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serpentandlily · 10 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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peachesofteal · 3 months 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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callsigns-haze · 2 months ago

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-ˋˏ The week it all went south ˎˊ-

Part 5

Part 1 here Part 2 here Part 3 here Part 4 here

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader

Azriel has the perfect life. You as his wife. Kaia as his daughter. But him and the boys are stupid enough to challenge you for a week and then his perfect life might simply...disappear

Warning: ANGST, mentions of past lovers, mentions of sex, cursing, kissing, mentions of injured child, drinking, mentions of character death (nobody is dead though they just mention it), throwing up, Az being an ass and MC being a badass mama, kidnapping, mentions of physical force against characters, mentions of bleeding.

Word count: 16.4k

The guards at the River House barely had time to react as Eris winnowed into the courtyard, his usual composed demeanour replaced with an urgency that radiated off him like heat from a flame. His fiery hair was dishevelled, and his sharp features were drawn tight with exhaustion and determination.

Two Illyrian sentries stepped forward, wings flaring slightly in caution. "State your business, Eris Vanserra," one of them said sharply, though his grip on the hilt of his sword remained steady.

"I don’t have time for pleasantries," Eris snapped, his amber eyes blazing as he strode past them with a commanding air. "I need to see Rhysand. Now. Tell him it’s about Kaia."

The guards hesitated for only a moment before one of them nodded, stepping aside and sending a mental note to their High Lord. Eris didn’t wait for formalities or introductions; he shoved the heavy doors open and stormed into the River House, the sound of his boots echoing off the marble floors.

Inside, the tension in the air was palpable. Rhys was already in the main room, standing hunched over a table scattered with maps and reports. His hair was tousled from days of restless searching, and dark circles rimmed his violet eyes. Cassian sat nearby, sharpening a blade, his face grim and his posture radiating barely contained frustration. Azriel leaned against the far wall, his shadows shifting in a restless, agitated dance, his haunted expression betraying how close he was to breaking.

Eris didn’t bother with decorum. "Rhysand!" he barked, his voice cutting through the tense silence like a knife.

Rhysand’s head shot up, his eyes narrowing as he took in Eris’s wild appearance. "What are you doing here, Eris?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. Cassian and Azriel straightened, both watching the Lord of Autumn Court with barely veiled suspicion.

"I found her," Eris said, his voice sharp and urgent, his chest rising and falling as though he’d run the entire way. "I found Kaia."

The room froze. Rhysand’s expression turned from wary to disbelieving in the blink of an eye. Cassian stood abruptly, his blade clattering to the floor, and Azriel pushed off the wall so quickly his shadows scattered in confusion. "What did you say?" Rhys asked, his voice dangerously soft as though he didn’t dare hope.

"I found her," Eris repeated, more slowly this time, his voice steady and certain. "She’s at the Forest House with a healer. She’s alive."

Rhysand staggered back a step, his hand gripping the edge of the table for support. His violet eyes were wide, shining with a mixture of hope and disbelief. "Alive?" he whispered, as though testing the word on his tongue.

Cassian let out a string of curses, his wings flaring wide, while Azriel simply stared at Eris, his face blank but his shadows curling tightly around him, a storm waiting to erupt.

"She’s injured bad," Eris continued, glancing at each of them in turn. "Her wings... they’ve been damaged, and she’s weak. But she’s alive, Rhysand. She’s safe for now."

Azriel’s voice broke the silence, low and razor-edged. "Take me to her. Now."

Rhysand straightened, the shock on his face hardening into resolve. "Cassian, alert the others. Azriel—" he stopped as his brother began striding toward Eris without hesitation. "Go. Now."

Eris didn’t need further prompting. He held out a hand, and Azriel grasped it without a word. In a flash of flame, the two were gone, leaving Rhys, Cassian, and the heavy weight of relief mingled with dread in their wake.

Azriel and Eris winnowed into the Forest House, the cold air of the autumn woods immediately replaced by the warmth of the small, dimly lit structure. The faint scent of herbs and antiseptic wafted through the air, and the crackling of a nearby hearth filled the silence. Azriel didn’t take a moment to orient himself—his focus was already on the figure standing rigidly outside a closed door.

Lucien.

The Autumn Court emissary leaned against the wall beside the door, his arms crossed over his chest. His russet eye glimmered in the low light, while his mechanical eye rotated subtly, scanning the hallway with precise attention. At the sound of their arrival, Lucien’s gaze snapped toward them.

