrong with you?

It becomes abundantly clear why the merchant is trying to jack the price up on the produce.

Instinct takes over and he closes the distance between himself and the situation, coming to stand to your left, blackened tendrils snaking towards the merchant, and his face drains of color. He looms over you, lethal edge in his voice cutting to the quick. "She'll pay you the standard market price of one." You stiffen into stone, glancing at him once before looking down, and he doesn't miss how you curl your arms around the baby like you're trying to hide them. Protect them. He wonders if he should say something to put you at ease, but he can't find the words.

"O-of course, of course. Here," he scoops them into a net as quickly as possible, and shoves them across the counter, eyes still fixed on Azriel as he practically shakes behind the stall. It's the right thing to do, he assures himself, intervening. This male and his prices are predatory. He'll need to be reported to Rhys, probably looked into.

It’s not his standard practice, the shadows hiss, he’s fair to others.

Anger burns in the pit of his stomach.

You’re still frozen, avoiding his attention, and the male glances at him hesitantly. "Your mark." Azriel murmurs, trying for an encouraging tone, but it comes out jagged, as his nature. For some reason, he has an urge to touch you, place his palm on your lower back for support, for comfort, for… he doesn’t know.

It was none of his business.

The merchant scuttles away, grumbling something about restocking under his breath, and shadow slowly dissipates, fanning out, following him, collecting all the necessary information. For another day.

You don't turn to face Azriel. Shoulders bunched high beneath your ears, you're vibrating with tension. He’s rarely at a loss but something about this, you, is unsettling. "Are you alr-"

"I'm fine, thanks for... thanks for that." You shrug in the direction of the stall, but you still won't look at him. You stare at your feet, hand cupping the back of the baby's head, arm partially blocking them from view, though they twist in your grip, trying to track the sound of his voice.

"Do you-“

"I should get going." You cut him off, again, and physically turn away, half nodding over your shoulder. "Thanks again." The evasion catches him off guard but before he can say anything else, you're gone. Vanished into the crowd, easily lost among the sea of others.

Rose and pink pepper lingers on the wind in your wake, floral and sharp, sweet.

Hel.

#tip of my tongue by the Civil Wars #peaches writes #azriel x reader #acotar #azriel acotar #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger

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sodapopwrites · 4 months ago

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like calls to like

azriel x shadowsinger!reader

summary - you and azriel have been dancing around the mating bond for years. hiding the secret of your shadowsinger powers from your friends for years. before leaving for hybern to destroy the cauldron some secrets must come out and some remain unsaid. both you and azriel must deal with outcome.

work count - 3.2k

warnings - angst i suppose.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I’ll stay”

Amren’s words sat heavy amongst the inner circle. The town house, in all its warmth, was dark. The air of what was ahead of them settling into the space. Rhysand studied her carefully.

“If Rhys must go to Hybern, then I am the only one of you who might hold the city until help arrives.”

Silent still.

He watched her eyes find his. His shadows curled around his neck. The smallest shake of his head. The smallest warning. Don’t.

“No you’re not.”

All heads turned towards her.

Grim faced, she held her chin high, meeting Rhysand’s gaze. He studied her. Brows furrowed. It only took him a moment to realize what she was hinting towards. He whipped towards Azriel. Who held his gaze. Cold as ever, but wavering just slightly. With guilt more than anything.

Amren’s silver eyes had not left hers. Watching the girl before her. The girl offering to stay behind and help. There was something like surprise, and what looked like a glimmer of approval, laced through Amren’s sharp features. Surprise that now was the time she was choosing to reveal this to Rhysand.

The highlord in question turned his gaze back to her, and it all clicked.

The way that his spymaster trailed behind her all these years. The way his shadows had curled around her like they followed her, and not only their master. Azriel’s insistence on training her personally. The shade that came over her features sometimes, so palpable it could almost be seen as real.

“How?”

The question voiced by Rhysand, but asked by all of them. Mor and Cassian studying the impassive look on Azriel’s face. Feyre looking only at Rhys, waiting for him to grow angrier. To ask the question with more insistence.

“How do any of us have any magic?”

Her words lingered in the air for a moment before being swatted away by Rhys’s retort.

“Why hide it? All this time?”

“It hid itself.”

He waited for her to continue. Eyebrows raised expectantly.

“I didn’t need…I didn’t know what it was until..”

Until Rhysand had gone under the mountain. Until the loss of a friend and the fear for the rest of Prythian had swallowed her whole. Until him. Until the shadowsinger became her solace. Until his shadows had wrapped themselves so tightly around hers that they couldn’t breath, that they had to come out. Why? She knew why. Like calls to like. But she forced it away. She didn’t want to know. Not until there was time, and there never seemed to be time.

Her eyes flitted to Azriel. Who had pointedly not said anything. Whose eyes were locked with his Highlords in some sort of silent battle. Some silent argument about the lie of omission.

Feyre’s hand came to rest on her mate’s arm. Severing the telepathic conversation with Azriel. Another time she seemed to say to him.

Mor loosed a sigh. “So what do we do now?”

Amren cast one more look towards the newly revealed shadowsinger, her ally to be in the hours coming, before saying, “We sleep. We eat.”

Azriel, voice raw and quiet, added “And then we retaliate.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He found her minutes before everyone was to depart.

He searched her face for any sign of fear of what was to come. Any sign of regret of the admissions made last night. Her eyes were fixed to the floor. Avoiding.

“Is he angry?”

Her question was whispered. Barely audible. He sighed heavily.

“Rhys is upset that he didn’t bother to notice. He’s upset that I didn’t tell him.”

“Why didn’t you tell him? I thought it would be one of the first things you’d tell him after he came back.”

He paused.

“You deserved to understand it. To wield it on your own. Before anyone else could.”

She looked up at him. Finally. Taking in his Illyrian leathers. Truth-teller by his side. His siphons glittering. He looked beautiful. Terrifying. With him those two features always seemed to blend together seamlessly. Fear and grace. Dread and delicacy.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The pair made their way downstairs. To where the group was readying themselves for departure. All of them dressed in the Illyrian leathers. Strapped with silver blades.

She watched as Feyre rose to kiss Rhysand and whisper “We’ll be fine – We’ll all be fine.”

Her eyes locked with Azriel’s. He gave her the smallest dip of his chin. As if in agreement with Feyre.

A small promise that he’d be safe. He’d be careful.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Azriel forced himself not to think of her while creeping his way through the Hybern castle.

He should have told her.

He took out another guard.

He should have told her.

He willed himself not to worry about whether or not she’d have to wage a battle of her own tonight. Demanded that cold calm to seep through him, to keep him focused on the task at hand.

Feyre standing in front of the Cauldron. Entranced almost. Moving to connect both halves of the book. A small glimmer of panic before it all happened.

He should have told her.

It wasn’t until the arrow pierced his chest that he let himself fall into the chasm of lament.

It wasn’t until he could not stand on his own that he let himself think it. As chaos and betrayal raged around him it was all he could think.

His mate.

He wasn’t even sure if she knew.

He should have told her. He should have told her. He should have said it.

He could feel it. The poison on the arrow tip. Weaving it’s way slowly through his entire body, through everything, shadows and all.

He could barely think. Could barely process what was happening around him. His eyes were barely open. His blood was everywhere. On everyone. Coating his brothers. Dripping onto the ground and trickling away. Trying desperately to escape him, as everything did, as everyone did. Everyone except for her. The shadows trapped within him straining against whatever held them. Trying desperately to make their way to something familiar. To her.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She sat with Amren in the town house. Never speaking. Barely moving. Frozen with worry that she wouldn’t let loose.

Amren’s silver eyes roamed over her. But she didn’t break the silence that had fallen over them in the last few hours.

They had been gone too long.

Something had gone wrong.

She could feel it. Darkness simmered in her gut, behind her rib cage, under her finger nails, everywhere. Shadows buzzing like they could sense a disturbance. Like they knew something had gone awry. Like they were reaching for something. For someone.

And then it happened. In a storm it all happened at once.

Rhysand slammed into the floor of the house. Amren lept from her seat, racing to their friends.

Cassians wings were shredded, bleeding, almost beyond repair.

Rhys’s face stricken with what could only be grief and rage and something else. Something she couldn’t quite place.

Mor nowhere to be seen.

She couldn’t see him. There were too many people in the entryway. She couldn’t see him.

Where was he.

“Get the book out of here”

Rhys shoved the thing towards Amren, who let it fall to the ground. The slender female ignored Rhysands order.

“Where is she?”

And then she could see him. As Rhysand moved slightly, as if he'd been hit by Amren's demanding question.

He was on the ground. Arrow in his chest. Eyes closed. Barely breathing.

A sob hurtled it’s way out of her throat, a sound so broken that it was barely a sob at all. She pushed her way through her friends. Falling to her knees before him. Ripping the arrow free of his chest. His blood spattering her hands, her face, the carpet. The faintest shadow seeped it’s way out of his wound.

Something in her broke. Something in her shattered. Something between them snapped.

Her mate.

She let the snap of that golden bond hit her hard.

Every bit that pent up worry, that pent up shadow, burst from her in a roaring storm. Reaching desperately, clawing for his prone form. Swirling around them.

The force of it pushed the others back a few paces. Rhysand’s wings stretching behind him in some desperate attempt at balance. Amren’s hair whipping around her face as she held steady to shield Cassian from it.

She had no idea how long she let the shadows rage around her, in fury, in terror, in grief.

She could hear the faintest call of her name through the tempest of black cloud. Mor.

She let the shadows calm…slowly. Gradually they retreated within her once more. As they ebbed away they swept gently across Azriel. Through his hair, across his cheekbones, over the hole in his chest. As if they thought they could heal him.

Her name once more echoed through the room.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t bring herself to raise her head from where it rested against him.

Her mate.

Did he even know?

How could he not?

Why follow her footsteps so closely? Why watch her form move through every room they shared? Why keep her secrets from his brother…His highlord?

How could he not have known? Like calls to like.

Why didn’t he say anything?

Would he ever be able say anything now?

She barely felt Mor come to kneel beside her. Barely felt Mor’s arms circle around her. Barely heard Amren repeat her earlier question. Barely registered Feyra’s gaping absence. Barely heard Rhysands explanation, his admission. High lady of the night court trapped once more in the thornes of Spring.

Azriel’s bleeding had eased, enough to keep him alive until the healer arrived. Her shadows still circled around his wound as if they were trying to keep the blood in his chest. As if they could do anything at all.

She couldn’t bring herself to rip her eyes away from him.

“Until then?” Amren demanded. “What of the cauldron – of the book?”

It was only when Rhysand responded that she was able to look away from her mate.

“Until then,” The high lord’s face was grim as he looked towards the door, as if he was hoping Feyre would miraculously walk through it, “We go to war.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She hadn’t left his bedside. She hadn’t slept. Hadn’t eaten. As long as Azriel remained unconscious, she remained restless.

Her eyes had lost any glimmer they once held. Her hair had gone flat and dull. Her skin pale and stretched thin.

She didn’t move when Rhysand crept into the room and took a seat in a chair a couple feet away. He watched her pained and tentative. He watched as she ran a hand over Azriel’s forehead, sweeping the hair from it, soothing the fever ridden skin. He watched as wisps of shadow trailed along his brothers face with her fingers.

“Why keep it a secret?”

She sniffed and straightened her spine. Still not looking at him, but acutely aware of his incessant stare. She didn’t answer.

“A gift like that. It’s rare…It’s vital.”

She turned to face him slowly. Her gaze full of reproach.

“Don’t dare to lecture me about secrets.”

Feyre Cursebreaker. High lady of the night court.

He clenched his jaw. She spoke once more, barely more than a whisper.

“If I had known. I would have-”

He shook his head. Realizing now where her anger was coming from.

“There was nothing you could have done.”

She looked back at Azriel and something in her cracked. A tear raced it’s way down her tired face.

“I would have gone. I would have helped. Protect her.”

Another tear. Searing a path down her cheek.

“I would have protected him…With my life.”

Rhysand moved to stand and sit by her. She tensed. He stilled and settled back into his seat.

“You protected his home.”

“I sat idle while he lay on death’s doorstep a hundred miles away.”

“You did exactly what you were supposed to.”

She took a rattling breath, “And it wasnt enough”

The cold fury in her voice sent a chill down Rhysand’s spine. No. Not a chill. A shadow had stretched from her to wind it’s way up his body. Cold and unrelenting. He watched it, more calmly than he should have per chance, before slowly responding.

“He didn’t want you to tell me you were a shadowsinger, for fear that I’d ask you to accompany us to Hybern.”

No response.

“He wanted you as far from that place as you could get.”

Again no response. Rhysand sighed and ran a hand over his face. He shook the tendrils of shadow off and moved closer to her. She let him lay a hand on her shoulder.

“He’s healing.”

She laid a hand over the bandages around Azriel’s wound, again refusing to look at Rhys, no matter the comfort he tried to offer her.

“He’s okay.”

He heard a creak in the doorway. Mor leaned against the doorframe and cocked her head, beckoning him out of the room. Telling him to leave her be. He relented, withdrawing his hand from her shoulder, and closing the door behind him as he followed Mor down the hall.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

No one spoke to her in following days. Not that it would have been any comfort to her. She could hear the whispers of her friends in the hall behind the closed door. She could feel the worry seeping up through the floorboards from the rooms below. She ignored the panic that came off of Rhys in waves. She knew what being separated from his mate was doing to him, and she just couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when her own lay stationary in bed, sweating out a fever, working a poison out of his blood stream.

She would feel guilty later. For abandoning her family while they all suffered loses.

Mor would come by every couple hours to try and get her to eat. It never really worked. The room was always clouded with shadow and with unspoken grief. Even Amren prefered not to enter. No one could bear the darkness that she had let consume her, that she let simmer around her. The black mist that she let settle against the carpet and pool into every corner.

Cassian came to visit once, when he was strong enough. He stood next to the bed that she had yet to move from and stared at his best friends figure. The sight of Azriel blanched his face to a snowy white. He looked like he could be sick. He tried to play it off with a half hearted comment about how the shadows she summoned probably weren’t helping the healing process. He barely managed to get the statement out before he was met with a piercing glare, and excused himself from the room.

Another thing she would feel guilty about later.

She didn’t know how many days had passed. It didn’t matter. Every hour felt like years.

She was so tired.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had let herself sleep.

She couldn’t look at him anymore, moving to face away from him. She remembered the last time she was in his room. In this bed.

Weak morning light flickered through closed curtains. Her fingers tangled with his and she watched as he spun a shadow between their interlocked hands. She listened to the hum of content that rumbled through his chest and she sank further into him. Letting his warmth envelope her. He let her take control of the shadow winding it’s way down their arms.

Like calls to like.

She flicked it into his face and watched it disperse with a small laugh. He stared back at her. Something in his eyes. Something dangerous. Something warm and adoring.

A golden thread wound it’s way out from her soul, from her chest, reaching for him, begging to connect with him. She pulled away and moved to start getting dressed.

“Stay” He had whispered.

“I have to meet Cassian. I promised him we’d train at seven. It’s seven thirty.” He rolled his eyes and stretched his arms over his head. Watching as she sat on the edge of his bed.

“He’s going to be pissed you’re late.”

She let out a huff of annoyance at his response while she tugged on her boots. He watched her tie the laces and slowly let one of his shadows creep towards her. It wrapped around her hands and her movements stilled.

“I have to go.” It was a whisper.

He rolled over, closer to her now, and ran a hand down her back in what could have been a soothing gesture, if he hadn’t been trying to get her to come back to bed.

“Don’t”

Her tone a mock stern.

He tried to hide a smile, “Why not?”

“Because if I stay here with you a moment longer I’ll do something stupid.”

He wasn’t even trying to hide the smirk now.

“Like what?”

She looked at him, lips pressed into a thin line like she was actually nervous. Maybe she was.

Like fall in love with him. That’s what he knew she wouldn’t say. He nodded his relent.

“Better hurry. Cassian is apparently taking Feyra to the Symphony today.”

She let out a snort trying to imagine the bulking warrior in a theater.

“And what are your plans for the day spymaster?”

He shrugged, “Patrol”.

She nodded once. Straightening and heading for the door. She paused before leaving. Maybe considering voicing what they both knew she wouldn’t.

He should tell her. He should tell her.

The thought rampaged through his mind, through the gaping hole in his heart that he yearned for her to fill.

“I’ll see you at dinner?” Was what he said instead.

She pushed away the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

She should have said something. That morning. Before the attack. Before Hybern. She should have said something.

She couldn’t even bring herself to cry now. She was too tired. Too dehydrated.

Something cold ran its way down her back. She shivered. Another shadow.

No. It was solid. Something solid and cold rested against her skin. A hand.

“You look terrible”

She whipped around at the sound of it. His voice. Shredded to a thin rasp, but his voice nonetheless.

Hazel eyes blinked under long dark lashes. Smile lines crinkled the corners of them. He was awake.

And there it was.

That golden thread untangling itself from her ribs. Calling for him.

And she leaned into it. Letting it wind it’s way towards him as she crashed into him. A pained huff escaped him at the impact. She pulled away at the sound, her hands grasping each side of his face. She turned his face from side to side, inspecting him, as if his appearance in the last couple minutes had changed.

And then she let herself laugh. An unbelieving sound.

“I look terrible? You have a hole in you chest.”

Half a joke. Half a panicked statement.

And then he felt it. That golden thread. That bond. That thrumming power reaching out and unwavering.

She knew. She knew. She knew.

His mate.

“Not anymore”

His words held years of meaning. Years of longing and pushing away. Years of hiding from what they were. Years of letting her hide from it.

They held eachothers gaze for a moment, and then she frowned.

“Not anymore huh? You want me to stick my finger in there to prove a point?”

He winced at the thought and shook his head.

“No. I want you to kiss me.”

#azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #rhysand #amren acotar #cassian #morrigan acotar #the night court #asomaf #acotar #bat boys #cassian acotar #feyre archeron #azriel x you #azriel x oc #shadowsinger x reader

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onebadassunicorn · 23 days ago

Text

The Way We Were

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: pining, angst, despair, death, suicide

word count: 4.1K

Taglist: @motheroffae @demon-master-zero @tele86 @batboyslutt @salvatoresister1 @callsign-midnight @angiieguevara @kk191327 @rcarbo1 @jennigsonl

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Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

********

Chapter 6

Azriel POV

The pain hit Azriel like a physical blow, sharp and searing, as if someone had driven a blade into his chest and twisted it. One moment, he was standing in Rhysand’s office, listening to your last message through the bond, and the next, it was gone—you were gone.

The bond snapped violently, leaving a hollow, aching void where it had once been. His knees buckled, and his screams echoed through the halls of the House of Wind, raw and unrelenting, each one a visceral cry of anguish that seemed to shake the very walls.

He was on his knees in Rhysand’s office, his wings limp and his hands clawing at the bond that no longer existed. His shadows flailed around him, wild and uncontrolled, as though they, too, were mourning the loss of something they could never retrieve.

“NO!” he wailed again, his voice breaking as he slammed his fist into the floor. Tears streamed down his face, and he didn’t bother to wipe them away. “No, no, no! She can’t be gone!”