"Finally," he said, his tone a mixture of relief and tension. His usually sharp and calculated demeanour was tempered by something softer—an almost sympathetic edge.

Azriel was on him in an instant, stepping so close their noses were nearly touching. "Where is she?" he demanded, his voice rough, strained. His shadows lashed around him, crackling with his barely-contained fury and desperation.

Lucien, to his credit, didn’t flinch. He gestured to the closed door beside him. "In there. The healer is with her."

Azriel moved toward the door, but Lucien stepped in front of him, holding up a hand. "Wait," he said firmly, his golden eye locking onto Azriel’s. "She’s stable, but she’s in bad shape. You need to be prepared for that before you go in there."

Eris, standing a few feet back, observed the exchange silently, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable.

Azriel’s hands curled into fists at his sides, and his wings flared slightly, the tips twitching as though he could barely restrain himself. "Move," he growled, his voice low and lethal.

Lucien held his ground, his gaze steady but not unkind. "I’m serious, Shadowsinger. You’re not going to want to see her like this—not without bracing yourself first."

"I’ve been searching for many weeks," Azriel hissed, his voice shaking with emotion. "Many weeks without knowing if she was alive or dead. If you think for one second that I’m not going in there—"

"Azriel," Eris cut in, his voice calm but firm. "Let him speak. For her sake, not yours."

Lucien’s gaze softened slightly, and he lowered his hand. "She’s been through hell," he said quietly. "She’s scared, she’s hurt, and she’s weak. The healer’s doing everything she can, but... just don’t expect her to run into your arms the moment she sees you."

Azriel’s throat worked, and for a moment, he looked like he might crumble. But he nodded, swallowing hard. "Move," he said again, though this time his voice was softer, less edged.

Lucien stepped aside, and Azriel immediately reached for the door handle. He hesitated for only a fraction of a second before pushing the door open and stepping inside. Eris and Lucien stayed behind, neither speaking as the door closed softly behind him.

Azriel stepped into the room, his heart pounding so violently it echoed in his ears. The space was dim, lit only by the flickering glow of a lantern on the bedside table. The healer, a middle-aged woman with soft features and a calm, steady demeanour, glanced up as he entered but said nothing, her hands moving carefully over the small figure lying on the bed.

Kaia.

Azriel's breath caught in his throat as his eyes landed on her. His daughter looked so small, so fragile, cradled in the mound of blankets. Her usually vibrant skin was pale, almost translucent, and her dark lashes rested against cheeks stained with tear tracks. Her tiny wings, his pride and joy, were bandaged and bound tightly against her back. Even through the layers of gauze, he could see faint traces of blood seeping through, and his stomach churned violently.

Kaia's little body barely stirred as the healer adjusted her position, whispering soft reassurances. The sight of her there, so still, so unlike the lively, curious child he knew, nearly brought him to his knees. He had imagined this moment—finding her—so many times over the past two weeks, but nothing had prepared him for this.

"She’s stable for now," the healer said softly, her voice breaking through his haze. "But weak. She’s been through more than any child should ever endure."

Azriel nodded mutely, his throat too tight to form words. He stepped closer, his footsteps almost silent, and sank into the chair beside the bed. He reached out with a trembling hand, hesitating for a moment before gently brushing his fingers over her tiny hand. Her skin was cold to the touch, and his heart fractured further.

"Kaia," he whispered, his voice barely audible. His thumb ran softly over her knuckles. "I’m here, sweetheart. Daddy’s here."

Her eyelids fluttered faintly, and for a moment, he thought she might wake. But she only whimpered softly in her sleep, her little face scrunching in pain before settling again.

Azriel inhaled sharply, his free hand curling into a fist on his thigh. He couldn’t protect her from this, couldn’t take the pain away. And that knowledge gutted him. For the first time in centuries, he felt powerless.

"She’s been sedated to help with the pain," the healer explained quietly, her voice gentle but firm. "She needs rest above all else now. Physically, she has a small chance of recovery. But emotionally... she’ll need you. Both of you."

Azriel nodded again, his jaw tightening. "I failed her," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I should’ve found her sooner. I should’ve—"

"Stop," the healer interrupted, her tone surprisingly stern. "Blaming yourself won’t help her now. Focus on what you can do moving forward. She needs you strong, not consumed by guilt."

Azriel swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in his throat. He leaned over the bed, pressing a soft kiss to Kaia’s forehead, his shadows curling protectively around her tiny form. "I’m so sorry, baby," he murmured. "But I swear, I’ll never let anyone hurt you again."