Rhys was beside him, his hands gripping Azriel’s shoulders tightly in an attempt to ground him. “Azriel,” he said, his voice firm but thick with his own grief. “You have to breathe. You—”

“I CAN’T!” Azriel roared, shoving Rhys’s hands away as his entire body trembled with the force of his despair. “She’s gone, Rhys! She’s gone!”

The door to the office burst open, and Feyre, Cassian, and Nesta rushed in, their faces pale and etched with alarm. The sound of Azriel’s cries had drawn them from every corner of the House, but nothing could have prepared them for the sight before them.

Azriel was crumpled on the floor, his usually composed and stoic demeanor completely shattered. His wings dragged limply behind him, his shadows a chaotic storm around his trembling frame. He clutched at his chest as though trying to hold himself together, but it was clear he was falling apart.

“Azriel?” Feyre’s voice was soft but trembling as she stepped closer, her violet eyes wide with concern.

Rhys glanced at her, his expression grim and heavy. “She’s gone,” he said quietly, the words seeming to weigh down the entire room.

“What do you mean?” Cassian demanded, his hazel eyes darting between Rhys and Azriel. “What the hell is going on?”

Rhys took a deep breath, his jaw tightening as he prepared to deliver the news. “Y/n was on a mission,” he began, his voice low but steady. “A dangerous one. Undercover in the Hewn City. She volunteered because...” He hesitated, his gaze flicking to Azriel, who let out another broken sob. “Because she thought she had the least to lose.”

Feyre gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes. “Why didn’t we know? Why didn’t she—”

“She asked me not to tell anyone,” Rhys said, his tone filled with regret. “She wanted it to be her mission, and she didn’t want anyone else involved. I respected her wishes.”

Nesta’s usually stoic face crumpled as she took a step back, her hand gripping the edge of the desk for support. “She was my friend,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “She didn’t even say goodbye.”

Cassian staggered, his hand gripping the back of a chair as he tried to process the words. “Like a sister,” he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. “She was like a sister to me. And now—” He broke off, shaking his head as tears streamed down his face.

Feyre knelt beside Azriel, her own tears falling freely as she reached out to him. “Azriel, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

But he didn’t respond. He didn’t seem to hear her. His entire world had narrowed to the overwhelming, suffocating pain that consumed him. “She was my mate,” he choked out, his voice barely audible. “And I didn’t tell her. I didn’t... I let her think she didn’t matter.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and crushing.

Nesta turned away, covering her face with her hands as silent sobs wracked her body. Cassian moved to her side, his expression torn between his own grief and the need to comfort her.

Rhys stayed close to Azriel, his hand resting on his friend’s shoulder even as Azriel continued to wail and sob, the sound raw and unending.

“She didn’t know,” Azriel whispered brokenly, his head falling into his hands. “She didn’t know how much I loved her. How much I needed her. She thought... she thought she wasn’t enough.”

Feyre’s tears fell harder, and even Rhys’s composure began to crack as he looked down at the male who had always been their steady, unshakable spymaster.

But Azriel was inconsolable.

Each passing moment only seemed to deepen his despair, the bond’s absence a constant, agonizing reminder of what he had lost. He had waited too long, taken too much for granted, and now he was left with nothing but regret and the hollow shell of what might have been.

Hours passed, but Azriel didn’t move from the floor of Rhys’s office. His sobs gradually quieted into a haunting silence, but the devastation in his eyes remained.

He was a shadow of himself—broken, lost, and hollow.

The Inner Circle tried to help, tried to pull him from the depths of his grief, but Azriel remained unreachable, his heart and soul shattered beyond repair.

The days that followed were a blur. Azriel withdrew completely, retreating to his room and refusing to see anyone. His once-pristine appearance became disheveled, his usually sharp amber eyes dull and lifeless.

He stopped training, stopped flying, stopped eating unless someone forced him to. His shadows, once lively and alert, now moved sluggishly around him, as if they, too, were mourning.

A few days later, Rhys approached Azriel in his room, his usual commanding presence softened by grief. In his hand, he held a sealed letter.

“She left this,” Rhys said quietly, holding it out to Azriel before turning and letting Azriel read the letter in private.

Azriel hesitated, his hands trembling as he took the letter. The parchment was soft under his fingertips, your handwriting familiar even before he broke the seal.

He unfolded it, his eyes scanning the words as tears blurred his vision.

_________________________________________________________

Azriel,

If you’re reading this, then it means I didn’t make it back.

I’m sorry.

I’m so sorry for the pain of the physical break in the mating bond will cause you, even if you might believe I wasn’t worth that grief. I don’t know how to start this letter, because there’s so much I want to say, and I never had the courage to say it when I was alive.

The bond snapped for me years ago. I felt it, clear as day, like a thread tying me to you in a way I couldn’t explain, a way I never expected. I wanted to tell you so many times, Azriel. But how could I, when I saw how happy you seemed with her? How could I stand in the way of something that brought you even a flicker of light in the darkness I know you carry?

I convinced myself that it didn’t matter. That my feelings didn’t matter. You were smiling, laughing more than I’d ever seen you, and I thought I could be content just watching you find that happiness—even if it wasn’t with me.

But then everything started to change.

Slowly, so slowly, I began to lose you.

Do you remember how we used to go down to the Sidra and people-watch for hours? You’d tell the most ridiculous stories about strangers’ lives, and I’d try to one-up you with something even more absurd. It always made me laugh, even on the hardest days. And flying—Azriel, those moments meant everything to me. Feeling the wind rushing past us, knowing you were the one carrying me. I felt safe with you in a way I never felt with anyone else.

But you started doing those things with her. I’d catch glimpses of you and Elain by the Sidra, her laughter ringing out like it belonged in another world. I saw the way you looked at her when you took her flying, the way your shadows wrapped around her protectively. I tried to convince myself it didn’t hurt, but it did. Every time I saw you with her, it felt like another piece of me was slipping away.

And yet, I couldn’t be angry at you. You were just being you—kind, thoughtful, devoted. I couldn’t hate you for loving someone else, even as it tore me apart.

I missed you, Azriel.

I missed us.

I missed the way you used to look at me, the way you used to confide in me. Somewhere along the way, I stopped being the person you turned to, and that was the hardest thing to accept. You were my best friend, my anchor, my everything, and I didn’t know how to tell you that without making it all worse.

I thought if I could just bury my feelings deep enough, if I could put on a brave face, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much.

But it did.

It hurt more than I can put into words.

And then, that night in Rhys’s office... when I saw you at the door, and I felt the bond snap for you... Azriel, I wanted to believe it would change something. That maybe, just maybe, it meant I mattered to you the way you’ve always mattered to me.

But you didn’t say anything.

You just walked away, and I told myself it was because I wasn’t enough.

I’m sorry if that sounds cruel. I don’t mean it to. But it’s the truth I’ve lived with for so long—that I was never enough for you. Not as your friend, not as your mate, not as anything.

I hope you find someone who makes you truly happy, Azriel. Someone who gives you all the love you deserve, who stands by your side in a way I never could. I hope you fly with them, laugh with them, and find the peace you’ve always been searching for.

And maybe, in another life, things will be different.

Maybe then, I’ll have the courage to tell you all of this in person.

Maybe then, you’ll see me the way I’ve always seen you.

But for now, this is goodbye.

Please don’t blame yourself for what happened.

I made my choices because I wanted to protect the people I love—you most of all.

Be happy, Azriel.

For me.

With all my love,

Y/n

______________________________________________

Azriel sat on the edge of his bed, the letter trembling in his hands as he read it again.

And again.

The words blurred as tears filled his amber eyes, but he couldn’t stop himself from tracing every line, every word, as if reading it enough times might bring you back.

But you were gone.

The bond—his bond—was gone.

That thread, that fragile, miraculous connection he hadn’t even realized he wanted so desperately until it was too late, had been severed.

And with it, the one person who had truly seen him, understood him, was lost forever.

He felt it like a gaping wound in his chest, an emptiness that nothing could fill. He had never truly believed in the idea of a mate completing someone until that moment, when your absence hollowed him out entirely. It wasn’t just grief—it was despair, sharp and suffocating, pulling him under like a riptide.

At one point, Azriel had thought it made sense—the idea of three sisters for three brothers. Feyre and Rhys were perfect for each other, bound by a love so fierce it was almost enviable. Nesta and Cassian had a bond that burned just as brightly, full of fire and passion. It had seemed logical, hadn’t it? That the third Archeron sister, quiet and gentle Elain, would fall to him, the shadowed and silent brother.

He’d told himself it was what he wanted, that the Mother had crafted a perfect symmetry in their lives. He had tried to convince himself that the softness of Elain would soothe the darkness inside him, that her kindness would balance the weight of his shadows. But now, sitting in the suffocating quiet of his room, he saw how stupid, how utterly foolish, that idea had been.

The letter crumpled slightly in his fists, and he clutched it tighter, his wings curling around him as if he could shield himself from the pain. His shadows writhed around him, erratic and desperate, searching for something they couldn’t find.

Searching for you.

He hadn’t realized how much he relied on you until now, when you were gone and the memories came crashing down, one after another, like daggers.

He thought of the mornings by the Sidra, sitting with you in the sunlight as you both sipped tea and watched the city come to life. Your laugh had been brighter than any star, your smile the only thing that could pull him out of his darkest thoughts. You’d nudge him with your elbow, challenging him to come up with the most ridiculous backstory for the people passing by. And he always did, just to hear that laugh again.

He thought of the times he’d taken you flying, the way you’d grip his shoulders tightly at first but then relax as you trusted him to keep you safe. You’d shout at him to go higher, faster, your joy infectious, and he had never felt more at peace than when you were with him.

He thought of your training sessions, your sharp wit and competitive spirit pushing him in ways no one else could. You’d smirk when you managed to best him, and he’d laugh, genuinely laugh, because with you, he could let his guard down.

And then, slowly, those memories began to twist.

He hadn’t even realized when he started to pull away from you. It had been so gradual, so unintentional, that he hadn’t seen it until it was too late.

The mornings by the Sidra became mornings with Elain. He thought of all the times he had taken Elain to the Sidra, convincing himself it was right, that it was fate. And yet, those moments had felt hollow, empty. They had lacked the spark, the warmth, that came so effortlessly with you. He hadn’t noticed, at the time, how he’d stopped inviting you to join him.

The flights he once cherished with you became flights with Elain. He thought of the flights he had shared with her, how her timid grip on his shoulders had never felt like home the way yours had. How he had been so blind, so lost in a fantasy of what he thought his life should look like, that he hadn’t realized what he was sacrificing. It hadn’t felt the same, but he’d told himself it didn’t matter.

Even the training sessions shifted. He had tried to convince Elain to train with him, his gentle coaxing a stark contrast to the fiery banter he had shared with you. He thought he was helping her, thought he was doing something good, but now he could see how he had pushed you aside without even realizing it.

And the whole time, you had been there, watching him, hurting silently while he drifted further away.

Yet - it had always been you.

His perfect match.

His mate.

The thought hit him like a physical blow, and he doubled over, clutching the letter tighter to his chest as his shadows writhed in agitation around him. He saw it now with agonizing clarity—the way you had always been there, the way you had made him laugh when he didn’t think he could, the way your presence had brought him a comfort he had never been able to put into words.

He had spent so much time chasing a dream that wasn’t real, blind to the fact that the thing he had always hoped for—the thing he had needed—had been right in front of him all along.

The one thing he had dreamed of since the darkest days of his youth, since those endless nights of pain and loneliness, was a mate to call his own. Someone to choose him, to see him, to love him despite the scars on his hands and soul. And when the Mother finally gave him that gift, she ripped it away before he could do anything about it.

His hands shook as he read your letter again, your words cutting into him like a blade.

“The bond snapped for me years ago.”

Years.

You had known for years, and he hadn’t seen it.

He hadn’t seen you.

He had been so caught up in the idea of Elain, so consumed by his own insecurities and fears, that he had let you slip away without even realizing it.

Azriel’s chest ached as he remembered the last time he saw you in Rhys’s office, the way your eyes had met his when the bond snapped for him. He had been so shocked, so panicked, that he had done nothing. He had been too much of a coward to act. Too afraid of what it would mean, too unsure of how to fix what he had already broken.

Now, he would never get the chance.

The Mother had taken you from him before he could tell you how much you meant to him. Before he could say that he loved you—not as a friend, not as a partner in battle, but as the one person who had ever truly mattered to him.

Azriel let out a broken sob, his wings drooping as his shadows curled tightly around him like they were trying to hold him together.

But they couldn’t.

Nothing could.

Azriel leaned back against the wall, clutching the letter to his chest as tears streamed silently down his face. The memory of your laughter, your smile, your voice played over and over in his mind like a cruel echo. He could almost hear you teasing him, could almost feel the warmth of your presence beside him.

And now you were gone.

The thought was unbearable, and a choked sob escaped his throat as he doubled over, clutching the letter to his chest. His shadows surged around him, frantic and chaotic, as if they, too, were mourning.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice trembling and broken. “I’m so sorry.”

But his apology would never reach you.

You would never hear the words he had been too afraid to say.

You would never know that you had been his everything, even when he was too blind to see it.

Azriel sat there for hours, the letter still clutched in his hands, as memories of you played over and over in his mind. He thought of your laughter, your smile, the way you had always been there for him, even when he didn’t deserve it. And he thought of your words, the way you had poured your heart into that letter, even as you prepared to face the possibility of never coming back.

“Maybe in the next life, things will be different.”

The words haunted him, wrapping around his heart like a vice.

Azriel didn’t know how to live without you.

The bond was gone, and with it, the piece of himself he had only just begun to understand.

He felt incomplete, untethered, and utterly alone.

And in the darkest moments of the night, when the world was silent and his shadows were still, Azriel whispered your name into the void, hoping—praying—that somehow, somewhere, you could hear him.

But you didn’t come.

And the emptiness inside him grew.

Azriel stood on the balcony one night, the cold wind whipping through his hair and biting at his skin. The city below was peaceful, the lights of Velaris glittering like stars. It should have comforted him, but it didn’t.

Nothing did.

He reached out to the bond, or what remained of it—the frayed, severed edges that had once tied him to you.

There was nothing there now, no warmth, no spark.

Just silence.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the night, his voice trembling. “I’m so sorry. For everything. For not choosing you when I had the chance. For not being there when you needed me. For failing you.”

His wings trembled as he stared into the vast expanse of darkness beyond the city. He thought of you—your smile, your laughter, the way you had always looked at him like he was more than the broken boy he saw in himself. You had given him everything, and he had given you nothing but pain.

He couldn’t do it anymore.

He couldn’t live in a world where you didn’t exist, where every breath felt like a reminder of the love he had lost.

Azriel stepped to the edge of the balcony, as the wind howled around him. He closed his eyes, his mind filled with memories of you—your voice, your touch, your light.

The cold night air rushed past Azriel as he stepped off the edge of the balcony, the wind tearing at his hair and wings as he fell. He didn’t open them. He didn’t even try.

For centuries, his wings had been his salvation, carrying him above the pain and shadows that weighed on his soul. But now, they remained tightly folded, useless against the crushing despair that consumed him.

The city below blurred into darkness, the glittering lights of Velaris fading as his tears streamed down his face, freezing against his skin. He didn’t feel the cold. He didn’t feel anything but the emptiness where you used to be.

The bond was gone.

You were gone.

And with you had gone the last piece of himself that mattered.

His shadows swirled around him, frantic and restless, as if trying to catch him, to slow his descent. But even they seemed to falter, as if they, too, understood that nothing could save him now.

The world around him seemed to fade, and all he could think of was you. Your laugh, the way it used to fill the silence and make him believe, for a fleeting moment, that he wasn’t so broken. The way you’d look at him during your walks by the Sidra, your eyes bright with life and mischief. The way you had always been there for him, always seen him, even when he had been too blind to see you in return.

He clutched the memory of you like a lifeline, his mind replaying the words of your letter over and over again.

“Maybe in the next life, things will be different.”

The wind screamed in his ears, but it couldn’t drown out your voice, couldn’t erase the ache of your absence.

“In the next life,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he let his body fall faster, surrendering to the pull of the darkness below. “I’ll find you. And I’ll choose you. Every time.”

The stars above seemed to blur into streaks of light, and his tears mixed with the wind as he let the weight of his grief consume him. He didn’t try to stop it, didn’t try to fight.

Because a world without you wasn’t a world he wanted to live in.

As the ground rushed up to meet him, Azriel’s final thought was of you—your smile, your warmth, your love.

The love he had ignored, the love he had only just begun to understand when it was ripped away.

As the darkness closed in, and with it came the faintest flicker of hope.

The hope that somewhere, in the next life, he would find you again.

And this time, he would choose you.

Every time.

*********************

Y'all - It hurt me to write this but I’ve always wrote happy endings and wanted to try my hand at writing some tragedy and expand my writing beyond just the “happily ever after.”

I hope you all enjoyed it and I will definitely have more Azriel, Cassian and some Lucien coming within the next day or so. I promise they will be happier endings with some smut…although I may try another tragedy as well. :)

Thanks for reading my fics and leaving your comments and re-blogs!

I truly appreciate all you!

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #azriel #azriel angst #azriel fic #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel x female!reader

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the-lonelybarricade · 1 year ago

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I am actually begging for one shot prompts because every time I try to think of something to write for this week, my mind just turns to TV static

Prompts ✨ Guidelines ✨ AO3 Collection

We can't wait to see you all!

🎨: davidjbrunson

#I feel like the requests pre-feysand week were Grim!Rhys and daddy!Rhys?#Is that still what we want?#This will not be a full week of LB uploads but I will do my best to at least write something #rhysweek2023

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7seas-of-ryy · 6 months ago

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I Need You | Part 4

Author’s Note: I can't thank you guys enough for reading my writing. I'm looking forward to your thoughts on this part <3

Summary: You were saved but you still have so many questions. Trying to sort everything out might be harder than it seems.

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Talks of torture, self hatred, angst, let me know if I need to add any others :)

"I've healed her as much as I can. Now she needs rest." you heard Madja speak

Darkness.

"I failed her, Rhys" you heard Cassian cry softly

Darkness.

"Thank you for saving her" you heard Feyre gently speak

Darkness.

"I forgot about her, then let Elain convince me to stay for longer. Let her convince me that y/n would be ok waiting a little bit longer for me." Azriel yelled

Well, that explains why he didn't show up.

"She's awake" Rhys stated

Both of the Illyrian males hurried over to you.

"Hey sunshine, how are you feeling" Your High Lord and good friend smiled softly down at you

"I'm fine" you whispered, voice hoarse from all the screaming you had been doing

Rhys hesitated, clearly knowing you were not fine. He didn't want to push you but he couldn't leave you alone after everything that just happened.

"Cassian told me most of what happened but there are certain parts he can't fill in. I don't want you to have to relive it but it might help us figure out why you were their target" he spoke so softly, as if speaking too loud would break you

Once he asked to see, it all hit you. The questions about Nyx, so many questions about him, you started to panic. Tears filled your eyes. He needed to know, he needed to understand that you didn't tell your torturers anything. You started hyperventilating, panicking, you had to let him know you were strong enough to withstand the pain.

"Rhys I promise I never broke. I never told them anything. No matter how much they hurt me, I swear. They asked so many times but I never broke, I swear I promise I was strong-" your sobs cut you off and Rhys bent down and pulled you into a tight hug.