For the first time in weeks, Azriel let his tears fall freely, his shoulders shaking as he kept his head bowed over his daughter. He would stay by her side now, no matter what it took. No matter how broken he felt, she would never feel alone.

Azriel sat there for what felt like hours, his hand never leaving Kaia’s. The room was silent, save for the occasional sound of the healer preparing fresh salves and the soft, shallow breaths of his daughter. His shadows crept out, brushing lightly over her form as if they, too, were trying to comfort her in their own way. They whispered to him, a thousand sounds he couldn’t quite make out, but their presence was grounding.

The door creaked open behind him, and Azriel tensed instinctively, his wings flaring slightly. When he glanced back, his shoulders relaxed only a fraction. Rhysand stood in the doorway, his face as pale and drawn as Azriel had ever seen it. Behind him, you hovered, your hands clutching the doorframe as if it was the only thing keeping you upright.

Azriel’s heart clenched at the sight of you. Your eyes were bloodshot, your face tear-streaked, and you looked like a ghost of yourself. You locked eyes with him, and in an instant, everything came crashing down. You pushed past Rhys, crossing the room in hurried steps until you stood at Kaia’s bedside.

“Kaia,” you choked out, your voice trembling. Your hands hovered over her as though afraid touching her would break her further. Azriel reached out, gently guiding your hand to rest on her arm. She didn’t stir, but the warmth of her skin under your palm seemed to ease some of the tension in your body.

"She’s alive," Azriel said softly, his voice hoarse. "She’s alive, Y/N."

A sob tore from your throat as you leaned over, pressing your forehead to her tiny hand. "My baby," you whispered, your voice cracking. "My sweet girl."

Rhys stepped fully into the room, his violet eyes taking in the scene before him. He moved to stand at the foot of the bed, his usual composure shattered. He reached out, brushing a hand over Kaia’s bandaged wings, his jaw tightening as he took in the blood-stained gauze.

"This should have never happened," Rhys said quietly, his voice filled with guilt. "I failed her. I failed you both."

Azriel looked up at his brother-in-law, his expression hard. "Don’t," he said, his tone sharp. "This isn’t on you, Rhys. It’s on me. I’m her father. I should’ve been faster. Smarter. I—"

"Enough," you cut in, your voice trembling but firm. You lifted your tear-streaked face, looking between the two men. "This isn’t the time to point fingers or wallow in guilt. Kaia is here now. She needs us to be strong for her, not broken."

Azriel nodded, his throat tightening. He reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours as you both sat by Kaia’s side. Rhys lingered for a moment longer, his gaze heavy, before stepping back toward the door.

"I’ll let the others know she’s safe," Rhys said quietly. "They’ll want to see her, but... later." He glanced at Azriel, his expression softening. "Take care of her. Take care of both of them."

Azriel gave a faint nod, his focus returning to his daughter and the mate he swore to protect. For the first time in weeks, hope flickered in his chest. It was fragile, tentative, but it was there. And as he held your hand tightly in his own, he vowed to do everything in his power to make sure his family healed—together.

-----

It had been two weeks since Eris and Lucien had found Kaia, and you and Azriel hadn’t left the Autumn Court since. Moving her back to Velaris was out of the question; her condition was too fragile, and the healers insisted she remain where she could be closely monitored. The forest house had been converted into a sanctuary of sorts for your little family, though it hardly felt like one with the constant weight of worry hanging over you.

Kaia was still weak, her small body fighting to recover from the injuries she’d endured. Her wings remained heavily bandaged, the cuts along their stems slow to heal, and she was often too tired to do more than whimper softly when you or Azriel were near. The sight of her like this broke something in you every time you looked at her. Your vibrant, mischievous toddler, who had once chased butterflies and giggled endlessly, now lay quietly on her bed, her golden-brown eyes dull and filled with exhaustion.

Azriel rarely left her side. He sat by her bed for hours, his shadows constantly swirling around her, as though trying to offer her some semblance of comfort. He barely slept, and when he did, it was in the chair by her bedside, his hand always resting lightly on hers. His face was gaunt, his hazel eyes rimmed with dark circles, and his shoulders seemed perpetually hunched under the weight of his guilt.

You weren’t much better. The two of you hadn’t spoken about what had happened—not really. The shared grief and fear seemed to have built a wall between you, one neither of you dared to break through. You spent most of your time tending to Kaia, whispering soft lullabies to her as you held one of her favourite teddies, the same one you’d clung to in those harrowing weeks she was missing.