"Shh I know. You did so well, please don't worry about any of that" he spoke into your neck, his own tears now pouring down his face.

You couldn't control yourself. Still terrified of saying, doing the wrong thing. You were shaking and crying hysterically. You knew they needed to see what you were tortured over so you sent the thought out hoping Rhys would understand what you were doing. He knew immediately, standing up and giving you a small nod.

You showed him everything, still shaking and crying. Azriel reached out for you and you let him. You needed anything, anyone to anchor you. He wrapped his arms around you and you cried in his chest.

Azriel looked at Rhys and saw the pained look on his face as the scene was happening in his head. Once he saw it all, he ran out of the room muttering something about a sleep tonic. The shadowsinger held you even tighter as if he could put all the pieces of you back together.

"I'm so sorry, you needed me and I wasn't there. I'm so sorry, so so sorry...." He kept repeating. You wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault, to help take away the guilt he was feeling but all you could think about was Cass repeating that same thing in the dungeon.

Just like that, the terror built up inside you. Your mind tricking you into thinking you were back in the chains being tortured. You started kicking and screaming, Azriel holding you down so you wouldn't hurt yourself.

"Rhys, you got that sleep tonic? Anytime now!" He shouted hoping his friend was coming

Moments later, Rhys winnowed in the room with Madja. Once she assessed the situation, she looked grim.

"Sleep tonics will not work, this is too severe. Move, boy." Madja spoke, pushing the spymaster away and setting her hands on you.

You started to settle and slowly fell asleep.

"This won't last long. I can only fix the physical pain or symptoms. Her mind tricked her body into thinking she was being tortured again. I eased that pain but it will take a lot more to ease the pain inside her," the healer looked at them with sorrow, "I'm sorry but this is as much as I can do for her."

Azriel immediately sat in the chair next to your bed, holding your hand with both of his. Rhys patted him on the back and left to try and figure more out.

You slept for 2 straight days, with Az never leaving your side. He couldn't believe he let this happen. You were his best friend, and more than that he had always been in love with you. After everything with Mor, he couldn't risk getting hurt again or losing you so he pushed his feelings away. It was the most painful thing he had done and once Elain came along he thought it would be easier to keep himself wrapped up in her.

He deeply regretted that now. You would hate him now. He forgot about you, left you there alone. He wouldn't be surprised if you never spoke to him again.

Lucien slowly entered the room, "How is she?" he asked Azriel

"Not great but she'll get there... thank you," his voice broke, "I haven't gotten a chance to tell you yet, thank you for saving her"

Lucien nodded at the male, a solemn look upon his face, "She didn't deserve any of this. I knew you and Elain had been spending time together and it pissed me off. She's my mate, but I knew she wanted you and not me, so I suffered in silence because I thought I deserved it..." he paused, "Y/n has always been kind to me. Accepted me the moment she saw me with Feyre. Offered her company when she knew Elain was away with you so I wouldn't have to be alone. She did not deserve any of this. She did not deserve to be pushed aside and forgotten."

Azriel stared at him, stunned. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it not knowing what to say, opened it again, "...I-"

"Do not hurt her again." Lucien stated, cutting him off and walked out of the room with one last look at you.

His shadows swirled around him, covering his neck to comfort him. They had been all over you for the most part. Wrapped around your arms and legs or nuzzled in your hair. After a while they whispered to him, she's waking up.

Your eyes slowly opened and the male at your side quickly stood to grab you some water. He helped you sit up in the bed against the wall and you both sat in silence for a while. You could tell he hadn't been sleeping, the bags under his eyes were the worst they had ever been.

"Sunshine" Az said, and it made you flinch.

You felt like your soul was the darkest its ever been. You weren't sunshine, you were storms and pain. You felt disgusted with yourself, hated yourself for being caught so easily. For allowing Cassian to be taken and have to witness everything. You hated yourself for causing everyone so much trouble and pain. You wished you died in that dungeon.

Cassian, Rhys, and Feyre all walked in. Feyre had a kind, hesitant smile, Rhys looked relieved that you were awake and not freaking out, and Cassian wouldn't even look at you. You assumed he was probably upset with you for dragging him into this and getting him tortured.

"Do you know why they picked me?" you asked quickly, so you wouldn't have to keep seeing their sad looks

"We're still not entirely sure. We know they were trying to find out things about Nyx but they could have taken any one of us for that." Feyre stated

"Maybe they thought I was the weakest and easiest to get answers out of?" you guessed.

"No, it felt very personal towards you y/n. It was like he hated you, don't get me wrong, he enjoyed beating me up but he was ecstatic to hurt you" Cassian spoke, still avoiding eye contact

"How did Lucien even find us?" you asked

"All he said was that Eris sent him a location and told him he needed to get there right away but that no one could see him there. Once he got there, he heard your screams and ran to save you. We've been trying to contact Eris but he hasn't responded." Rhys spoke

"I'm going to find whoever did this, and I'm going to slowly tear them to shreds" Azriel growled softly, still holding your hand.

"I don't understand what I did wrong-" you voice wavered and there it was. The look everyone was giving you made you feel sick. They knew you were broken now, you couldn't hide it anymore. You coughed to try and cover up the weakness in your voice.

"But we'll figure it out and I'll be ok. We'll all be ok. Now, I'm starving so I would love to join you guys for a meal tonight." You tried to smile at them. You needed them to think you were fine, that you were strong. They didn't need a weak link in their group. The last thing you wanted to do was eat but you figured that might convince them you were all good.

The four of them stared at you as if you grew a third eye on your head.

"Maybe you should take it easy, I can bring some food to you" Azriel suggested.

"Yeah that would be easier" the rest of them agreed.

"C'mon guys seriously, I'm fine. Give me a couple minutes to get dressed and I'll head down. I can try to help figure out what this is all about before we eat." you said weakly

"No. You are staying up here and resting. If you are hungry, one of us will get you food." Rhys commanded in a tone that left no room for negotiation.

"Is that an order from my High Lord or an order from my boss" you asked harshly

"It's an order from your friend." he softly stated, "let us know if you need anything"

The three of them left but Az stayed at your side. You didn't want to be alone but you also didn't want anyone to see you fall apart, which was about to happen any minute.

"Az, can you give me some time alone? I just need to think" you felt bad but you needed to be strong

Azriel gave you a sad smile, nodded, and headed for the door. The second it clicked shut, your facade fell apart. You began softly crying, you laid there all night like that until you finally cried yourself to sleep.

You didn't see the lone shadow in the corner of your room watching over you, and you didn't know Azriel slept outside your room on the floor all night long just in case you needed him.

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist :)

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#azriel shadowsinger #acotar imagine #azriel acotar #acotar #azriel fluff #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel spymaster #azriel angst #azriel x you

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the-lonelybarricade · 2 years ago

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Till Death Do Us Part - SJMRW

Here is one of my contributions to @sjmromanceweek for Day 4: Feelings Realization.

Summary: Feyre is sick on Valentines Day, throwing her Grim Reaper husband's plan into disarray

Read on AO3 ・Till Death Do Us Part Masterlist

Feyre’s mouth was uncomfortably dry.

She groaned, rolling over onto her back with a wince. It felt as though someone had jammed a tambourine into her skull, the way it rattled as she moved. Her entire body felt stiff, a wrung-out towel left too long to dry in the sun. Absently, her hand sought the other side of the bed. She didn’t realize until her hand hit the cold fabric that she had been searching for someone. And that finding the space beside her empty left her feeling oddly disappointed.

Odd, because it wasn’t as though she shared a bed with her husband. He usually slept on the sofa—if he even slept at all. The life of a Death God was a busy one, though he’d explained to her once that he didn’t need to be present for every death.

“Then why do you bother?” She’d asked him, at a time when she’d still felt bitter about the ring cemented to her finger.

He’d had that look in his eye, that underlying sadness she’d identified on the day she met him. “Because so many innocent souls die every day, Feyre. And I don’t think they deserve to die alone.”

It was something she thought about often. How she had been brought back to life because the one thing the God of Death was willing to barter for was companionship. How he found loneliness so harrowing that he devoted his life to ensuring innocent mortals wouldn’t need to touch it in their final moments. Though he didn’t go to every death, he went to many. Particularly the most tragic. And sometimes he returned looking so burdened that Feyre could only imagine the things he’d witnessed.

Children, heroes, activists—so many good people died every day and she was the one the Grim Reaper had decided to bring back. Sometimes she felt so embarrassed about the days she gazed upon her ring with resentment.

Suffice to say, their marriage was complicated.

Today, she looked at the empty side of the bed and digested this strange, unexpected sadness. It was many things, she decided. Not all to do with wanting to share a bed with her husband. Today was Valentine's Day. A day that was supposed to be meaningful in a conventional marriage but to Feyre, was just another day. Another day where she felt like absolute shit.

Feyre shifted upwards, again jostling that tambourine in her head. The clamor was so intrusive that she had to clench her teeth while she raised her body through the pain. A glance at the clock showed she’d woken up an hour before her alarm, likely from the pressure threatening to burst behind her eyes. Feyre sniffed, finding the passageway blocked. Today was definitely going to be a sick day.

Except her phone was not on her bedside table where she usually kept it, which made it very difficult to call her boss. Feyre searched the floor, wondering if it had been knocked off the table in the night, but there was no sign of it.

With a huff, Feyre dragged her body out of bed and slung on a dressing gown. She felt remarkably fragile, her shoulders hunched as she walked into the kitchen like every step fell upon shattered glass.

Her husband was awake, back turned to her as he manned a crackling stove, his elbow angled in to flip the contents without a spatula. For some reason, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. It was an effort for Feyre not to pay that fact notice, particularly when she could track the way his muscles shifted with the movements of the pan.

Now her mouth felt dry for an entirely different reason.

“Rhys?” she croaked. “What are you doing?”

Rhysand turned, wide grin fading when he caught sight of her. Suddenly, he vanished from his place at the stove, causing Feyre to jump when he reappeared before her.

“You’re unwell,” he said, sounding dismayed. The cool back of his knuckles pressed against her forehead, assessing the severity of her condition. Rhysand frowned. “You have a fever.”

“I’ll live,” she said dismissively.

Rhysand’s lips twitched. “That’s not something I can typically assure mortals.”

“Would you let me die from a little fever?”

“And let you out of our bargain so soon? Of course not.” He grinned, leaning closer to whisper, “Though if you keep throwing yourself at my mercy, I’m going to begin to think you enjoy it.”

There was a sensual note to his voice that turned her insides molten. Feyre shivered, but she assured herself that was because of the fever and not the impact of his words. Rhysand, whose infinite flirtations were rarely successful, seemed to think so as well, because the amusement faded.

“C’mere,” he murmured, and then he was lifting her into his arms.

“Rhys!” Strong arms swept behind her legs, heaving her upwards so that she was bundled against him in a mockery of a bridal carry. She pounded her fists contemptuously against his hard chest. “Put me down!”

He didn’t listen. Each weak fist only spread his smile wider, so irritatingly endeared by her defiance that it only enraged Feyre more, until she was beating at his torso incessantly and Rhysand was tipping back his head in outright laughter. It was becoming another vicious cycle of their marriage.

“My legs work fine,” she grumbled once she was deposited on the couch. Rhysand ignored that too, in favor of producing a pile of blankets from God knows where to tuck them around her.

She wondered, once she was subdued in the makeshift cocoon of blankets, if it wasn’t so much an act of nurturing as it was a means of restraining her. Rhys was staring at her, head tilted to the side so that his black hair flopped every-so-slightly across his forehead.

“I don’t know how to look after sick mortals,” he admitted. “It’s usually too late by the time I have anything to do with them.”

“You don’t need to look after me.” Feyre craned her head back towards the stove, wary of the smoke rising from the pan he’d abandoned. “If you’re in need of something to look after, try the food you were cooking.”

Rhysand sighed, drawing Feyre’s attention back to his face. For a moment, she thought he looked truly disappointed. “I was trying to make you breakfast in bed.” His voice carried across the room as he returned to the sizzling pan. “According to the television, that’s something that a husband should do for his wife on Valentine's Day.”

“And your shirt?” She asked incredulously, craning her head to sneak another peak of his toned, brown skin while he wasn’t paying attention.

“The husbands are usually shirtless on the television. I thought it was customary.” He frowned thoughtfully. “It seems like a strange tradition. Human skin is so sensitive to hot oil, so I don't understand why they would expose so much of it while cooking.”

Feyre couldn’t help a small giggle at the realization that he was being serious. “Is the concept of eye candy unfamiliar to Death Gods?”

“Oh, certainly not,” Rhysand said. She could hear the smile in his voice. “I believe, being married to you, I am intimately familiar with the concept. But why should I be shirtless, if you are asleep and therefore not around to appreciate it?”

“Mortal television isn’t always… practical,” she admitted.

Rhysand chuckled. “Nor are mortals themselves.”

He came around the sofa then, balancing a bed tray that carried a plate of browned, richly seasoned vegetables topped with two eggs that had been fried in the shape of a heart. “Eggs and vegetable hash,” he declared proudly, setting the tray securely in her lap. “I learned it from an angry man on the food channel. Though, now I fear that I should have made you soup.”

Steam wafted from the tray, caressing Feyre’s cheek with its heat. She was certain it would smell incredible if her nose wasn’t stuffed. It certainly looked incredible. The eggs shaped in hearts… it was a detail he hadn’t needed to commit to. She’d never received breakfast in bed before, she would have been ecstatic with a piece of toast.

“Are you not feeling up to it?” He asked. If he was bothered by her reserved reaction, it was overridden by the concern drawn plainly on his face. “I can get you something else. I know your sister used to buy you ginger ale when you were unwell.”

Feyre made an odd sound in the back of her throat. He said that he had seen her life on the day she’d died, and now he had a knack for calling forth memories she was unprepared for. “That was for nausea,” she said. It was all that twelve year old Elain had been able to afford at the time.

“Humans experience such a variety of ailments,” he said, clearly displeased by how little he knew of the subject. “Do you not have an appetite? I could make you some tea—“

“This is perfect, Rhys.” Her voice was strained, spilling out of a crack in a dam she’d built long before she’d met the Grim Reaper. She hoped he would dismiss it as part of her illness. “Thank you.”

“I’ll make you some tea as well,” he decided, before disappearing back into the kitchen.

“Have you seen my phone?” She called, still staring at the breakfast he’d made for her. “I need to call in sick.”

“Already done.”

“Done?” she echoed, wary of what that meant.

“Yes,” he hummed, reappearing on the sofa beside her, her phone pinched between a pair of long, elegant fingers. She promptly took it from him, finding to her dismay that there had been an outgoing call an hour before she’d woken up. “I called your boss and informed her that your doting husband has a very romantic day planned. Unfortunately, now my plans might need to take a, how you say, rain check?”

Feyre could only imagine how his early morning phone call was perceived. As the Grim Reaper, he commanded an unsettling presence, and his unusual—and often subtly threatening—behavior hardly helped.

“Rhys.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, taking a deep breath through her mouth. “You can’t just call my boss and demand I have the day off. There’s a process for these things, I need to get days off approved ahead of time.”

“She didn’t seem to mind,” he said, entirely unconcerned that he may have breached convention. Feyre thought hopelessly that the rules of human etiquette would never be able to confine her husband.

“She thinks you’re a crime lord.” Feyre shook her head, smothering her exasperation in an effort to recognize the intent behind it: he had planned them something special for Valentine’s Day. Had gone out of his way, and exerted far more effort than she’d ever been the recipient of. Her eyes swiveled, again, to the heart shaped eggs. “You really planned an entire day for us?”

“Of course I did.”

So simple, so absolute.

Feyre sniffed. Rhysand probably thought it was because of the congestion.

“I took the day off too,” he continued. “I booked us a private dining room at Searcys.” Feyre nearly choked. It was best for her blood pressure not to inquire as to how he’d managed that. Or what he’d paid. ”And I was going to—well, nevermind.” Rhys seemed to have only just gauged her expression. He assured her quietly, “We can do all of that another day.”

But her eyes weren’t stinging because they couldn’t go. It was that he’d even bothered. Without fully registering the motion, Feyre reached for his hand. Rhysand looked surprised that she was initiating touch, even moreso when she choked, “Thank you.”

Agitated by the sight of her tears, Rhysand squeezed her hand, almost pleading, “What can I do?”

Nothing. She caught herself before the words came out, taking a moment to reassess why she was so hell bent on pushing him away. It was true their marriage had been far from anything she’d planned. When they’d made their bargain, she hadn’t known it was what she was agreeing to. But even if he had stated his terms more plainly, would she have refused him?

He’d brought her back to life.

And on top of that, he had been nothing but loving and patient and kind.

Rhysand had tricked her, certainly, but she had gotten far more than she’d given. And maybe… Maybe he hadn’t been the only one suffering from loneliness all those years. Maybe he had chosen her because he’d stared into her soul and seen a kindred spirit.

“Come here,” she said, setting the tray on the armrest so she could unwrap the blankets from around her body, opening them up to make room for him.

Her husband stared, brows pressing together as he tried to dissect her meaning.

Feyre felt more than a little guilty that it was such a foreign gesture to him. Using their entwined hands, she tugged him forward, until he hesitantly climbed toward her.

“This… is what you want?”

She assured herself it was the fever making her face hot. “Mortals call it cuddling.”

“Cuddling,” he repeated. Feyre knew he was familiar with the word, just not the action. Despite how she had once promised to show him what she could do with her “pretty mouth”, she had so far treated him as nothing more than a platonic roommate. And despite his constant flirtations, he had let her.

Rhysand maneuvered himself on the couch until he was settled behind her and Feyre was practically sitting in his lap. “Like this?”

His warmth was somehow more soothing than the blanket, which had not possessed the scent of citrus and the sea. Even through her block nose, she could smell it, could feel it surrounding her. Who would have thought that the God of Death would smell like a stormy day on an Atlantic beachfront? She could almost close her eyes and imagine the seagulls overhead, hear the tide chopping against the shore, feel the wind stirring at her hair with gentle curiosity.

“You smell good,” she whispered.

A moment of awed silence. Then, “What do I smell like?”

“Holywell Bay, in Cornwall.”

His arm slid around her chest, pulling her tighter against the front of his body. “Yeah?”

“My aunt took my sisters and I there once, when we were kids.”

Rhysand hummed. “My scent is meant to be comforting to mortals. To remind them of their favorite memories.” He paused, then added, “Your scent evokes the same for me.”

“It does?”

His nose skimmed the curve of her neck. “You smell of lilac and pear. Of my wife. Every memory with her is my favorite.”

Sweet talker. It was nothing new, but somehow the words felt more intimate when she could feel his breath coast over her shoulder—warm, like he was truly a living being. Feyre shook her head. “Even though I have been so… so covered in thorns?”

“I do not mind thorns,” he said simply. Soft lips found the juncture between her neck and shoulder, testing. Waiting for reproach. When there was none, he kissed her skin again, so sweetly she thought she might burst into tears. “Though this memory, in particular, is my favorite. I like cuddling my wife.”

She liked cuddling him, too, but that seemed too far a step to admit to just yet. Rhysand readjusted the blankets around them, then pulled the tray of food back into Feyre’s lap, gently urging her to eat. It was an effort. The food was lovely, but every swallow scraped past her sore throat. She knew Rhysand noticed her wincing. Judging by the way his grip gradually tightened, each bite seemed to spiral him into increasing distress.

Feyre had made it about halfway through the meal before her husband and the tray disappeared entirely.

“Rhys?”

The kitchen was devoid of her fretting husband. Feyre frowned, uncertain where he could have gone so suddenly. She folded the blankets back around her shoulders, noting that she already missed his touch.

Soon he returned, materializing from thin air in the center of their living room. He clutched a brown paper bag in each of his hands, which he set down on the coffee table. “I went to New York City,” he said, fishing out large plastic containers. “I heard on the television that they have good soup there. I didn’t know which kind you’d like, so I got as many as I could. Chicken noodle. Lobster bisque. Chowder. Leak and potato—”

“Rhsyand.”

“I picked up some stuff from the pharmacy, too,” he said, retrieving a box of lozenges and paracetamol. He paused. “Why are you laughing?”

Shoulders shaking, Feyre held up her hand in response. She required a moment to catch her breath, especially once her laughter fizzled into a cough that had Rhysand looking miserable. Eventually, Feyre wheezed, “I didn’t realize I was married to such a mother hen.” He pouted. The God of Death actually pouted. “Give me the chicken noodle soup.”

At this, he perked up, handing Feyre the carton of soup and a biodegradable spoon. Because not only was the Grim Reaper a doting mother hen, he was also environmentally conscious. He watched with overbearing interest as she raised the first spoonful to her mouth, obnoxiously hopeful that he had pleased her.

The warm liquid was instantly soothing and like all the gestures that had come before, it softened her to him. “Thank you,” she said, meaning it more than she accurately knew how to express. “Why don’t you come sit with me? We can cuddle and watch movies together.”

“You want to cuddle again?” he asked, like he couldn’t believe it. Feyre nodded. “And… staying at home, watching television… this is an agreeable Valentine's Day to you?”

Feyre nodded again, moving aside on the couch to make room for him. “That is a perfect Valentine’s Day to me.”

The sofa shifted with her husband’s weight as he sat down beside her. They arranged themselves until she was against lounging upright in his lap, sipping on the soup from New York City while they watched romantic comedies together—which he found to be a fascinating study on human culture. His hands traced slow, lazy patterns over her skin, effective in making Feyre wonder why she’d denied his touch for so long.

At some point, she fell asleep with her face nestled into the nook of his neck and when he carried her into the bedroom to tuck her into bed, Feyre sleepily grabbed at his shirt and asked him to stay.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything,” she murmured. Her fever-ridden sleep had lowered her inhibitions, and now there was nothing to stop her from nuzzling into her husband's chest. She could hear her own heartbeat in her ear and imagined that it was his, though the God of Death did not have a heart. Not one that beat, anyhow.

“What do you mean?” His hands slid into her hair, cradling her head as his fingers provided slow, soothing strokes against her scalp. “You gave me everything I could possibly want.” Feyre muttered something unintelligible into his chest, and he laughed. “Happy Valentine’s Day, wife.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Rhys.”

#shhh I know the banner is very cheesy I was leaning into it #Grim!Rhys #Till Death Do Us Part #Feysand #Feysand fic #Feysand fanfic #Feysand fanfiction #Rhys x Feyre #Feyre x Rhys #Feyre x Rhysand #Rhysand x Feyre #sjmromanceweek2023

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moonlitstoriess · 19 days ago

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The Cost of Deception- Azriel x fem!reader (3/3)

Summary: After years of silence, Y/N and Azriel unknowingly track the same target, only to find themselves face-to-face once more. Betrayal runs deep, and neither is willing to forgive, but the mission must come first—if they don’t destroy each other first.

See masterlist

Part 2

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI (I will mention when it starts and ends), angst, mentions of trauma, fighting, injuries, mentions of SA

A/N: Well guys, this is the finale! I truly hope you enjoyed reading this mini series as much as I enjoyed writing it for you my little angst lovers😘

Five years ago. The first time Azriel realized something was wrong, it had been too late.

Y/N had sent him the documents—a set of encrypted files from the Spring Court that she had painstakingly secured. He could still hear her voice in his mind, low but brimming with excitement.

"Az, I got it. All of it. This will change everything."

The pride in her voice had been unmistakable, her trust in him unwavering. She had worked tirelessly to secure that intel, putting herself in harm’s way to serve the Night Court. How could he not have trusted her completely? She was one of his best operatives, her sharp mind and steady hand unmatched in the chaos of espionage.

But when the information led them straight into a trap, resulting in the deaths of ten of their spies, everything had crumbled.

The ambush had been brutal, a coordinated strike that targeted their most vulnerable operatives. Three were killed on the spot. The others, hunted down in the following days, were slaughtered before they could escape. The loss was devastating, not just in lives but in the trust that bound their intricate network together.

When Rhysand summoned him, Azriel had gone with a heavy heart, knowing there would be questions he wasn’t yet ready to answer.

Rhysand’s violet eyes, usually so calm and understanding, were hard and cold. “Explain this, Azriel. How did this happen?”

Azriel had no answers. He had only fragments of a puzzle he hadn’t yet pieced together.

For days afterward, he barely slept. He pored over the documents Y/N had sent him, searching for inconsistencies, for anything that could explain how the information she’d provided had been so catastrophically wrong. He sent his own spies into Spring Court territory to investigate, desperate to uncover the truth.

It was one of his scouts who returned with the key.

“Someone fed her false information,” the scout explained, laying out the details. “A contact in the Spring Court deliberately set her up. They knew she’d take the bait. They knew exactly what to feed her.”

Azriel’s hands tightened into fists as he stared down at the report. The pieces clicked into place—agonizingly, unmistakably. Y/N had been played. She had been set up by someone who knew her movements, someone who had deliberately sought to discredit her.

But by the time Azriel uncovered the truth, it was too late. The network already knew of the failure. Y/N’s name had been whispered in the shadows, accusations of betrayal spreading like wildfire. The loss of their spies was fresh in everyone’s mind, their trust shattered.

Ten lives lost.

The number weighed heavily on Azriel’s soul. He could still see the faces of the operatives they’d lost, their smiles and laughter now memories that would haunt him forever.

He had tried to explain the situation to Rhysand, to tell him what he had uncovered. But Rhys’s expression had been grim, his voice unyielding.

“It’s not about what she intended,” Rhys said. “It’s about what this looks like. If we don’t act decisively, the entire network will fall apart. Our enemies will exploit this weakness.”

Azriel wanted to argue, to fight for Y/N. But he couldn’t deny the truth of Rhys’s words. The network’s survival depended on trust, and even the smallest fracture could cause everything they’d built to crumble.

And so, with a leaden heart, Azriel made the choice.

He spread the lie that Y/N had knowingly provided false information. He destroyed her reputation, painted her as a traitor, and watched as the court turned its back on her.

Azriel woke with a start, the memory still clawing at his mind.

The forest was quiet, the faint rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds the only sounds. He sat up slowly, his sharp eyes scanning the area. The campfire had burned down to embers, casting a faint orange glow against the dark silhouettes of the surrounding trees.

And there she was.

Y/N lay on the other side of the fire, her head resting on her pack, her body curled slightly for warmth. Even in sleep, there was a tension in her posture, as though she couldn’t fully let her guard down.

Azriel’s chest ached at the sight. She looked so small, so vulnerable in the dim light, and yet he knew how strong she was. How much she had endured because of him.

Because of the lies he had told.

He had tried not to think of her after her banishment. But she had haunted him anyway. Every report from the Night Court’s spies about her whereabouts, every whisper of her struggles, had found its way to him. He couldn’t help but keep tabs on her, even when he told himself it was better to let her go.

The guilt ate away at him, day by day. He told himself it had been necessary, that he had done what was required to protect the court. But the justifications rang hollow in the dead of night when he lay awake, her name a constant refrain in his mind.

And then there were the dreams.

They started innocently enough—memories of missions they had completed together, of the way she had laughed when they argued over strategy. But they soon turned darker. He would see her standing in the rain, her eyes filled with betrayal as she asked, “Why?”

He had never answered her then. And now, he didn’t know if he ever could.

Azriel leaned back against the tree behind him, his gaze never leaving her sleeping form. The firelight cast soft shadows across her face, highlighting the curve of her cheek, the faint parting of her lips. She was beautiful in a way that made his heart ache, a quiet, unassuming beauty that had drawn him in from the start.

And now, after everything he had done, she was here.

His shadows curled around him, their whispers faint and indecipherable. He let them surround him, a comforting presence in the silence. But even they couldn’t soothe the turmoil within him.

Azriel clenched his jaw, his resolve hardening. He had to make things right. He had to tell her the truth, to explain why he had done what he did. Even if she never forgave him, even if she hated him for the rest of her life, he owed her that much.

He would fix this. Somehow, he would find a way to atone for his sins.

But for now, he let himself watch her for a little longer, committing every detail of her to memory—the rise and fall of her chest, the soft curve of her mouth, the strands of hair that had fallen across her face.

The past could not be undone. But perhaps, in the fragile, uncertain future, he could find redemption.

Y/N woke to the low rustle of leaves and the crackle of a small fire. The pale morning light filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor. Her body ached from the cold, uneven ground, and the memories of her restless sleep haunted her like ghosts.

She pushed herself up, glancing toward the source of the sound. There he was, Azriel, seated on a fallen log, nibbling at a piece of dried fruit with his shadows coiling lazily around him. He didn’t look at her immediately, but the minute her movement caught his eye, his gaze snapped to hers.

“You’re awake,” he said quietly, his voice as smooth as ever but tinged with something heavier. Guilt.

She didn’t respond, instead dragging herself to her feet and brushing the dirt from her tunic. The smell of breakfast—though plain and meager—made her stomach churn, not from hunger but from the knot of anxiety that had been a permanent resident there ever since she’d agreed to this mission.

Azriel shifted, his shadows curling toward her as though they could sense her discomfort. “You should eat something,” he said, holding out a piece of bread.

“I’m fine,” she said flatly.

“You’re not,” he countered, and his tone, while gentle, left no room for argument. “We’ll be moving soon. You need your strength.”

She clenched her jaw but took the bread anyway, sitting on the opposite end of the fire. They ate in silence, the tension between them a living, breathing thing that no amount of chewing could cut through.

To her surprise, it was Azriel who broke the quiet. “My shadows went far last night,” he said, his voice low. “They’ve scouted ahead. We’re close to Malrik’s place—closer than I thought. We should reach it by midday.”

She nodded but didn’t look at him, focusing instead on the bread in her hands.

Azriel continued, pulling out a map from his satchel. He unfolded it carefully, smoothing the edges on his thigh before spreading it out between them. “This is the layout the messenger gave me,” he said, his scarred fingers tracing lines and markings. “We’ll enter here, through the eastern ridge. It’s less guarded, but it’s steep, so we’ll need to move quickly. Once inside, you’ll take the northern passage—it leads directly to Malrik’s study. I’ll handle the guards and meet you there.”

He paused, glancing at her as though expecting a response, but she remained silent, her eyes fixed on the map.

When he finished his rundown, the silence returned, heavier now, pressing down on them like the weight of the forest itself. She could feel his gaze on her, the way his shadows hesitated, unsure whether to reach for her or retreat.

Finally, she sighed, dropping the last bit of bread into her lap. “Spit it out,” she said coldly.

Azriel blinked, as though surprised by her bluntness, but then his composure cracked.

“I didn’t mean—” he started, the words tumbling out of his mouth so fast she barely caught them. “I didn’t mean for it to—Y/N, I swear, I didn’t—”

“What?” she interrupted, frowning.

He tried again, but the sentences came just as rushed, just as scattered. His shadows swirled around him, reflecting his inner turmoil, and it was so unlike him—this babbling, this loss of control—that she almost didn’t recognize him.

“Azriel,” she snapped, cutting him off. “Speak normally.”

He inhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a moment to steady himself. When he opened them again, they were filled with something raw, something she wasn’t sure she wanted to see.

“I was the one who spread the lie,” he said finally, his voice low but clear.

Her breath caught in her throat. She had known—of course she had known—but hearing it from his mouth was a different kind of pain, a dagger twisting in a wound that had never healed.

“Not this again,” she muttered, rising to her feet. “I told you, I don’t wish to speak of it.”

“Please,” he said, standing as well. “Please, Y/N. Just hear me out.”

She stared at him, her heart pounding in her chest. For a moment, she considered walking away, leaving him to his guilt and his shadows. But something in his voice—desperation, maybe, or the faint echo of the bond they once shared as comrades—made her stop.

“You have five minutes,” she said sharply. “Then we’re leaving.”

Azriel nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He didn’t sit back down, didn’t even look away from her as he began.

He told her everything. The ambush, the deaths, the documents he’d compared, the spies he’d sent to investigate. He told her about the trap laid by the Spring Court, about how they had used her as a pawn without her knowledge.

And he told her about Rhysand. About the conversation in the forest, about the decision they had made together. About how he had spread the lie to protect the network, to protect the court.

By the time he finished, Y/N’s hands were trembling with rage.

“You destroyed me,” she said, her voice shaking. “Do you understand that? You didn’t just ruin my reputation, Azriel. You ruined my life.”

“I know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No, you don’t,” she snapped. “You don’t know what it was like. To be cast out, to be hunted by the same people I fought beside, to have nothing and no one because of you.”

Her voice cracked, but she forced herself to keep going. “You made me a traitor in their eyes. You made me a traitor in my own eyes. Do you know how many nights I spent wondering if I should just end it all? Wondering if it would hurt less than this?”

Azriel flinched, his shadows recoiling as though her words had struck them as well. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “Y/N, I’m so—”

“Sorry isn’t enough,” she spat. “Sorry doesn’t change what you did. It doesn’t bring back the years I lost, the ME I lost. If I hadn't been exiled, if I had been in such a weakened, depressed state, I would have never fallen into Malrik's trap, I would have never been raped by him!"

Azriel closed his eyes, seemingly battling the rage and inner turmoil within him before exhaling and looking at her once more. "Y/N...I- I didn't know. Please, I.....I swear if only I knew that this would happen- he will die soon enough but....I know it's not enough. It never will

He took a step toward her, his hands outstretched, but she stepped back, her anger flaring hotter.

“I hate you,” she said, her voice deadly calm. “I hate you, Azriel. And after this mission, I never want to see your face or hear your voice again.”

She turned away, her hands shaking as she began to pack her things. Behind her, she could feel him deflate, his presence shrinking as though he wanted to disappear into his own shadows.

But she didn’t look back.

She couldn’t.

Not when the pain in her chest threatened to consume her all over again.

The silence left in Y/N’s wake was deafening. Azriel sat there, staring at the small fire he’d stoked earlier to ward off the morning chill. The flames flickered, but their warmth did nothing to thaw the icy pit in his chest.

Her words echoed in his mind: “I hate you.”

His shadows curled tighter around him, almost as if they could shield him from the sharp edge of her dismissal. But they couldn’t. Nothing could. He had heard those words from others—enemies, strangers—but never from her. Never from Y/N, the female he had…

Azriel swallowed hard, forcing himself to push away the thought. Whatever he had felt, or still felt, didn’t matter. Not now. Not when he’d destroyed her life.

He packed up the remnants of their meager breakfast in silence, every motion mechanical. His shadows flitted about, scouting ahead, as they always did. But even they seemed subdued, their whispers softer than usual, their presence a dull hum in the back of his mind.

When he finally stood, he caught sight of Y/N a short distance away, packing her own belongings. She moved with quick, efficient motions, her face set in a cold mask. It hurt more than it should, that distance.

Azriel forced himself to focus. The mission. They had to finish this mission. It was the only way he could begin to atone.

As they trekked through the dense forest, Azriel’s shadows returned to him, bringing snippets of information. Malrik’s stronghold wasn’t far now—a few hours’ travel at most. The path would grow more treacherous as they neared the base, but they could manage it. They always had before.

Azriel glanced at Y/N out of the corner of his eye. She walked ahead of him, her posture rigid, her focus locked on the path. The sunlight filtered through the canopy, catching on the strands of her hair, turning them into threads of gold. Even now, even with the weight of her anger pressing down on him, she was beautiful.

He tore his gaze away.

They didn’t speak. The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Azriel’s mind churned with everything he wanted to say, everything he should say, but the words tangled in his throat. What was the point? She’d made it clear she wanted nothing more to do with him.

His shadows stirred, tugging at his senses. He halted, raising a hand.

Y/N stopped immediately, her body tense. “What is it?” she asked, her voice sharp.

Azriel tilted his head, listening to his shadows. “Scouts. Two of them. About a hundred paces ahead.”

Y/N nodded, her hand already on the hilt of her blade. “We take them out?”

“No,” Azriel said quickly. “We avoid them. We’re too close to risk alerting Malrik.”

Her lips thinned, but she didn’t argue. They veered off the path, moving in silence through the underbrush. Azriel’s shadows guided them, weaving a path around the scouts’ position.

They were a good team, even now. Azriel couldn’t help but notice how seamlessly they worked together, how her movements complemented his, how she trusted his shadows without question. It was a painful reminder of what they had lost—and what they might never regain.

“We’ll approach from the south,” he continued, pulling the map from his pocket. “Malrik’s defenses are weaker there. Once we’re inside—”

“Azriel.”

He stopped, startled by the sharpness in her voice.

“Save it for when we’re there,” she said, not even looking at him. “I don’t need a play-by-play.”

His grip on the map tightened, the paper crinkling under his fingers. He stuffed it back into his pocket, his shadows curling tighter around him in response to the sting of her dismissal.

The rest of the journey passed in tense, stifling silence.

By the time they reached the edge of Malrik’s territory, the sun was high overhead, and the air had grown heavy with the scent of damp earth. Azriel crouched low, scanning the terrain ahead as his shadows flitted out, scouting for traps or hidden sentries.

Y/N knelt beside him, her movements quiet and precise. She didn’t speak, didn’t ask questions, just waited for his signal.

Azriel swallowed the ache in his chest and focused.

“We’ll go in after nightfall,” he said, his voice low. “There’s too much open ground to cover right now. We’d be spotted.”

Y/N nodded curtly, her expression unreadable.

He wanted to say something else, anything to fill the silence, but the words wouldn’t come. She wouldn’t want to hear them, anyway.

So he stayed quiet, letting his shadows do the talking as they scouted the area ahead. And as he watched her, sitting there with her face turned away from him, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever find a way to reach her again—or if he was destined to lose her for good.

The dense forest around them seemed to grow darker with every step. The shadows clung to the trees like they belonged there, a creeping stillness settling over the air. Y/N pulled her hood tighter, the familiar weight of her weapons reassuring against her sides. She wasn’t nervous—no, she refused to let herself feel anything close to fear. But the sharp edge of anticipation coiled in her stomach, and she didn’t know whether it was the thought of facing Malrik or simply walking beside Azriel that made her insides twist.

He was silent, as usual. Not that she minded. The less they spoke, the easier it was for her to focus. And yet, her gaze kept sliding to him—to the way his wings curled in, tight and guarded, like even they knew the weight of what he carried. His face was a mask, his jaw clenched as he scanned their surroundings, shadows slipping over his shoulders and whispering things she couldn’t hear.