The healers came and went in quiet intervals, bringing fresh salves and herbs to aid her recovery. One of them had told you just the day before that her wings might never fully recover, and while they assured you she might possibly be able to live a full life, the thought of your baby losing even a fraction of her joy was unbearable.

Eris had been surprisingly accommodating. He ensured you had everything you needed, from food and clothing to extra security around the forest house. Lucien visited frequently, bringing small gifts for Kaia—soft blankets, delicate wooden toys, and once, a tiny music box that played a soothing tune. The gestures were kind, but they couldn’t erase the ache in your chest.

This morning, as the first light filtered through the tall windows of the room Kaia was staying in, you sat on the edge of her bed, gently stroking her hair. She was asleep, her breathing shallow but steady. Azriel stood by the window, his back to you, his wings tucked in tight as he stared out at the forest beyond. The tension in his frame was palpable, and you knew he was battling his own demons in silence.

“She looks better,” you said softly, breaking the silence. Your voice sounded foreign to your own ears—hoarse and quiet, as though it had forgotten how to speak.

Azriel didn’t turn to you, but his wings twitched slightly. “Not enough,” he muttered, his voice low and rough.

You didn’t have the energy to argue, though the words stung. Instead, you turned back to Kaia, your hand lingering on her small shoulder as you whispered, “She’s strong, Az. Stronger than we think.”

At that, he turned, his gaze locking on yours. There was something haunted in his eyes, something that mirrored the ache you felt in your own chest. “She shouldn’t have had to be strong,” he said, his voice breaking. “She’s just a baby.”

Your throat tightened, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. Instead, you reached out, taking his hand and pulling him to sit beside you on the bed.

The room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of the wind against the tall windows and the rhythmic sound of Kaia’s shallow breathing. You and Azriel sat side by side on the edge of the bed, your fingers absentmindedly stroking Kaia’s tiny hand as she slept. The silence between you had stretched thin, heavy with tension, and you knew it was only a matter of time before something cracked.

“Az,” you began softly, your voice hesitant. He didn’t look at you, his focus fixed on Kaia’s frail form. “You should go back to work.”

The words hung in the air like a bomb. For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then Azriel’s head snapped toward you, his hazel eyes sharp and blazing with disbelief.

“What?” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

You met his gaze, your heart pounding but your resolve firm. “You’ve been here for two weeks, Az. I know you’re worried about her, but Kaia is safe now. The healers are doing everything they can, and I’m here with her. You have responsibilities—things that need your attention.”

His wings flared slightly, the shadows around him stirring like a storm ready to unleash. “Responsibilities?” he repeated, his tone incredulous. “What are you even saying right now?”

“I’m saying you can’t just abandon everything else,” you said, keeping your voice steady despite the tremble in your chest. “The Night Court still needs you. Rhys needs you. We’ll be fine.”

Azriel shot up from the bed, his tall frame towering over you as he paced to the window. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and when he turned back to you, his expression was a mixture of anger and disbelief.

“‘We’ll be fine?’” he echoed, his voice rising slightly. “Do you even hear yourself? Our daughter nearly died! She’s lying there, barely able to move, her wings—” His voice broke, and he shook his head, his hands trembling. “And you’re telling me to leave her? To leave you?”

You stood, anger bubbling up despite the guilt gnawing at your heart. “I’m not telling you to abandon her, Azriel! I’m telling you to trust that she’s safe now. I’m telling you to trust me.”

“Trust you?” he snapped, his voice bitter. “How can you say that when you’re the one telling me to leave? What kind of mother—what kind of mate—says something like that?”

The words hit you like a slap, and your breath caught in your throat. “Don’t you dare,” you said, your voice shaking with anger. “Don’t you dare try to make me feel like I don’t care about her. I love her just as much as you do, Azriel, but I’m trying to be realistic. We can’t both sit here and hover over her forever. She needs us to be strong—for her, for each other.”

Azriel’s wings flared fully now, his shadows lashing out in frustration. “Strong?” he hissed. “You call this strong? You’re cold-hearted, that’s what you are. Telling me to go back to work while our daughter is lying there, recovering from the worst trauma of her life. How could you even think of sending me away? Do you not care about what I’m feeling? Do you not care about her?”

Your heart shattered at his words, tears springing to your eyes. “How dare you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “How dare you accuse me of not caring. Everything I’ve done—everything I’ve said—has been for her. For us.”

“Then act like it!” he shouted, his voice cracking. “Act like you actually give a damn about what’s happening here instead of trying to shove me back into work like none of this matters!”