She hated how he could still look like that. Like the male she used to trust with her life. Like the male who had destroyed it.

“We’re close,” Azriel said quietly, his voice cutting through the stillness. He motioned ahead to where the trees thinned, revealing a steep ridge that overlooked a sprawling estate.

Y/N stepped up beside him, peering through the canopy. The estate was larger than she’d expected—a fortress more than a house, with high stone walls and watchtowers at every corner. Guards patrolled the perimeter, their movements precise and disciplined.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “He’s fortified himself well.”

“Malrik always did think himself untouchable,” Azriel replied, his voice neutral. But she caught the edge of something beneath it—bitterness, maybe. Or regret.

“Maybe he is,” Y/N muttered, adjusting the straps of her weapons belt. “Or maybe he’s just another coward hiding behind walls.”

Azriel didn’t respond. He unfolded a map from his satchel, spreading it across a flat rock. Y/N crouched beside him, her eyes scanning the layout of the estate as he pointed to various entry points.

“There’s a blind spot here,” he said, tapping the eastern side of the wall. “The guards rotate every twenty minutes. If we time it right, we can get in unnoticed.”

“And once we’re inside?” Y/N asked, her voice clipped.

Azriel’s shadows darted across the map, as if outlining the paths he’d already memorized. “We split up. I’ll head to the main hall to find the records Malrik’s been keeping. You take the east wing. That’s where he’s likely hoarding the weapons.”

“And if we run into him?”

Azriel’s hazel eyes flicked to hers, steady and unyielding. “Don’t hesitate.”

Y/N snorted, straightening. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

The words hung between them, heavier than she intended. She saw the flicker of something in his expression—guilt, or maybe pain—but he quickly turned away, rolling up the map and tucking it back into his satchel.

“Ready?” he asked.

She nodded, drawing her daggers. “Let’s get this over with.”

They moved in silence, sticking to the shadows as they descended the ridge. The air grew colder the closer they got, the stone walls looming larger with every step. Y/N’s pulse quickened, but she forced herself to stay calm, to keep her breaths even.

As they reached the blind spot Azriel had mentioned, his shadows darted ahead, slipping through the cracks in the wall. He held up a hand, signaling for her to wait, and she crouched low, her fingers curling around the hilt of her dagger.

Seconds stretched into minutes.

Y/N’s heart thudded in the silence, her breaths measured but tight. She glanced at Azriel, who seemed completely still, his focus on the shadows reporting back to him. She envied that stillness, that ease with which he could disappear into himself. Because as the minutes dragged on, her mind began to wander—back to a time she had no choice but to keep moving or risk falling apart.

The banishment.

The loneliness.

She could still feel the cold of those nights when she had no roof over her head, no safety to retreat to. When even a small fire risked drawing too much attention, and the ache of hunger became as familiar as the weapons she now carried. Her hands tightened around her daggers at the memory of how she’d survived—scraping by on instincts she didn’t know she had, enduring humiliation and pain she refused to dwell on.

She thought of the faces that had turned away from her, the whispers that had followed her wherever she went. Traitor. Liar. The words had been knives, sharper than anything she’d ever wielded. She’d grown used to the weight of them, to the constant ache in her chest.

But it hadn’t just been anger that kept her going. It was exhaustion, too. Exhaustion from holding herself together, from waking up every day and deciding to fight through it all when no one else would fight for her.

Her jaw clenched as her gaze slid back to Azriel. He had been the cause of it all, the one who lit the spark that burned her world to ash. And now, here he was, standing beside her as if they could somehow go back to what they once were.

She almost laughed at the absurdity of it.

Azriel’s shadows returned then, pulling her from her thoughts. His hand brushed her arm—a silent signal.

“Now,” he murmured, motioning for her to follow.

The fortress was eerily quiet, save for the faint murmur of guards’ voices echoing down the stone corridors. The scent of damp stone and oil lanterns lingered in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood Y/N swore she could almost taste.

She moved in Azriel’s shadow, her steps silent as they crept deeper into the heart of Malrik’s stronghold. His wings were tucked tightly against his back, his shadows a living entity around them, cloaking their movements in secrecy.

Azriel gestured for her to stop as they approached a fork in the hallway. His hazel eyes flicked between the two paths, and his shadows darted ahead, scouting for threats. Y/N leaned against the cold stone wall, her breathing steady but her pulse thrumming.

She hated how familiar this all felt—the stealth, the tension, the thrill of being on the hunt. It reminded her of the missions she used to carry out with the Night Court’s spymaster. Back when they were partners. Back when she trusted him.

The memory twisted like a knife in her chest, and she pushed it away.

Azriel’s hand brushed her shoulder, snapping her focus back to the present. He pointed to the left corridor. “Records room is this way,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “Weapons cache is down the other hall. We’ll split up.”

Y/N nodded, already moving toward the right corridor.

“Be careful,” Azriel said softly, his voice carrying a weight she didn’t want to acknowledge.

She didn’t look back as she replied, “Always am.”

The weapons cache was heavily guarded, but Y/N had faced worse odds before. Fear was a luxury she had abandoned long ago, replaced with cold, calculated precision.

She slipped through the shadows, her steps light and soundless, each movement deliberate. The first guard never saw her coming. Her dagger slid cleanly between his ribs, a swift and silent strike that left him slumping to the ground.

The second turned at the faint noise, his eyes widening as he opened his mouth to shout, but Y/N was faster. She lunged, one hand covering his mouth as the other drove her blade into his chest. His muffled cry died on her palm, his body going limp as she lowered him to the floor.

The third guard wasn’t as easy. He rounded the corner just as Y/N straightened, his eyes locking onto her.

“Hey—!”

Y/N’s dagger flew before he could finish, embedding itself in his throat. The gurgling noise he made as he crumpled to the ground sent a shiver up her spine, but she ignored it, her focus already shifting to the task at hand.

Blood pooled around the bodies, dark and glistening in the dim light of the lanterns lining the walls. Her boots left faint imprints as she stepped over them, barely sparing the corpses a second glance. This was the life she’d chosen—or, rather, the one that had been forced upon her. Hesitation had no place in it.

The cache itself was a hoard of nightmares. Weapons of every make and size were stacked in chaotic piles, from polished swords to crude, rusted spears. Crates were scattered across the room, many of them stamped with ominous markings that hinted at their contents.

Explosives.

Y/N’s stomach twisted as she crouched beside one of the crates, prying it open with the tip of her blade. Inside, bundles of volatile materials were packed tightly, ready to unleash devastation. She could almost see the destruction they could cause—the lives they could end—if they fell into the wrong hands.

Or if she used them.

She inhaled deeply, steeling herself as she began assessing the room. The eastern wall was load-bearing, its stonework already showing signs of strain from age and poor maintenance. If she planted the charges there, the entire wing would collapse, taking everything—and everyone—in it.

Perfect.

Her fingers moved deftly, securing the charges Azriel had handed her earlier. She worked in silence, her ears attuned to the faintest sound, her eyes constantly flicking to the shadows that seemed to grow longer with every passing second.

The room was too quiet now.

The eerie silence crawled under her skin, each hair on the back of her neck standing on end. She tried to shake off the unease, forcing herself to focus. The quicker she finished, the quicker she could leave this place behind.

But as she reached for the final charge, the sensation of being watched became impossible to ignore.

Her hand froze mid-air.

Y/N’s gaze darted around the room, scanning the shadows for any movement. The faint glow of the lanterns danced across the stone walls, casting flickering shapes that played tricks on her mind.

You’re imagining things, she told herself. Just finish the job.

But her body betrayed her, every instinct honed from years of survival screaming at her to move, to run, to fight.

She tightened her grip on her dagger, rising slowly from her crouch. The weight of the silence pressed down on her, heavy and suffocating, until the sound of a faint, deliberate step shattered it.

Her heart leapt into her throat as she spun, her blade already in hand, ready to strike.

But the room was empty.

No guards. No footsteps. Just the dim glow of the lanterns and the distant rumble of activity somewhere deeper in the fortress.

Y/N let out a slow, shaky breath, cursing herself for faltering. She had a job to do, and paranoia wouldn’t help her survive it.

Still, as she finished setting the last charge and turned to leave, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t alone.

And that whoever—or whatever—was watching her wasn’t finished yet.

The last charge was set, and as Y/N’s hand pressed the final button to trigger the detonators, a strange, primal sense of satisfaction pulsed through her veins. The fortress would fall. Malrik’s reign of terror would come to an end.

She turned swiftly, ready to leave the weapons cache and move to the next part of the plan, but something in the air had shifted. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

It wasn’t just the oppressive silence anymore. No, this was different—more sinister. The shadows felt alive, watching her every move.

“Y/N,” Azriel’s voice broke through her thoughts, low and urgent.

She spun, meeting his eyes in the dim light of the hallway. He looked… different. His usual calm and composed demeanor was replaced by a look of steely focus, his shadows swirling around him as if responding to some unspoken command.

“There’s no time,” he said, his voice low but determined. “Malrik knows we’re here. We’ve been compromised.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted. She’d known the plan wouldn’t go off without a hitch, but she hadn’t expected it to unravel so quickly.

“Then let’s move,” she said, voice tight.

Azriel’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, searching her face, his shadows curling around her like a protective blanket. He didn’t speak, but she could see the question in his eyes: Are you ready for this?

She didn’t respond. Instead, she moved, leading the way down the narrow corridor with Azriel right behind her.

As they neared the center of the fortress, Y/N’s mind raced. She couldn’t help but think back to the years she spent trapped under Malrik’s control—the constant fear, the manipulation, the pain. She’d survived, but at what cost? Her mind was still scarred by those years, and her body still carried the marks of his cruelty.

The thought of confronting him made her hands shake, but she pushed it down. This wasn’t about her. It was about ending this once and for all.

They reached the heart of the fortress just as the first explosion rang out in the distance, shaking the ground beneath them. The walls trembled.

Malrik’s voice echoed through the halls, distant but unmistakable. “You think you can destroy me? You think you can bring me down? You’re nothing. Just like the others who tried before you.”

Y/N’s blood ran cold.

Azriel’s eyes met hers, and for a split second, she saw the fear in them—something she hadn’t seen from him in a long time.

He was worried.

But she couldn’t afford to think about that. They had a job to finish.

As they rounded the corner into a wide open room, the smell of smoke and the distant crackling of flames reached her nose. But it wasn’t the fire that caught her attention—it was the figure standing in the center of the room, waiting for them.

Malrik.

The man who had taken everything from her.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. The man who had shattered her life was standing there, his smirk twisted in that all-too-familiar way. The air around him seemed to crackle with malice, his presence almost suffocating.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice oozing with mock sweetness. “I was wondering when you’d come. How predictable. You can’t outrun your past. It’s always waiting for you.”

A surge of rage hit her, and she took a step forward, her fists clenched at her sides. Her thoughts blurred as her heart hammered in her chest. The years of pain, of torment, everything she’d endured flooded back to the surface in a tidal wave.

Before she could even react, the room seemed to shift, the shadows thickening around them, and suddenly, Malrik’s forces were everywhere—emerging from the walls, from hidden doors, and from the shadows themselves. They were ready.

Azriel moved immediately, his shadows cutting through the air, but there were too many. They’d underestimated him, and they’d paid the price.

Y/N stepped back, pulling out her daggers, her mind focused on the fight ahead. But as she squared off with one of Malrik’s soldiers, her chest tightened. The memories of her past flooded in, overwhelming her—the nights in his cell, the screams, the betrayal, the suffocating darkness that held her captive.

It was too much.

She froze. The soldier in front of her lunged, but her body didn’t react. Her hands were shaking, the blades slipping from her fingers as a wave of panic and dread washed over her.

“Y/N!” Azriel’s voice pierced through the chaos, but it sounded far away. His voice broke her from her stupor, but the damage was done.

A soldier’s blade grazed her side, sending a jolt of pain through her body. She stumbled back, the world spinning as the wound burned.

She tried to move, but her legs wouldn’t obey. The memories, the horror, the terror she’d endured—it was too much.

Azriel was at her side in an instant, fury and panic flashing in his eyes. He pushed her behind him, his shadows swarming as he fought to protect her, but Y/N’s body refused to cooperate.

“Focus, Y/N!” Azriel growled, his voice thick with urgency. “We’re almost there. Just a little longer.”

But the battle raged around them, and in her frozen state, Y/N could do nothing but watch as Azriel fought off the soldiers with deadly precision.

Then, Malrik’s voice boomed across the room.

“Enough.”

Y/N’s heart stopped. She could barely see through the fog of her own mind, but the cold, terrifying presence of Malrik seemed to surround her, like a suffocating blanket. She tried to focus, tried to force her body to move, but it was too late.

Azriel was already too far into the fight.

And then, with a roar, Malrik advanced. The final confrontation had begun.

The air around them felt thick with tension, suffocating and heavy. Malrik’s figure loomed ahead, like a dark storm cloud about to break. He was everything Azriel despised—cold, calculating, cruel—and his presence in this fortress was a testament to the devastation he had caused over the years. But now, standing before him, there was only one thing Azriel could think of: Y/N.

The woman who had been broken by Malrik’s hands, scarred by his touch, now stood at the mercy of his soldiers, her body stiff, her mind still imprisoned by the ghosts of her past. Azriel’s jaw clenched so tightly it hurt, and a sharp wave of fury surged through him. Malrik had caused this. Malrik had taken everything from her, and Azriel would be damned if he let him take more.

“I won’t let you have her,” Azriel’s voice was low, barely above a growl, as he faced Malrik in the center of the crumbling hall. His shadows twisted around him, responding to his fury. “Not again.”

Malrik’s smirk was maddeningly calm. His pale eyes gleamed with dark amusement, as if he knew exactly what he was doing—pitting Azriel’s deepest rage against him, throwing him off balance. But Azriel wasn’t going to be distracted. Not this time. Not when Y/N was in danger.

The soldier closest to Y/N lunged at her, but Azriel was already in motion. His blades sliced through the air, a blur of lethal precision, and the soldier crumpled to the ground without so much as a sound. But as he moved, he saw Y/N falter—her hand trembling, her gaze distant.

Her past was haunting her again.

Azriel’s blood ran cold, and his shadows surged forward, protecting her in a shield that held the remaining soldiers at bay. His mind was consumed with thoughts of Malrik and what he had done to her—the rape, the violence, the years of torment that had scarred her beyond recognition. Azriel had heard the stories, but hearing them from her mouth had been like a blade to his chest. The image of that bastard touching Y/N, breaking her, was enough to drive him into a rage that could level this fortress.

“I’ll make you pay,” Azriel muttered under his breath, his voice a venomous hiss.

Malrik’s gaze shifted toward him, an almost smug expression crossing his face. “You think you can stop me? You think you can kill me after all this time? You don’t know who you’re dealing with, Shadow-cursed.”

Before Azriel could respond, Malrik’s soldiers descended on them, weapons raised. Azriel didn’t hesitate. His shadows lashed out, tearing through the attackers with deadly force, but the numbers were overwhelming. They were everywhere—more than Azriel had anticipated. He could feel the weight of every strike, every dodge, every move, but he couldn’t stop. Not while Y/N was at risk.

Every slash of his blades, every strike, was fueled by the image of Y/N’s face when she had spoken of her suffering. He wanted Malrik to pay. He wanted him to feel every ounce of the hell he had put her through, to feel the agony, the loss, the betrayal.

But Malrik wasn’t a mere man—he was a threat unlike any Azriel had faced before. He had the resources, the men, and a weapon that Azriel had no way of anticipating. Malrik fought like a predator—cold, calculating, never wasting a movement. And Azriel was starting to realize the full extent of what he was up against.

Malrik didn’t need to speak for his presence to become overwhelming. The moment Azriel made an opening to strike, Malrik’s weapon swung in, a heavy, dark blade that shimmered unnaturally in the dim light, cutting through the air with a sound like the crack of a whip. It connected with Azriel’s side, a painful, burning slice that sent him stumbling back, his breath coming in sharp gasps.

“Is this the great Azriel?” Malrik sneered, advancing. “The so-called ‘Shadow of Night’ brought down by a mere blade?”

Azriel’s fury flared. “I’ll show you what happens when you mess with the wrong people.”

He fought with everything he had—his daggers cutting through flesh, his shadows warping around him, but Malrik was relentless. Every time Azriel gained an inch, Malrik took it back, pushing him farther and farther back. His soldiers surrounded them, and the walls seemed to close in as the fight dragged on, each passing second feeling like an eternity.

But in the chaos of the battle, something broke through—the sound of Y/N’s scream. It wasn’t just any scream. It was filled with pain, terror, and helplessness. Azriel’s heart stuttered, his blood running cold. He whipped his head around, his shadows moving with lightning speed to shield her once more.

Malrik’s men had swarmed her.

“No!” Azriel roared, cutting down anyone in his path as he made his way toward her, but by the time he reached her side, it was too late.

Y/N’s face was pale, her expression empty, her eyes distant—frozen in the grip of her past. One of Malrik’s soldiers had her pinned, and another raised a blade, ready to end her.

Azriel’s fury ignited. It was as if a switch had been flipped in his mind. His shadows exploded outward, a torrent of darkness and power, cutting down every enemy in sight, his focus on nothing but protecting Y/N. His blades flashed, severing limbs and spilling blood in an instant.

Her past was haunting her again.

“I’ll make you pay,” Azriel muttered under his breath, his voice a venomous hiss.

“Is this the great Azriel?” Malrik sneered, advancing. “The so-called ‘Shadow of Night’ brought down by a mere blade?”

Azriel’s fury flared. “I’ll show you what happens when you mess with the wrong people.”

Malrik’s men had swarmed her.

“No!” Azriel roared, cutting down anyone in his path as he made his way toward her, but by the time he reached her side, it was too late.

Y/N’s face was pale, her expression empty, her eyes distant—frozen in the grip of her past. One of Malrik’s soldiers had her pinned, and another raised a blade, ready to end her.

Azriel’s fury ignited once more, burning through him like wildfire. It felt as if the ground beneath him had cracked open, his heart beating out of his chest as his shadows swarmed, tearing through the soldiers with a speed and precision that left no room for mercy.

But as Azriel turned back to face Malrik, his mind sharpened with clarity, rage, and something darker—something primal. Malrik stood at the center of the chaos, watching with a twisted satisfaction in his cold eyes.

“You think you can stop me, Azriel?” Malrik laughed, his voice laced with arrogance. “You’ll never be enough. You’re weak, just like your pathetic allies. And when I’m done with you, I’ll make her scream again. She’ll remember—”

Azriel didn’t wait for him to finish. He lunged forward, daggers flashing in the dim light. But Malrik was prepared. His blade whipped out, clashing against Azriel’s with a violent crack. The force of the strike sent Azriel staggering, but he recovered in an instant, his shadows lunging forward to bind Malrik in place.

“You’ve caused enough destruction, Malrik,” Azriel growled, every word soaked with hatred. “It ends today.”

But Malrik wasn’t finished. With a growl, he twisted in the shadows’ grip, his body moving in unnatural, serpentine motions. He freed himself, ripping through the darkness with an ease that sent chills down Azriel’s spine.

“You can’t even begin to understand what I’ve done,” Malrik said coldly, a cruel smile on his lips. “And I’ll do it all over again—just to watch her break.”

Azriel’s vision blurred with rage. He attacked again, this time with more precision, his daggers slicing through the air with the fury of a storm. But Malrik was faster, stronger—his blade moving with deadly force, striking against Azriel’s, knocking him back.

The two of them collided in a clash of shadows and steel, neither giving an inch. Azriel’s heart thundered in his chest as he fought, shadows dancing wildly around him, his daggers flashing in the dim light, but Malrik was always a step ahead. Each strike felt like an eternity—every wound, every bruise, only fueling Azriel’s determination.

Azriel’s shadows tried to bind Malrik again, but Malrik’s blade was relentless, cutting through the darkness like a hot knife through butter. Every time Azriel thought he had the upper hand, Malrik shifted, ducked, or twisted, evading the strike with terrifying precision.

It was like fighting a monster—a nightmare that would never end.

And then, in a moment of vulnerability, Malrik made his move.

With a wicked grin, Malrik struck—his blade slashing across Azriel’s chest, cutting deep. Azriel gasped, staggering back as the blood welled from the wound. His breath came in short, ragged gasps as pain exploded in his side, but the fury inside him burned brighter.

“Is this all you have, Azriel?” Malrik taunted, his blade dripping with blood. “You couldn’t protect her before, and you won’t protect her now.”

Azriel’s vision clouded, the anger overwhelming every thought, every instinct. He wasn’t just fighting for victory—he was fighting for Y/N, for the woman who had been torn apart by this monster, for the woman who had been broken and rebuilt, piece by piece, by his hands.

“You don’t deserve to breathe,” Azriel hissed, his voice dripping with venom.

Malrik’s grin faltered as Azriel’s shadows surged forward in a final, desperate push, coiling around his legs, his arms—binding him tight. The shadows felt like iron chains, relentless and unyielding.

Azriel lunged forward, his blades flashing in the flickering torchlight, and with a scream of pure fury, he drove both daggers into Malrik’s chest, pushing deep until he felt the life drain out of him.

Malrik’s body slumped to the ground with a sickening thud.

Azriel stood over him, chest heaving, blood dripping from his wounds. His hands trembled as he pulled his daggers from the lifeless corpse. His gaze never left Malrik, not even as the life left him.

But as the adrenaline slowly faded, it wasn’t satisfaction that Azriel felt—it was the cold weight of loss.

The moment Malrik’s body crumpled to the ground, Azriel’s breath was ragged, his body pulsing with pain. The battle was over—Malrik was dead—but the victory felt hollow. The blood dripping from Azriel’s chest, from his side, was a constant reminder of the price he had paid. His vision was fading, but there was no time to stop. Not when Y/N was still in danger. Not when the woman who had been broken by this monster lay crumpled on the cold stone floor, barely conscious, her body barely clinging to life.

Azriel’s shadows moved around him, reaching out to steady him as his legs threatened to give way under him. His chest ached with every breath, but his eyes were locked on Y/N. He didn’t care about the blood pooling at his feet. He didn’t care about the pain. All that mattered was getting her out of here. Getting her somewhere safe. Somewhere she could heal.

His shadows crawled around her, pulling her body closer to his. He felt the weight of her fragile form in his arms, heard her ragged breaths, felt her pulse weakly under his touch.

“No. No, Y/N. Stay with me,” he muttered under his breath, his voice shaky with raw emotion. The words were a plea—a command, a desperate cry. He couldn't lose her. Not like this. Not when they had just begun to fight back.

His hands shook as he cradled her, his blood mixing with hers, staining his skin, but he barely noticed it. Every drop of blood that soaked into his clothes only made the urgency in his chest burn hotter. His mind raced. He had to get her out. He had to get her somewhere safe.

Azriel’s last reserves of strength came crashing down on him. His wings trembled as he winnowed them both through the wreckage of the room, out of the hell that Malrik had made, and into the air. He was barely conscious himself, every breath a struggle. His vision was a blur, dark spots dancing before his eyes, but there was no other option. He couldn’t stop.

Velaris. The House of Wind. His only goal.

He landed with a jarring force, the impact almost sending him to his knees, but he stayed upright, clutching Y/N close to his chest. His body screamed in protest as he stumbled, blood dripping down his sides. He felt every injury, every slice from Malrik’s blade. But he couldn’t focus on that now. Not when Y/N was slipping away.

The doors to the House of Wind burst open, and Azriel’s heart nearly shattered as he rushed through the threshold, stumbling into the quiet hall.

“Azriel!” Rhysand’s voice cut through the panic in his mind, but Azriel couldn’t focus on the High Lord’s words. He couldn’t hear anyone. His only thought was Y/N, her fragile form in his arms.

“Get the healers. NOW!” Azriel shouted, his voice raw, frantic. His blood dripped from him like a scarlet trail as he moved, shaking, toward the stairs. The whole world seemed to pulse and fade with each breath, but he couldn’t stop. Not until she was safe.

“Azriel—”

Rhysand’s voice broke through again, but Azriel didn’t hear him. He was past the point of reason, his shadows thrashing around him as if they were as panicked as he was. The darkness roiled with his fury, his desperation. His wings were heavy with blood and exhaustion, but he wouldn’t let himself stop.

“Get out of my way,” Azriel growled, his voice an animalistic snarl as he shot a glare at Rhysand, his High Lord, the one person who had ever been his brother. The one person who should have commanded Azriel’s respect, but now? Nothing mattered but Y/N. His shadows twisted in response, threatening to lash out at the High Lord’s form. Azriel didn’t know what he’d do next, but he couldn’t stand still. He couldn’t wait.

He needed help. He needed someone to save her.

“She needs a healer, Rhys!” Azriel’s words were urgent, his voice thick with barely controlled panic. “Now!”

The shadows wrapped tighter around him, their darkness spreading out into the room, as if trying to force the world to bend to Azriel’s will. He couldn’t lose her. Not like this.

Rhysand’s expression flickered, and his gaze turned dark with understanding. Cassian appeared almost immediately, his face full of concern as he rushed toward them.

“What happened?” Cassian’s eyes darted between Azriel and Y/N, his hand brushing over Azriel’s bloodied chest.

“It’s Malrik,” Azriel muttered, his voice weak but fierce. “He—he’s dead. He’s dead, but... she... She needs help now.”

Cassian’s eyes hardened, and he nodded sharply. “I’ll get the healers.”

Azriel couldn’t think anymore. His mind was slipping in and out, and the world around him was dimming. The pain in his body was overwhelming, but it was nothing compared to the sight of Y/N, barely breathing in his arms. Her pulse was faint under his touch. She was fading.

Her body shuddered, and a weak sound escaped her lips. Azriel's heart shattered as he leaned in closer, his hands trembling as he pressed against her skin. “Y/N, please...” he whispered, his voice cracking, raw with grief. “Stay with me. Don’t leave me... don’t leave me alone.”

But she wasn’t responding. Her eyes flickered, and he could see the fight in her slowly dimming. She was slipping.

"Please," Azriel begged, his voice a tortured plea. "Please, Y/N... just stay awake. Stay with me. I’m here. I’m right here."

Her eyelids fluttered weakly, and Azriel’s heart skipped. He could hear the frantic movement around him, the Inner Circle gathering close, but nothing mattered. Nothing mattered except for Y/N.

Cassian and Rhysand spoke, Mor ran to get Amren in case the ancient female knew anything that could help, but Azriel didn’t hear them. All he could focus on was the weight of Y/N’s body, her breath shallow and shallow. He couldn’t let her die.

He wouldn’t survive if she did.

Azriel’s head swam as he willed himself to remain conscious. His injuries were severe—he could feel the blood seeping from the gash in his chest, his side throbbing in agony—but none of that mattered. He had no time for his own pain.

Y/N needed him.

And then, finally, the healers arrived.

“Azriel, we need space,” one of them said, their voice calm but firm.

Azriel barely registered the words. He shook his head desperately. “No,” he snapped. “She stays with me. You heal her, now.”

But the healers weren’t backing down. Rhysand’s powerful voice cut through his panic. “Azriel. Let them help.”

Azriel’s breath came in ragged gasps. His vision was closing in, everything feeling like it was slipping away. The tension in his body coiled tightly, the shadows vibrating with his distress. He had no idea how he was still standing, but there was nothing—nothing—that would tear him away from Y/N.

“No one takes her from me,” he hissed, his voice almost feral. His wings twitched behind him, and he took a step back to allow the healers to do their work, but his hands never left her body. He didn’t trust anyone else. Not right now.

As the healers began their work, Azriel sank to his knees beside her, his shadow-covered wings stretched out protectively over both of them, and he whispered through clenched teeth, “Please, Y/N. Don’t leave me.”

And then, finally, darkness overcame him.

The world was blurry when she woke up. Her vision swam in and out of focus, her head pounding as if a hundred hammers were smashing against her skull. She groaned softly, the weight of her limbs and the ache in her body dragging her back into consciousness. The first thing she noticed was the softness beneath her. The feeling of fine sheets, the coolness of the air. This was not the place she’d last remembered. This was not the battlefield, the ruins where Malrik had been.

Where am I?

The question was sluggish, curling in her mind. She turned her head, the movement slow and cautious, and she immediately regretted it. A sharp, agonizing pain coursed through her body, but she pushed through it. She was alive. That much she knew. But she could feel the heaviness of the room, the faint scent of healing herbs in the air. Something was off, but there were more immediate concerns.

The flicker of motion caught her eye. A woman was standing beside the bed, one that didn’t exactly seem familiar but was clearly there with intent. Y/N tried to push herself up, but the dizziness almost made her collapse again. She gripped the side of the bed and blinked at the woman.

“Where am I?” Her voice sounded strange—weak, like she hadn’t used it in ages.

The woman—who Y/N now recognized as Amren, one of the Inner Circle—raised an eyebrow, her cold, calculating gaze flicking over Y/N’s form. There was no warmth there, no sympathy. But that was to be expected. Y/N knew of Amren. The woman was an enigma, someone who remained aloof from others.

“You’ve been unconscious for two days,” Amren said with her usual bluntness, the words heavy in the air. “It’s no surprise, considering the state you were in when you arrived.” She didn’t look concerned, just matter-of-fact. “The healers are doing their best to keep you alive.”

Y/N's heart dropped at the word state. The last thing she remembered before everything went black... Malrik’s blade. The fight. Azriel. She bit down on the pain that wanted to crawl up her throat, her stomach twisting into a tight knot as the realization began to seep in like a slow poison.

“Azriel…” she whispered, her voice faint, trembling. “Where is he? What happened to him?”

Amren hesitated, just the smallest flicker of emotion crossing her cold features before she turned to the door. “That’s Mor’s department. She’ll have more details for you.”

Y/N’s pulse quickened at the mention of his name. She struggled to sit up, the pain ripping through her body. She could barely see straight, but she had to know. Had to. She needed to hear it from someone who had seen it all, who knew what happened.

Before Amren could stop her, the door to the room opened. A figure appeared in the doorway—Mor, her presence commanding, yet there was a tiredness in her eyes that Y/N hadn’t seen before. The High Fae’s gaze flickered to her briefly before moving to Amren, her wings twitching behind her.

“Well, any news?” Amren asked, her tone like steel, unbothered by the situation. She was a woman of few words, but those words always carried weight.

Mor sighed, her eyes dark and weary. “No change. He’s still unconscious. The shadows are restless. They won’t stay still. It’s like they’re trying to drag him back to the fight.” She paused, glancing at Y/N. “And... Y/N, I’m glad you’re awake, but I... I didn’t think it would be this soon.”

Her voice softened when she saw Y/N’s frantic gaze locked onto her, and she moved closer to the bed, her face full of concern despite her usual guarded demeanor. Y/N couldn’t shake the sense of impending dread that settled in her chest, the heaviness of it threatening to crush her.

“Who are you talking about?” Y/N asked, the words strangling her as they left her mouth. She knew, but she needed to hear it. She needed confirmation.

Amren and Mor exchanged a glance. It was brief, but there was an unmistakable hesitation in it.

“Azriel,” Mor said, her voice soft but steady, the name carrying a weight Y/N hadn’t expected to hear. "He’s been unconscious for the same amount of time as you. Both of you... you looked like absolute shit when you were brought back. He could barely hold you, Y/N. He was badly wounded."

Y/N felt her heart stop. The breath caught in her throat. He was hurt? The memory of their last moments together came flooding back. Azriel, fighting with everything he had to protect her, to save her. He’d come for her. He hadn’t left her behind.

He hadn’t left her.

The room seemed to spin as the emotion she’d been holding back finally began to crack open. “He saved me?” The words were raw, broken, like she was speaking through a jagged breath. “He didn’t leave me behind? Even after everything? After—?”

Mor stepped closer, her hand on Y/N’s shoulder. There was something unspoken in her gaze, something that softened her usual sharp edges. “Of course not,” Mor replied. “He would never leave you behind. Not in a thousand lifetimes.”

Y/N’s chest felt tight. She wanted to scream, to shout, to cry, but her body refused to let her. It was as if everything inside her had been frozen in place—until now. The realization that Azriel had come for her, that he had fought for her, that he hadn’t abandoned her in the chaos, was almost too much to comprehend.

But as soon as the weight of that truth sank in, a surge of panic tore through her.

“Where is he?” Y/N demanded, sitting up, her body screaming in protest at the movement, but she didn’t care. She needed to know. “I need to see him. Now.”

“Y/N, you’re not—” Amren started, but Y/N wasn’t listening. She could barely hear anything over the pounding of her heart.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her knees buckling beneath her as pain shot through her entire body. Her head spun, but she didn’t care. She was not staying here, helpless and stuck in this room. Not when Azriel—he—was out there, fighting to stay alive.

Before anyone could stop her, Y/N surged forward, pushing past Mor and Amren as she stood on shaky legs. The pain was unbearable, but it didn’t matter. She grabbed Mor’s arm, holding onto her with a desperation that surprised them both.

“Lead the way,” Y/N’s voice was fierce, even though it cracked. “I don’t care about anything else. Take me to Azriel. Now.”

Mor blinked at her in surprise, clearly taken aback by Y/N’s sudden surge of strength, but she didn’t hesitate for long. The urgency in Y/N’s voice was undeniable, and after a beat of hesitation, she nodded.

“Fine,” Mor said, her voice softening for a moment before she turned and motioned for Y/N to follow. “But you’re not going to like how bad he looks. We can’t risk you falling apart again. You need to be ready for this.”

“I don’t care!” Y/N snapped, her voice hoarse, filled with panic and fear. “Just take me to him.”

And without another word, Mor led her through the winding halls, her heart pounding with every step. She could hear the distant sound of voices, of the chaos that seemed to have erupted in the house. But Y/N’s focus remained on one thing—Azriel. And nothing would stop her from reaching him. Not the pain, not the fear, not even the weight of everything that had happened.

She was going to get to him. And she was going to make sure he knew, once and for all, that she would never leave him behind.

The door opened with a soft creak, and Y/N’s eyes immediately zeroed in on the only thing that mattered—the figure lying on the bed, unconscious and battered beyond recognition.

Azriel.

Her heart stopped for a brief second, a sharp pang of panic squeezing the breath from her lungs. It was him. It was really him. She stumbled into the room, leaning heavily on Mor, her legs shaking beneath her from the strain. But once she crossed the threshold and saw him, the world seemed to blur. Nothing else existed in that moment, not the soft hum of the room, not the presence of others who quietly lingered in the shadows. It was just Azriel, the male she needed, the male who had saved her.

The sight of him like this—a shell of the warrior she knew, pale and drained of life, bandaged and broken—made her chest tighten painfully. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, too slow, too weak, and it felt like a distant echo of the man she remembered.

Her legs gave out then, and Mor helped her gently onto the edge of the bed. She sat down slowly, careful not to jostle him, her hands trembling as they hovered near Azriel’s. The room felt suffocating now, as though the weight of the air, of the uncertainty, was too much to bear. The presence of others in the room—Rhysand and Cassian—faded to the background as she focused solely on the man lying in front of her.

She didn’t acknowledge them. She didn’t need to.

Her fingers brushed against Azriel’s hand, as if she was afraid the touch would somehow shatter the moment. The warmth of his skin was faint, but it was there. It was enough. She took his hand in both of hers, holding it gently, and she let her breath steady before speaking, her voice barely a whisper in the stillness of the room.

“Azriel,” she breathed, her voice soft but desperate. “Please, come back to me. I can’t do this without you. I can’t... I won’t let you go.”

She swallowed, trying to keep the trembling from her voice, trying to keep her composure, but the fear was there—thick, suffocating. “I need you. You saved me, but now... now it’s my turn to save you. Please, don’t leave me here, don’t leave me to fight this alone. You’re my strength, my anchor. Without you, I’ll be lost.”

She leaned closer, her face hovering just above his. The words came easier now, spilling from her lips in a quiet flood. “I know we’ve been through so much, Azriel, but I... I need you. We have so much left to do, so much we haven’t said to each other. I—I can’t lose you. Not now.”

The words hung in the air, like a fragile prayer, but she felt them burn in her chest. She didn’t want to let go of him. Not now. Not ever.

Then, as if the universe had decided to remind her that she wasn’t alone, the sound of someone clearing their throat broke through the quiet. Y/N froze, her heart skipping a beat. She hadn’t noticed Rhysand and Cassian standing at the other side of the room, their watchful eyes fixed on her and Azriel.

Rhysand’s voice was soft, but there was a tightness to it. “I’m glad you’re awake.”

Y/N didn’t respond immediately. She didn’t know what to say. What could she say?

It was Rhys who spoke again, his words careful, each one deliberate as he took a step closer to her and Azriel. “I should have told you before. But you deserve to hear it now.” He paused, a flicker of something in his eyes—guilt, perhaps—before he continued. “I had a hand in your exile, Y/N. I thought duty came first, and I made a choice. I forced Azriel to do what he did, and... I regret it. So much. Especially after seeing what he’s gone through since.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her eyes flickering to Rhysand. She wanted to say something—wanted to scream at him, to ask why, to demand answers—but the words felt too heavy, too loaded. And besides, Azriel’s life hung in the balance, and she wasn’t sure she could focus on anything else just yet.

Rhysand looked at her with a quiet, raw honesty. “I regret it, Y/N. I did it because I thought it was best for the Court, for all of us. But I see now that I was wrong. I never should have forced Azriel into that position. Never.”

Cassian stepped forward then, his face hardened with regret, his voice a little rougher than usual. “None of us knew, Y/N. Not Mor, not Amren, not any of us. We didn’t know how bad it was, how much Azriel was suffering. We didn’t know the weight he was carrying. But I’m begging you—please, understand that none of us knew. And we all want to make it right.”

Y/N didn’t respond immediately. Her mind was reeling, trying to process the weight of what they were saying. But through the fog of her thoughts, one thing became painfully clear—she couldn’t afford to focus on this. Not right now. She couldn’t afford to let this divide them further. Azriel needed her.

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Y/N muttered, her voice shaking, but there was no anger in it, just a quiet, resigned exhaustion. “We’ll talk later. Right now, just... just don’t let him die. Please.”