Tears spilled down your cheeks, and you clenched your fists, your chest heaving as you struggled to find the words. “You’re not the only one who’s hurting, Azriel,” you said, your voice trembling. “You’re not the only one who’s scared, who feels guilty, who wakes up every night wondering what you could’ve done differently. But you don’t get to stand there and call me heartless. You don’t get to throw that at me.”

The room was silent, the weight of your words hanging between you. Azriel stared at you, his expression shifting from anger to something softer, something broken. But you couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. You turned back to Kaia, sitting on the edge of her bed and gripping her tiny hand as though it were the only thing tethering you to this world.

Azriel remained by the window, his wings drooping slightly as the shadows around him stilled.

You stayed seated at the edge of Kaia’s bed, your hand gripping hers so tightly you worried you might hurt her, but you couldn’t let go. The silence in the room felt unbearable, the tension coiling tighter with every breath. Azriel stood by the window, his back to you, his wings sagging slightly as though the weight of everything had finally settled onto his shoulders.

“I’ve hit it,” you whispered, your voice trembling but loud enough to cut through the heavy air.

Azriel’s head turned slightly, but he didn’t look at you fully, his shadows curling around his feet as if trying to comfort him.

“I never thought I’d feel this way,” you continued, your voice cracking as tears burned your throat. “I never thought I’d hit rock bottom like this. That I’d feel so—so empty. So... hollow.”

Azriel turned then, his hazel eyes meeting yours, the anger from before replaced by something softer, something achingly vulnerable. “Don’t say that,” he said, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Don’t do this.”

You let out a bitter laugh, tears streaming down your cheeks as you shook your head. “Do what, Azriel? Speak the truth? Admit that I’ve lost everything I thought I had? I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I don’t even recognize us anymore.”

His wings flared slightly, his shadows stirring as he stepped closer. “We’re still us,” he said, his voice desperate, like he was trying to convince himself as much as you. “We’ve been through worse—we can get through this.”

You shook your head, letting out a shaky breath. “It doesn’t feel that way,” you said softly. “Do you know what it feels like, Azriel? To look at your mate and feel like they’re just... ordinary? Just another person in the room? Not the one you’re supposed to lean on, to trust with everything, to feel whole with.”

His breath hitched, and you saw the pain flash across his face, the way his wings drooped even further. “You don’t mean that,” he said, his voice breaking. “You can’t mean that.”

You let out a choked sob, burying your face in your hands. “I don’t know what I mean anymore,” you admitted, your voice muffled. “I don’t know anything anymore. All I know is that Kaia is lying there, barely holding on, and I feel like I’ve failed her. I feel like I’ve failed myself. And now... now I feel like I’ve failed us too.”

Azriel dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands trembling as he reached out to cup your face, forcing you to look at him. His hazel eyes shimmered with unshed tears, his voice thick with emotion as he said, “You haven’t failed, Y/N. You’re still here. You’re still fighting—for her, for me, for us. You haven’t failed.”

You shook your head, the tears streaming down your cheeks relentless. “It doesn’t feel like it,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “It doesn’t feel like I’m fighting anymore. It just feels like I’m surviving.”

Azriel closed his eyes, his forehead pressing against yours as his wings curled around the two of you, creating a cocoon of warmth and shadow. “Then let me fight for you,” he said, his voice raw. “Let me fight for us. I’ll do whatever it takes, Y/N. Whatever it takes to fix this. To fix us.”

You sat there, your fingers trembling as they rested on Kaia's blanket, your voice shaky as you looked at Azriel. His wings drooped behind him, his hazel eyes fixed on you with so much guilt and pain that it was hard to meet his gaze. But you spoke anyway, your voice quieter than you intended.

"When I was little," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, "my mother used to sew dresses for Rhys’s future wife. She’d work tirelessly, stitching and cutting, always saying that his mate deserved nothing but the best."

Azriel’s brow furrowed, and he shifted closer, his shadows coiling tighter around his frame, but he stayed silent, letting you continue. "I used to sit beside her, watching her hands work, so delicate, so sure," you said, your throat tightening with the weight of the memory. "And one day, I asked her, ‘Are you going to make dresses for my future mate?’ I was just a child, so naive, but I was so curious."

Azriel swallowed hard, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something, but the words seemed caught in his throat.

"She laughed," you said, tears welling in your eyes as you stared at the floor. "She laughed and said, ‘Oh, sweetheart, your future love of your life is already wearing my clothes.’"

The room fell into silence, heavy and suffocating, and you felt the tears streaming down your cheeks. You finally looked at Azriel, meeting his stunned gaze.

"She thought it was you," you whispered, your voice breaking. "She thought it would always be you. And for so long, I thought so too. But now... now I’m not so sure. Now I feel like she was wrong."

Azriel flinched, as if your words had physically struck him. His wings curled inward slightly, and his hands clenched at his sides.

"Don’t say that," he said, his voice hoarse, raw with desperation. "Please, Y/N. Don’t say that."

Your shoulders shook as you let out a bitter laugh, the tears falling freely. "I don’t want to feel this way, Azriel. I don’t. But look at us. Look at what we’ve become. I don’t even know who I am anymore, and I don’t know who you are either."

He reached for you then, his hands trembling as they cupped your face, forcing you to look at him. His hazel eyes were glassy, his voice breaking as he said, "I’m still me, Y/N. I’m still yours. Please, just... tell me how to fix this."

You shook your head, your voice barely audible as you whispered, "I don’t know if you can."

Azriel’s grip on you tightened, his shadows flickering wildly around him. "I won’t accept that," he said, his voice fierce despite the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. "I won’t accept losing you. Not you, not Kaia. I’ll do whatever it takes, Y/N. Whatever it takes to make you believe in us again."

You pulled away from Azriel’s trembling hands, stepping back as your heart clenched painfully in your chest. His wings twitched, his shadows writhing around him as if mirroring his turmoil.

"Y/N," he said, his voice low and desperate, but you shook your head, tears blurring your vision.

"I can’t do this right now," you whispered, your voice breaking as you turned toward the door. "I need space, Azriel. I need to breathe."

He stepped toward you, panic etched into every line of his face. "Don’t walk away from me," he pleaded. "Not like this. Please, Y/N, we can—"

But you didn’t let him finish. You took one last look at him, his expression shattered, his wings slightly drooping, before you winnowed away without another word.

"Y/N!" he shouted after you, his voice filled with anguish, but by the time the sound of his plea echoed through the room, you were already gone.

-----

The River House was quieter than usual when you winnowed into the foyer, the cool stillness only broken by the faint sound of papers rustling in the nearby study. Rhys and Cassian were walking out, deep in conversation, when they spotted you standing there.

"Y/N?" Cassian asked, surprise etched on his face. "What are you doing here? We were just about to—"

His words faltered as he saw your tear-streaked face, your shoulders trembling as you hugged yourself tightly. Rhys stepped forward, his face paling.

"What happened?" Rhys demanded, his voice low and urgent. "Is it Kaia? Is she—?"

"No!" you cut him off quickly, shaking your head vehemently. "She's... she's fine." Your voice cracked, and a fresh wave of tears spilled over as you tried to steady your breathing.

Cassian let out a sharp exhale, relief flashing in his eyes, but the worry didn’t leave his expression. He stepped closer, his brow furrowed. "Then what is it? Why are you here? Did something happen at the Autumn Court?"

You tried to answer, tried to form the words, but the weight of everything—the past weeks, Azriel’s words, your own breaking heart—came crashing down. A choked sob escaped your throat as you covered your face with your hands.

Rhys closed the distance between you, his hands gently gripping your shoulders. "Y/N, talk to me," he urged softly. "What’s going on?"

But all you could do was cry, the anguish too overwhelming to explain. Rhys glanced over his shoulder at Cassian, whose jaw was tight as he watched you crumble. "Let’s get her to the sitting room," Rhys said quietly.

Cassian nodded, stepping aside as Rhys guided you gently toward the room, his concern written in every line of his face. Neither of them pushed you to speak again, giving you the time to collect yourself as they exchanged uneasy glances, silently wondering what had happened to leave you in such a state.

In the sitting room, Rhys guided you to the couch, his touch steady and gentle as you sank down, curling into yourself. Cassian sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of you, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his face a mask of worry.

"Y/N," Rhys began softly, sitting beside you. "Please tell us what happened. If it’s not Kaia, then... what’s wrong?"

Your voice broke as you tried to speak. "I—I can’t do it anymore," you whispered, staring down at your trembling hands. "I can’t stay there with him. I can’t pretend like everything is fine."

Rhys stiffened slightly. "With Azriel?" he asked carefully, his tone measured, though concern laced his words.

Cassian sat up straighter, his brows knitting together. "Did he—"

"He didn’t hurt me," you interrupted, shaking your head. "Not physically. But his words..." You trailed off, another sob escaping your lips as the weight of Azriel’s accusations hit you again. "He said I was heartless. Cold. That I didn’t care about Kaia, about him."