Her gaze flickered back to Azriel’s pale face, the shadows that still clung to him like a dark promise, and she squeezed his hand tighter, as if to will him to wake up.

“I have unspoken words to share with him,” Y/N whispered, her voice breaking on the words. “I’m not ready to lose him. Not yet.”

Rhysand and Cassian exchanged glances, a silent understanding passing between them. The room fell into a heavy silence as Y/N sat at Azriel’s side, her heart beating in time with his shallow breaths. And as the moments ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity, she could only hope, pray, that the male she loved would come back to her.

That he wouldn’t let go.

Not yet.

Two more days passed. Forty-eight hours.

Two days that felt like an eternity.

In all that time, Y/N had never once left Azriel’s side. Not once. Even when she was being treated for her own injuries, she would make sure to sit beside him afterward, her gaze never straying too far from his unconscious form. She ate her meals in his room, and when the healers came to check on him, she would watch, her heart in her throat, praying for any sign of improvement.

She couldn’t shake the feeling of helplessness, but she refused to leave him, not when he had done so much for her, not when he had saved her life and brought her back from the edge of death itself. No. She would stay with him, even if it felt like time was dragging on and the world outside seemed so far away.

And then, on the second day, when the shadows had grown restless and the light of the room began to shift as dusk approached, it happened.

Azriel woke up.

Y/N felt it before she saw it—the subtle shift in the air, the way the shadows calmed, the way his chest gave that faint rise and fall, like a fragile whisper. Her heart skipped a beat, and in a heartbeat, she was at his side, her hand gently brushing against his, as though afraid that touching him too much would shatter the moment.

His eyes fluttered open slowly, the darkness of his irises blinking against the light, the weakness in his expression making her heart break all over again.

"Azriel," Y/N whispered, her voice a breathless exhale of relief.

He blinked again, and then a small, tired smile crept onto his face as he realized she was there. “You’re awake,” he murmured hoarsely, his voice rough from disuse, but still so much like the Azriel she knew.

She nodded, her hand shaking as she cupped his cheek, gazing at him as if afraid he might slip away again if she let go for even a second. “I’m awake, I’m here,” she whispered, her breath hitching in her throat. Her heart felt too full, and in that moment, she didn’t care who saw or heard. Azriel was awake, and that was all that mattered.

But as her gaze flickered to the door, ready to call for anyone—healers, Rhys, Mor—Azriel’s weak hand reached out and grasped hers, gently but firmly, stopping her before she could move.

“Please,” he said softly, his voice barely audible, but it held a quiet desperation. “Stay with me... just a little longer.”

Her heart ached at the plea in his voice, but she nodded, sinking back into the chair beside him, her fingers still intertwined with his. Azriel pulled her closer, his hand guiding hers to rest at his side, his tired eyes locking onto hers.

“I need more time like this,” he said, his voice thick with exhaustion, but there was a softness in his gaze. A vulnerability that she wasn’t used to seeing from him. “More time with you. I know it’s probably an illusion. I know I don’t deserve this... but...” He paused, his eyes flickering with the weight of unsaid words. “Please, let’s talk. Let’s get this out in the open, so I can stop carrying this weight.”

Y/N let out a shaky breath, her chest tightening at his words. She opened her mouth to protest, to say they could talk later, that she didn’t want to push him when he was so weak, but Azriel cut her off before she could speak.

“No, Y/N,” he said, a rare intensity flickering in his eyes despite his exhaustion. “I can’t keep pretending. I need to say this now.”

She could see it—he was determined. He had to do this now, or it would consume him.

“Alright,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, though her hand tightened around his. “We can talk. But not about everything. Not now, Azriel. Not when you're like this.”

He gave a soft, sad smile, nodding. “I’ll go first.” His gaze softened as he exhaled slowly, gathering his thoughts. “I never got the chance to properly express myself before... but I need you to hear this now.”

He took a breath, his voice steady despite the tremor in his body. “After your banishment... I made sure you weren’t alone. I made sure you were never without what you needed, even when I couldn’t be there for you. It was me who left the money on your doorstep every month... it was me, Y/N. I couldn’t do anything for you in the first year because I thought you didn’t want me anywhere near you. I thought you hated me. And I... I couldn’t bring myself to face you, to tell you how sorry I was. How guilty I felt for what happened. But I made sure you had what you needed... I just couldn’t tell you. I didn’t deserve your smile. I didn’t deserve to be a part of your life anymore."

His fists clenched as he sighed. "That's why I never....never knew of what Malrik did to you. Because the first year I tried- truly tried justifying my horrible actions and staying away from you. I swear Y/N, if only I knew-"

He took a shaky breath, his fingers tightening around hers. “I want to make this right. I will make it right, Y/N. When I recover, I will personally make sure Rhys understands what I’ve done, and that I’ll fix everything, whatever it takes. I’ll make sure you’re taken back to the Night Court. And if you’ll have me, if you’ll allow me... I’ll make sure you rejoin my team. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, and I understand if you say no. But I’m asking for the chance... a chance to prove myself to you.”

Y/N stared at him, the words settling over her like a heavy weight, the truth of them sinking into her chest. She wasn’t sure what to say. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to forgive him, not yet, not when everything still felt so raw, so painful.

But then, she brushed the strands of hair from his forehead, her fingers gentle as they touched his skin, the warmth of his body grounding her in the moment. She let out a slow sigh, her voice quiet but firm.

“I don’t forgive you, Azriel,” she said softly. “And I will never forget what you did. But... I’m willing to give you a chance.” She met his gaze, her heart a tangle of emotions she didn’t have words for. “To prove yourself. To show me you can do better. To show me you care.”

Azriel’s eyes softened, the tension in his shoulders relaxing, as if a weight had been lifted. “I’ll do anything,” he whispered. “Anything to prove it to you.”

And for the first time in days, Y/N felt a flicker of hope.

The days seemed to stretch on, slow but comforting, and with every passing moment, Y/N and Azriel began to discover a new rhythm between them—one they had never experienced before. There were no rushes, no expectations, only the quiet bond they shared that had begun to grow roots in the fertile soil of time. Each small gesture, each word spoken, was a step forward, a step toward something neither of them had ever dared to hope for.

It wasn’t just their conversations that made the days feel different—it was the way they spent time together. They no longer avoided each other, as they once had, but instead leaned into the comfort of shared silence. In the mornings, they would sit side by side, Azriel with his books and reports, Y/N with a cup of tea in hand, and they would just be there together. There were no grand confessions or dramatic exchanges, just the small moments of connection that seemed to fill the spaces between them.

Y/N found herself smiling more than she had in years. She had come to love the quiet moments with Azriel. It wasn’t even about the things they talked about, but the way they could just exist together without the burden of the past hanging over them. Every laugh, every quiet word shared, began to heal something deep inside her.

But the true magic of their bond happened when they opened up about their fears—things they had never told anyone before.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the sky in shades of gold and pink, Y/N found herself sitting across from Azriel in the garden. The air was cool, the breeze gentle, and for the first time in a long while, the weight of the world seemed to fall away.

She spoke of her time in exile—how she had tried to survive, tried to find meaning in the solitude that had been thrust upon her. Azriel listened, always patient, always present, never once interrupting. And in return, Azriel began to share more—about his guilt, about the constant weight of responsibility he had carried, and about the painful truths he had buried deep within him. They both found a kind of solace in these conversations, a silent understanding between them that spoke louder than words.

Azriel leaned back against the stone bench, his eyes searching the darkening sky. “Do you ever wonder if we’re just... doomed to repeat our mistakes?” His voice was low, almost contemplative.

Y/N glanced at him, sensing the underlying vulnerability in his question. “I think... we all have our demons. Some of us just face them sooner than others.”

Azriel’s gaze shifted to her, his expression softening. “What if I told you that I spent so long running from my mistakes, I almost forgot how to face them head-on? I didn’t just fail you—I failed myself, too. I thought I could keep it all under control, but I’ve learned... the hard way that control is just an illusion.”

Y/N’s heart ached as she heard the pain in his voice. She had never imagined Azriel would carry such heavy burdens on his own. She reached out, placing her hand on his. The touch was gentle, a silent offer of comfort. “You’re not alone in this, Azriel. You never have been.”

His hand squeezed hers, and for a moment, they were silent, both lost in their thoughts. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, though; it was a quiet understanding between them, an unspoken connection that neither of them had ever felt with anyone else.

Azriel broke the silence after a while, his voice steady but with an underlying emotion. “I’m sorry for everything, Y/N. I was selfish. I pushed you away when all you ever needed was someone to stand beside you.”

Y/N’s eyes softened as she looked at him, her heart swelling. “I was angry, Azriel. I hated you for what you did, for the way you left me in the dark. But I see now... I see how much you’ve changed. How much you’ve done to make things right.”

Azriel looked down at their intertwined hands, his voice rough. “It’s not enough, Y/N. I can never undo what I did. But I’ll spend every moment from now on trying to prove to you that I’m not that person anymore.”

Y/N was quiet for a long moment. She had been angry, so angry, for so long. But now, as she listened to him, felt the sincerity in his words, the anger began to lose its grip on her heart. She had always known that deep down, Azriel wasn’t the one she should be angry at. He was just another soul trying to find his way, just like she was.

“I believe you,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But it’s going to take time. I need time to heal, too.”

Azriel nodded, his eyes filled with understanding. “We have time. As much time as we need.”

Azriel kept his word. He did everything in his power to make things right, though his efforts often went unnoticed by the rest of the world. He took the time to visit every corner of his network—his spies, his workers, the people who owed him loyalty—one by one, and confessed his shame. He told them all of his mistake, how he had failed Y/N, how he had allowed her to be exiled and how that decision had broken him.

And when the time came to speak with Rhys, Azriel was firm, his voice steady despite the vulnerability in his eyes.

“I don’t care what it takes,” Azriel had said, his gaze unwavering. “If Y/N isn’t allowed back into the Night Court, then I will leave. I will go with her. I’m done with this court, if it means losing her.”

Rhys had looked at him, his face unreadable for a moment, but then he spoke, his voice soft but firm. “You think I wouldn’t accept her back? You think I would make you choose between this court and her?”

Azriel met his gaze, his jaw tight. “You tell me. You’ve made your position clear before. I won’t let you tear us apart.”

Rhys had exhaled, his shoulders loosening. “It’s not like that. I never wanted to keep her from you. And if you think for one second that I would let anything come between the two of you, you’re wrong. But there’s more to this than just your promise, Azriel. There’s the matter of what’s right.”

Y/N had overheard part of the conversation, her heart stirring in her chest. She had known, deep down, that Rhys had his reasons, but hearing him speak so openly, so honestly, about what he would do for her... it made her heart ache in a way she hadn’t expected. For all their tension, their difficult history, there was a part of her that understood the weight of the choices Rhys had made.

When the conversation ended, it was like a door had been opened—a door that had been locked for so long. Y/N wasn’t just being accepted back into the Night Court; she was being welcomed with open arms, with an understanding that she had a place here. That she wasn’t just Azriel’s, but part of something bigger, something that had always been hers.

Weeks Later

Y/N walked into the training courtyard, the soft hum of the day’s activities filling the air. Her body had healed, her strength returning with each day. Azriel was already there, practicing his forms, his movements fluid and precise. He looked up as she approached, his eyes softening when he saw her.

She had learned, in the time since their conversation, how much he had done—how much effort he had put into making things right. And while the road to healing was still long, she couldn’t deny the shift in their dynamic. She had seen him work tirelessly, not just for her, but for himself. He had made amends where he could, he had spoken with those who needed to hear it, and he had taken responsibility for his actions in a way that left her with no choice but to respect him all over again.

“You’ve been training all morning,” she teased, her lips quirking into a smile as she approached him.

Azriel’s mouth twitched into a grin, though his tired eyes showed the weight of his own healing journey. “Someone has to keep up with you,” he replied, his voice laced with affection.

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully and watched him for a moment. “You’re getting better,” she observed. “But you still need to catch up to me.”

He chuckled softly. “Maybe I’ll get there one day.”

She stepped forward, her fingers grazing his arm lightly. “You’re already there,” she murmured, the words almost too soft to hear.

Azriel’s gaze flickered to her, his eyes darkening with something unreadable. He stepped closer, closing the space between them, and reached out, his fingers brushing her cheek. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said quietly. “It’s been a long time coming. I know I can’t undo what’s been done... but I’m going to spend every moment I can making sure you know how much I care. How much I regret the things I did.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered in her chest, her breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t just the apology that moved her, it was the sincerity in his eyes. She had never seen Azriel so raw, so open. And it made her believe in him again.

“I believe you,” she whispered. “And I know you’re trying. But we have time now... time to figure this out together.”

A gentle silence passed between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a quiet understanding, a promise without words, that they would move forward, together.

The conversation with Rhys had been long and difficult, but when Azriel emerged, there was a calmness to him that hadn’t been there before. Y/N could sense the weight of it, the way he stood taller now, as though he had finally cast off the chains of guilt and shame that had bound him for so long.

Azriel met her eyes across the room, his gaze softening as she stood from her seat. He walked toward her, his movements slower than usual, as though every step was a testament to how far they had come.

“I never thought it would feel like this,” Y/N said, her voice quiet as she stood before Azriel, her heart pounding in her chest. “To be accepted back... to have everything feel like it’s slowly coming together.”

Azriel stepped forward, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s not perfect. It never will be. But we’re here. We’re together now.”

Y/N smiled softly, a tear slipping down her cheek as she looked up at him. “And that’s all that matters.”

As Azriel cupped her face in his hands, their lips met in a kiss that held the promise of all the things they had yet to say, all the healing yet to come. It wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was a quiet, slow kiss that spoke of time, of patience, of the love they had built in the silence between them. And as they pulled away, their foreheads resting against each other, both of them knew—this was just the beginning.

"Show me how much you've changed, Az" she whispered before feeling him gently scoop her up in bridal style and go down the hallway.

(SMUT STARTS HERE)

Once inside his bedroom, Azriel towered over her, "Are you sure you want this?"

Y/N only nodded her head, hands resting on his chest. "Yes, fuck me, Azriel."

He smiled gently and shook his head. "No, I won't fuck you. I will make love to you."

He didn't give her a chance to reply before leaning down and in one quick motion capturing her lips, her gasp. Y/N's hand's went to his shoulders, one of them holding Azriel by the nape of his neck, bringing him closer down to her as she felt his arms tighten around her, their bodies pressed flush against one another.

Their kiss deepened, and Azriel’s movements were slow, deliberate. There was no rush, no sense of urgency between them, only the quiet, steady rhythm of two souls coming together after years of separation, of scars and healing.

Y/N felt her breath hitch as Azriel’s hands gently skimmed over her skin, his touch almost reverent, as though he were cherishing each part of her. His fingers trailed along the curve of her waist, his touch light, as though testing the waters. She felt the heat of his body against hers, the solid weight of him comforting and grounding.

With a gentle pull, Azriel guided her to sit up on the edge of the bed, never breaking their kiss. His hands moved to the fabric of her clothing, his fingertips brushing against the soft material, but his motions were cautious, careful—almost as if asking for permission. He didn’t need to speak it; his touch was enough. Y/N felt the weight of the past between them, but in this moment, it was a distant memory. There were no walls between them, no walls to break down.

Her hands moved to his chest, pushing his tunic off his shoulders, the fabric falling to the floor in a heap. She could feel the hard lines of his muscles beneath her fingertips, the smoothness of his skin, but there was a tenderness in how they undressed each other, a silent understanding that this wasn’t about passion or lust alone—it was about something deeper. It was about trust. About healing.

Azriel’s breath was warm against her skin, and his hands moved to the buttons of her dress, his movements slow, deliberate, as if every action held meaning. Each layer of clothing that fell away was like another barrier they had broken down, another step closer to one another. And as her dress pooled around her feet, she felt more exposed than she ever had, but not vulnerable. Not with Azriel. With him, it felt like coming home.

He took a step back, just enough to look at her, his eyes dark with desire but filled with something deeper—something tender, something that made her heart ache in a way she wasn’t expecting. The vulnerability between them was raw, but it was comforting, something she hadn’t realized she needed until now.

“I won’t rush you,” Azriel murmured, his voice low, like the sound of a night wind through the trees. “This is about us—about us being here. Now.”

Y/N nodded, her breath catching in her throat as she gazed up at him, her hands resting lightly on his chest. The weight of everything they had been through—everything they were still going through—hung in the air, but it no longer felt like something they had to carry alone. It was a shared weight, something they would hold together.

And as Azriel lowered himself onto the bed beside her, pulling her into his arms, the soft press of his lips against her forehead was the promise of something far more profound than what either of them had ever experienced. This wasn’t just a physical connection; it was emotional, it was spiritual, and it was a healing that neither of them had expected.

Their bodies moved together, slowly, with care, the gentle rhythm of their movements speaking volumes. It wasn’t fast or frantic—it was a dance of patience and love, a stark contrast to the turmoil and chaos of their past. They were no longer the broken, scarred people they once were. Together, they were something new, something rebuilt. Each caress, each kiss, was a quiet declaration that they had found something real.

"Azriel..." she moaned an hour and two rounds later as the male in question had his head inbetween her legs, lapping up all her juices, his fingers also massaging her clit while his eyes never left hers. Oh those dark, intense eyes....

Y/N clenched his hair harder as Azriel began thrusting his tounge deeper and faster. He had kept to his word, fucking her gently, lovingly, leaving love bites and marks all over her chest, stomach and thighs. Of course she hadn't forgotten about him either, once again riding him just like that night at the inn but this time....slower, gentler, as she kissed his lips, his face, his neck and chest, hearing him groan and moan, her name spilling out of his mouth like some sacred prayer.

And now, he was intent on licking her clean. Y/N sucked in aharsh breath as she felt his other hand drift upwards, to her breasts, gently grasping and fondling them. Her thighs squeezed his head and Azriel rolled- visibly, literally rolled his eyes and groane dinto her mouth, causing her to cum all over his face.

Azriel lifted his wet, dripping face as he crawled upwards on her body, kissing along her scars, her marks, her curves, her 'imprefections' as he growled loving praises at ehr like, "Delicious" "Absolutely divine" "Mine" "Fucking hell" and Y/N could barely hide her blush.

But all of her thoughts went out of her head when she felt his thick, once more hardened and angry cock gently sliding inside her overstimulated lips. Her arms immediately went up to his neck as brought him down and whispered, "Now, will you fuck me Azriel?"

She heard a true, genuine, laugh from him as he replied with his smug voice. "Whatever you wish, beautiful." before picking up his pace.

And when they finally came together, it wasn’t with the force of their past storms, but with the calm of the peace they had found in each other. It was tender, it was slow, and it was everything they had been waiting for without even realizing it.

(SMUT ENDS HERE)

In the stillness of the room, only the sound of their steady breathing filled the air. The world outside seemed far away, as if time itself had slowed down to honor this moment between them. Azriel’s hand gently traced the curve of Y/N’s back, the soft movement a promise that he would never let go again, not after everything they had been through. His touch was warm, grounding, and as her fingers played with the fabric of his tunic, she felt an overwhelming sense of peace—something she hadn’t known she was missing until now.

They lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the weight of the past slowly but surely lifting. There were no more words to be spoken, no more apologies to be made—just the quiet, unspoken understanding that they had found their way back to each other. The road ahead was uncertain, but it no longer felt daunting. Together, they would face whatever came next, not as two individuals, but as a united force, stronger for the healing they had both undergone.

Y/N sighed softly, her head resting on Azriel’s chest, the steady beat of his heart echoing in her ear. She could feel the peace settling over her, like a gentle tide washing away the remnants of all the pain, all the loss. She had once thought she couldn’t move forward, couldn’t heal. But now, with Azriel beside her, she knew that healing wasn’t about forgetting—it was about letting go, trusting, and opening up to the possibility of something more.

Azriel shifted slightly, lifting his head to look at her. His gaze was soft, filled with a warmth that made her heart swell. “We’re going to be okay,” he murmured, as if reaffirming the truth they both knew deep down. “Together.”

Y/N smiled, her fingers gently brushing his cheek. “Together,” she whispered back, the word tasting like the beginning of something beautiful.

And as the quiet night stretched on, they remained in that peaceful embrace, a new chapter unfolding before them, ready to be written with all the love and healing they had fought so hard to find. The future was no longer a place of uncertainty. With each other, they had found their way home.

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Taglist: @darkbloodsly @moonfawnx @clementine111002 @galaxystern08 @batboyslutt @circe143 @tele86

#acotar #azriel #fanfics #azriel acotar #azriel angst #acotar x you #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #azriel imagine #azriel smut #acotar angst #acotar smut

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the-lonelybarricade · 4 months ago

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Oh my god @shallyne I love this so much 😭 I’m OBSESSED with all the details - you even added Feyre’s contact name!!

“...but I am fairly certain there’s no such thing as lemon flavored tampons.”

She pressed her lips together to stifle a laugh.

“They’re there, Rhys,” she said, forcing an air of exasperation that she thought sounded convincing. “And if you really can’t find them, I’ll take the orange flavored ones.”

Happy @the-lonelybarricade/ @officialfeysandweek! Today has multiple submissions because everyone loves Grim!Rhys, and I am no exception! 'Til Death Do Us Part is a community favorite AND a personal favorite!

MAJOR thank you to @shallyne who loves this fic MORE than me (if you can believe it), and put these together for me.

#this is so cute #Grim!Rhys #Till Death Do Us Part #Feysand art

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pellucid-constellations · 10 months ago

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If It All Fell (6)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: Angst, PINING

a/n: Sorryyyy for the wait <3 As a lot of you know I have been going through it lately, but I really enjoyed writing this and hope to post more immediately 🤜. Let me know what you think :))

Part 1 ♡ Part 2 ☆ Part 3 ✶ Part 4☼ Part 5 ☁ Part 7 ☆

Series Masterlist

Day Court was immeasurably beautiful—with all of its pristine columns reflecting orange light. Marble flooring shone with distorted images of acrylic brush strokes that hung on granite walls. Fountains billowed at the mouth of every doorway, sculpted fixtures at their bases. Warm wind kissed your skin and glistening waters welcomed you and Day Court was so incredibly beautiful.

You were sure, if given the chance, you would think the same of its residents.

Unfortunately, you were not given the chance to come to that conclusion.

“The High Lord is in a meeting. He sends his apologies for not meeting you upon your arrival—the merchants of Day can get a bit rowdy,” the servant laughed. “I can show you to your rooms in the meantime.”

“Rooms?” Rhysand posed. You attempted to look over Azriel’s wing to gauge the conversation, but Cassian took another step to the side, halting your movement.

“Yes, Helion informed us that the four of you would be here, so we prepared four rooms. If that’s not—”

“Three rooms will suffice, thank you,” your High Lord drawled.

The servant squeaked, and you were sure if you could see her, her nerves would be evident. “Of—of course, High Lord. I assume Lady Y/n will be with—”

“We will deal with the division of our rooms on our own. Thank you…”

“Amira,” the servant offered. “My name is Amira. I will be attending to you, Lady Y/n, during your time here.”

You knocked your head to the side, brushing Cassian’s bicep as he stood beside you. You barely caught Amira’s mousey brown hair before the membrane of a wing flushed out and pushed you back.

“She doesn’t need an attendant,” Azriel bit out, misplaced malice creating tension in the hall.

“Oh, it’s okay, I—”

Apparently, not even your voice was allowed to be heard. Rhysand cut you off. “No attendant,” he confirmed, after sending his spymaster a sidelong glance laced with reproach. “No servants in our rooms, either. We are rather private, you understand.”

A pause.

You wished you could see anyone’s expression.

From beside you, Cassian offered you a pity smile, nudging you with his elbow in an act of comfort.

“Anything you require,” Amira shakily responded. “Shall I walk you back, then? Just to show you where you will be staying?”

“Lead the way.”

Azriel immediately stepped back, his shadows scrambling past him to enclose you in dim light. You felt his presence, firm and tall, looming at your back as you took the first few steps down the hall.

This all felt entirely misplaced, with the bleakness of your group extinguishing some of the vibrance of the court you walked through. Cassian kept close to your side, some of Azriel’s shadows drifting off and cloaking the red glow on his hands and chest. Rhys, ever the High Lord, took up the front, footsteps light but purposeful.

Everyone looked grim.

Except for you.

This court held no negative connotations for you, no malicious undertones that impacted the rest of your family. It was simply beautiful, and your family was simply cloistering you.

But you agreed to this; anything to make them feel better.

To make Azriel feel better.

You turned your head to the side as you walked, catching the shadowsinger in your peripheral. Tense, on-guard, unyielding; Azriel’s jaw was set in a firm clench, but it was different from what you were used to. When he was tense at home, it was almost out of… anticipation? Trepidation?

Here though… here his posture was derived from rage. From practiced, honed fury.

You turned your head away before you attempted to fix it, to comfort him. He wanted to be angry, told you as much before he winnowed you to Day in a flurry of his shadows.

I’m going to be different, he had told you, I need to be different. It can’t be like the last time. I can’t let you get hurt.

The fear in his eyes had melted away in the Day Court sun; the second your feet landed on meticulously carved cobblestone, Azriel was no longer just your friend.

Amira led you to three doors along a wall, mumbled a few parting words, and bowed away before anyone could send her a second glance. You attempted to offer her a reassuring smile amidst her flee, but Azriel’s shadows were too dense. A hand on your back led you into a room and Amira was gone.

“That went well,” Cassian breathed, a long sigh punctuating his descent into a loveseat by the bed. “She didn’t look terrified at all.”

The bedroom door clicked shut. Rhys raised his brows. “She’ll thank us later.” The High Lord’s eyes drifted to the shadowsinger sulking by your side. “This isn’t exactly a leisurely visit.”

Your gaze shot around the room in the following lapse of silence, analyzing the tense nature of each male. The air felt stagnant and stiff, the light somehow dimmer even with the open windows, and you weren’t sure if your voice would make it worse or ease some of the pressing emotions.

Rhys took a seat in a chair by the door, and you decided speaking was better than leaning into the uncomfortable silence.

“It’s so beautiful here,” you began, playing with your fingers, second-guessing your decision to stand. Azriel remained motionless at your side. “The sun feels different somehow. Brighter, maybe?”

“The skies have an affinity for their namesake in the solar courts,” Rhys offered kindly.

You hummed, rolling onto your toes and then rocking back on your heels. “I suppose that makes sense. The nights are incredible back home.”

The use of that word—home—did not go unnoticed by the group. Not by you and certainly not by the male standing guard at your side. The replacement of the word had been relatively common since you woke up.

Here in Velaris, there is….

When you came back here all those years ago…

Let’s go back to the house…

Never home.

But being in Day—being away from Velaris—just solidified what you already assumed. Velaris was your home. You were sick of letting your family dance around that truth.

“Mother above, I was sure I would never see you again,” a strange voice tore your attention from Cassian’s vivid retelling of your first time flying with him, and although it was an interesting story, the man before you was even more enticing.

With deep skin and an even deeper smile, white linen billowed around his confident figure. The man appeared to glisten as he walked toward your small group, golden sandals trailing up bronze calves. Even the air around him seemed to glow.

Enticing didn’t seem to be the correct word.

You’d been directed into a rather large study after a brief lunch and a “tour” of the grounds that only included the wing you were staying in. Rhys had chalked it up to Helion stalling for time. You’d tried to coax a more comprehensive tour out of the guard leading you around, but a sharp look from Azriel was enough to put that conversation to rest.

“You look just as you did. Perhaps a bit gaunt but…” The man—Helion, you’d deduced—trailed off when the whisper of a shadow trailed at his neck. “I am Helion,” he smiled. “You have known me for many years. In love with me, as most are. But, alas, it is not fated.”

Some of your awe shifted to shock. “I am—I’m sorry, I am in love with you?”

In front of you, Cassian let out a long breath and fanned his wings out before letting them hang behind his chair. You sat straighter in your own seat, mortification creeping into your chest at the small laugh Rhys let slip across the room. What set your mouth into its flurry, however, was the raised brow you received from Helion.

“I didn’t mean that to offend. I mean—what I meant was just that… Well, no one said I had a lover or even mentioned you in that way so it came as a shock. But I presume there is much about myself I have yet to learn so… you are a very beautiful man and I’m sure—”

“Y/n, it’s alright,” came Azriel’s soothing voice from beside you, his scarred fingers pushing hair behind your ear halting your apologies. “He was only joking.” A pointed look in the High Lord’s direction. “He does that from time to time, unfortunately.”

More mortification made an appearance.

“Oh.”

Helion’s raised brow had morphed into an unsure expression at some point amidst your rambling. “When they said you had no memory… You will have to excuse me, y/n. I assumed you’d have more… context. Especially with your abilities.”

“We told you she remembered nothing and had no access to her magic,” Azriel defended, his fingers dropping to rest beside your thighs.

“Well, yes, but often when magic tampers with the mind, the personality remains intact. Like a muscle memory.”

“Oh, her personality is there,” Cassian retorted, a bittersweet smirk playing at his lips. “Just not when she’s met you five seconds ago and you’re revealing fake truths. Sarcasm doesn’t often work with strangers.”

Helion nodded grimly, turning back to you. “I apologize.”

“It’s really alright,” you comforted, attempting to calm some of the twisted guilt marring the High Lord’s face. “They worry too much. Right now everything I do is without context and I find myself embarrassed more often than not. It’s not your fault.”

Helion did not look convinced or reassured. His eyes simply traveled to the corners of your face and tracked down to the patterns Azriel was drawing into the skirts of your dress.

“Do you see now why we needed to come to you,” Rhys chimed in from above his crossed arms.

Helion hummed. “Yes. Shall I get started then?”

The room shuffled. You were informed that Helion had to be touching your head to assess the injury—unlike Rhys’s assessment—so you were sat atop a table to give him better access. Azriel followed by your side, his front pressed against the table, Cassian stood his ground behind Helion, and Rhys took up residence on your other side.

“In Day, we have a type of healing that extends to magical wards and enchantments, was that explained to you?” Helion asked, kind eyes never leaving yours. Too kind—uncertain and full of reproach.

“Yes, they said maybe the witch put something in my mind. Like a blockage.”

“Precisely. And I was informed about Rhysand’s unsuccessful attempt at entering your mind. That could be due to a spell, which is why I would be more useful.”

Rhys scoffed.

You let a smile tug at your lips, but it was quickly extinguished when you considered the outcome of this process. “Will it feel the same? What you’re doing and what Rhys did?”

You could almost hear the way Azriel ground his jaw.

Helion glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “It will feel different. I am not in the business of thoughts or memories. I won’t be able to access anything other than any inflictions you may have.”

“So it won’t hurt?”

“I cannot promise anything.”

The table beneath you shifted an inch, just to be caught by hands glowing with blue light.

I need to be different. It can’t be like the last time. I can’t let you get hurt.

“Still sure you can’t just beat the crap out of whatever’s going on in my head?” you posed to Cassian, tilting your head up to call over Helion’s shoulder.

The general’s chuckle eased some of the tension in the room. “I would if I could.”

“Promise?”

“Always.”

With a resigned breath, you nodded to Helion. The High Lord’s hands glowed a golden white, he lifted them to your head, and then there was nothing.

Azriel

If he hadn’t shot his hand out when he did, Azriel was sure your head would have fallen out of Helion’s grasp and plummeted to the floor.

You were limp.

Eyes closed, neck bent—completely and utterly limp.

Azriel took the liberty of tugging on the bond just to make sure you were still alive. He hadn’t done so since you woke up in the forest, remembering the fear in your eyes, but you looked so incredibly lifeless.

“Helion,” he barked, his worried expression never turning from your face.

Icy panic gripped his stomach, twisting it with fervor.

Cassian took a step forward.

“Why is she unconscious?” his brother gritted out. His tone was an empty threat; he couldn’t hurt a High Lord, and neither could Azriel, but Azriel would do much more for much less.

His life had become a nightmare.

Literally.

On his worst nights, he relived the time you went missing and the subsequent loss of your memories over and over until he woke up screaming. His heart would beat so rapidly it seemed impossible to slow and he would be inconsolable for several minutes, but he always had you there. He would wake up from that nightmare and you would be there.

He had that dream every night now, and he woke up to the same. The guestroom he occupied didn’t smell like you, and even though you were just on the other side of the wall, he couldn’t make out the sound of your breath enough to let it lull him back to sleep. Nothing you owned was in that room. Everything he owned was still in a pile by the door after Feyre had rushed to clear the evidence of him from your space. But why did that matter? What were books and trinkets and clothes in a room that was otherwise devoid of everything he loved?

Leaving his room was worse.

Gods, all he wanted to do was hold you. To really, truly hold you and for you to hold him back. But you looked at him cordially, the same way you looked at Cassian and Rhysand and Mor.

When he left the house he had to deal with Feyre and Nesta’s constant questioning. Even Amren had taken an interest in your well-being, and while he appreciated the care for his mate, he couldn’t take it.

He couldn’t take echoing the words, “She’s fine. Healthy. Less pain today,” over and over when he could tell what they really wanted to know were things you wouldn’t share with him. He couldn’t take the fact that you didn’t tell him you loved him—that he would whisper it at your back every time you turned around and you never heard. You were skittish at his touch and shy when you spoke and you were never the first to voice your opinion and he just couldn’t take it.

With your head in his broken hand, Azriel felt another piece of him crack.

“I did it.” Rhys broke the silence, a concentration twisting his brow. “Helion and I agreed it was the best way to go about this. It had to be sudden though—unexpected. We needed a moment where her mind was completely unexpecting.”

Cassian cursed. “You couldn’t have told us that before you made it look like she died, Rhysand?”

“If y/n were dead no one would be standing here right now and you know that.”

“Still,” Cassian mumbled. “Warn a guy.”

“I’ve felt this before,” Helion said, shaking his head. “But that’s impossible. Rhysand, you would have—”

“I would have, yes, but not if it was created through other means. It was a witch, not a daemati.”

“She could have been both.”

“Extremely unlikely. Keep going.”

Azriel watched the way your lashes fluttered, counted the beats of your heart and pretended you knew who he was.

“What’s happening?” he asked. “You’re both in her head. Talk.”

“I couldn’t get through the wall myself because it wasn’t her magic,” Rhys explained. “I assumed it was the witch’s, but this signature is too similar. It’s exactly like it was before, just muted.”

“Like it was before?” Azriel repeated, finally turning his head up.

Rhysand looked grim. “Almost identical.”

“That isn’t possible,” the shadowsinger immediately refuted. “I killed that bastard myself. There is no way he could have done anything to her.”

“Azriel, I think it’s possible that—”

But Azriel did not let the High Lord of Day finish his thought. “You don’t speak to me about her,” he seethed. “Not when she came to your court and one of your people did this to her. I trusted you with her. I sent my mate here and she has been paying the price for that ever since. This is your fault, so you do not tell me what you think. You tell me what is certain.”

The room went silent, and Helion looked back at you, eyes glazing as he continued his work.

A strong, steady hand clapped against Azriel’s shoulder. It took Cassian three tugs before Azriel reluctantly let your head go, but only after Rhysand placed his own hand at your back.

“Look, I get it,” Cassian comforted, hands on his brother's arms. “If this was Nesta I’d probably be tearing this room apart right now. But he’s all we have here. And you know it wasn’t his fault last time. You remember how hard he worked to get her back.”

Azriel ignored him.

Cassian roughly shook his frame.

“Hey, you know that. And you know y/n’s going to be pissed at you when she gets her memories back and hears how much of an ass you’re being to Helion. She’s going to be severely pissed if you start a war trying to kill the guy.”

“If.”

The small smile Cassian was sporting faltered. “What?”

Azriel finally met his eyes. “If she gets her memories back. It was an if last time and it’s an if again.”

The two High Lords discussed quietly in the back, their hands still on you. Azriel’s shadows refused to leave your side, weaving through your hair and your clothes and the fingers against your head.

“Well last time she got them back, didn’t she?”

“You truly believe that will happen twice? I was praying to the mother for luck the first time, Cassian. She won’t listen again. I guarantee she won’t.”

“Az…” Cassian trailed off. There was no speech to formulate, not when defeat and resolution were so clear on his brother’s face.

“She won’t love me a third time.”

Your cough had Azriel bolting away from his brother’s concerned gaze in an instant. You were no longer in Helion’s grasp, instead leaning against Rhysand’s arm as the High Lord of Day scribbled something in a book.

“Ow.” You rubbed at your head with a pinched expression, squinting up at Azriel as he leaned down. “I think I passed out or something.”

It was mostly out of hysterics, but a small laugh escaped the spymaster. “Or something.”

Gods, you sent a spark of joy down the bond and it was all-consuming. You did that from time to time, unintentionally flooding Azriel with whatever emotion you felt the strongest. More than once he had to stop himself from opening his side completely just to relish in the reminisce you offered him.

“What about this time? Did we figure it out?” you slurred, squeezing your eyes open just to have the drop closed once again.

Azriel tucked his hand against the back of your head and looked expectantly at the two High Lords before him.

When Helion spoke, Azriel let him, if only because he was still living on the high of his mate’s lingering amusement. “Whatever the witch did, it was a mimicry of the daemati that tore into her head all those years ago. I need to do more research, see if I am able to undo whatever it is she redid without irreparably damaging her mind. If I can’t, the only answer is the witch.”

“Is that even possible? To mimic something like that?” Azriel asked, stepping forward so your drooping head would fall against his arm.

“Witches draw power beyond their reserve and even beyond the cauldron. We know so little about them. Tamlin should not have been making deals with them,” Helion curtly replied.

Any lightness in the room had very clearly disappeared.

“Take your mate back to your room. We can discuss this when she no longer looks like she’s fighting to stay awake.”

“I am awake,” you argued, trying and failing to haul yourself into an upright position.

Rhysand huffed out a laugh. “I wouldn’t even be awake after having two high lords in my mind. Go rest. We will talk in the morning.”

Azriel assisted as you stood on unsteady legs, but the attempt was futile. The shadowsinger gathered you into his arms as you sent an accusatory finger in Rhysand’s direction. “Liar.”

It wasn’t until you were alone in the hallway, your head against Azriel’s shoulder, his arms beneath your body, that you spoke again.

“Azriel?”

He hummed in response.

“What’s a mate?”

Part 7 ☆

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x female!reader #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel angst

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