Rhys’ eyes darkened, his posture stiffening. "What?"

Cassian looked furious, his hands clenching into fists as he struggled to keep his composure. "Azriel said that? To you?"

You nodded, tears streaming down your face as you buried your head in your hands. "I told him he should go back to work, to get some air, and he just... he lost it. He called me heartless for even suggesting it."

Rhys rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling slowly, his violet eyes filled with a mixture of anger and helplessness. "He’s been on edge for weeks," he murmured, more to himself than to you.

"That’s no excuse," Cassian snapped, his voice low but seething. "He has no right to talk to her like that, especially after everything she’s been through."

You sniffled, looking up at them through blurry eyes. "It’s more than that," you admitted, your voice trembling. "I... I told him I felt like I’d hit rock bottom, like I wasn’t even his mate anymore. And he didn’t..."

Cassian cursed under his breath, standing abruptly and pacing the room. Rhys sat in silence for a moment, his jaw tight as he tried to piece together his thoughts.

"Y/N," Rhys said gently, his hand resting on your knee, "you’re not alone in this. We’re going to figure it out. Azriel is... he’s struggling, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. He’s just—"

"He’s not the male I fell in love with," you interrupted, your voice cracking. "And I don’t know if he ever will be again."

The room fell into a heavy silence, your words lingering like a dark cloud. Cassian finally stopped pacing, his expression softening as he looked at you. "You’re exhausted," he said quietly. "You’ve been through too much. Maybe staying here for a while... away from him... is what you need."

Rhys nodded, though his face was tight with emotion. "You’re welcome here for as long as you need, Y/N. And when you’re ready to face Azriel, we’ll be here for that too."

You nodded weakly, wiping at your tear-streaked face. "Thank you," you whispered, though the ache in your chest remained, a reminder of the fracture that now lay between you and your mate.

Cassian leaned back against the fireplace, his arms crossed over his chest as he glanced between you and Rhys. His hazel eyes softened as they settled on you, still curled up on the couch, your eyes red and swollen. Letting out a deep breath, he broke the tense silence.

"Rhys," Cassian began, his tone firm but not unkind, "I’ll take Nyx to see Kaia."

Rhys blinked, his brows furrowing slightly. "Cass—"

"No arguments," Cassian cut him off, holding up a hand. "You need to stay here with Y/N. She needs you more than Azriel needs another body standing around in the Autumn Court." He glanced at you again, his expression softening further. "You’ve both been running on fumes, but Rhys... you can’t just leave her right now."

Rhys ran a hand through his hair, his violet eyes conflicted as he looked at you. "Are you sure?" he asked quietly, glancing back at Cassian.

"Positive," Cassian replied firmly. "I’ve already been back and forth. Nyx will be happy to see Kaia, and I’ll make sure everything is handled. You stay here. Focus on your sister."

You looked up, your voice weak but filled with gratitude. "Cassian..."

He waved you off, his lips quirking into a small, reassuring smile. "Don’t even start. You know I’d do anything for Kaia—and for you. Az and I may want to strangle each other half the time, but he’s still my brother. We’ll keep this together."

Rhys hesitated a moment longer before nodding, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Alright," he finally said. "Take Nyx. And... thank you, Cass."

Cassian clapped Rhys on the shoulder, giving him a reassuring nod before stepping closer to you. He crouched down, resting a hand on your knee. "You focus on yourself, alright? Kaia is safe, and I’ll make sure she knows how much her mama and dada love her."

Tears welled in your eyes again as you nodded, your voice breaking as you whispered, "Thank you, Cassie."

He gave you a warm, lopsided grin before straightening. "Get some rest," he said firmly, looking between you and Rhys. "Both of you."

As he left the room, you and Rhys sat in silence, the weight of everything hanging heavily in the air. But for the first time in weeks, there was a faint glimmer of hope.

You shifted on the couch, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders as Cassian’s footsteps faded from the room. Turning to Rhys, you wiped at your tear-streaked face, your voice hoarse as you asked, "Where’s Feyre?"

Rhys looked over at you, the question catching him slightly off guard. He leaned back against the armrest of his chair, his violet eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. "She’s upstairs with Nyx," he replied softly. "She’s been keeping him distracted... keeping herself distracted."

You nodded, the mention of Feyre grounding you slightly. "I—I’d like to see her," you murmured, your voice wavering but determined. "I just need... I need to talk to her."

Rhys tilted his head, studying you for a moment. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but he hesitated. Instead, he simply nodded. "Of course," he said gently, rising to his feet. "I’ll let her know you’re here."

Before he could leave the room, you grabbed his wrist, your grip weak but desperate. "Rhys," you said, your voice trembling. "Thank you... for staying."

His gaze softened, and he placed a hand over yours. "Always, sister," he said quietly. "You’re not alone in this."

He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before heading toward the staircase, leaving you alone with the quiet crackle of the fire and the faint sound of the city beyond the windows. You tried to steel yourself, but the weight of everything pressed heavily on your chest.

Moments later, soft footsteps approached, and Feyre appeared in the doorway, her expression a mixture of worry and relief as she saw you. She crossed the room quickly, sitting beside you on the couch and wrapping you in a tight embrace.

"You’re here," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Feyre held you tightly, her warmth and steady presence grounding you as sobs racked your body. She didn’t say anything at first, letting you cry against her shoulder, her hand gently stroking your hair. It wasn’t until your breathing began to slow that she finally spoke.

"I was about to come see you," she said softly, her voice thick with emotion. "But... I’m glad you’re here."

You pulled back slightly, wiping at your swollen eyes. "I couldn’t stay in Autumn anymore," you admitted, your voice breaking. "I feel like I’m suffocating, Feyre. Azriel... he’s so angry and distant, and I—" Your voice faltered, tears spilling over again.

Feyre cupped your face, forcing you to meet her gaze. "You’ve been through hell," she said firmly. "Both of you have. It’s not fair for either of you to carry this weight alone."

You nodded weakly, but the tears wouldn’t stop. "I told him to go back to work," you choked out, your voice trembling. "I thought... I thought it might help him focus on something other than the guilt, but he... he called me heartless, Feyre. He said I was cold."

Feyre’s jaw tightened, and you could see the fury flash in her eyes, though she kept her tone even. "Azriel is lashing out because he’s hurting," she said softly. "But that doesn’t make it okay. You’re hurting, too."

"I feel like I’ve lost him," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "After everything we’ve been through... I feel like he doesn’t even see me anymore. Like I’m just... there."

Feyre’s arms wrapped around you again, pulling you close. "That’s not true," she said firmly. "Azriel loves you more than anything. He’s just drowning in his own pain right now, and he doesn’t know how to reach out. But you two will find your way back to each other. I know it."

The conviction in her voice made your chest ache, but you weren’t sure if you believed her. You stayed like that for a while, Feyre holding you as the fire crackled softly beside you.

Eventually, Rhys entered the room, his presence calm but heavy. "I sent Cassian off with Nyx now," he said quietly, glancing between the two of you. "They’ll be at the Autumn Court by nightfall."

You nodded, your hands clutching the blanket tightly around you. Rhys’s gaze softened as he looked at you. "You should rest," he said gently. "You’ve been running on empty for weeks now."

Feyre squeezed your hand. "I’ll stay with you," she offered, her tone leaving no room for argument.

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into her side. "Thank you," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rhys lingered for a moment before giving a small nod and stepping back, leaving you and Feyre in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence.

-----

Cassian landed heavily outside the Autumn Court’s forest house, Nyx held tightly against his chest as he adjusted his grip on the boy. The moment his boots hit the ground, he could already sense Azriel inside.

Kaia was here. Healing. Recovering. And Azriel hadn’t left her side.

But Cassian hadn’t come for Azriel. Not really.

The guards at the door let them through immediately, and Cassian pushed inside, the warmth of the fire doing little to thaw the ice settling in his veins. Nyx wiggled in his arms, eager to be let down, but Cassian held him close, rubbing a hand along his back to keep him calm.

It was Azriel who came into view first. He looked rough—exhausted, shoulders tense, his eyes shadowed even more than usual. The moment his gaze locked onto Cassian, the Spymaster straightened, as if preparing for whatever storm Cassian was bringing with him.

Cassian had half a mind to rip into him right then and there.

For what he said to you.

For letting you leave like that.

For making you feel like you were alone in this.

But Nyx stirred in his arms about being to old to be held, and Cassian swallowed the anger, pushing past Azriel without a word.

Lucien was standing just outside the bedroom where Kaia was resting. He gave Cassian a nod before stepping aside, letting him through.

Cassian exhaled slowly before opening the door, stepping into the dimly lit room.

Kaia was curled up beneath thick blankets, a healer sitting nearby, quietly monitoring her condition. Her tiny wings were wrapped in soft bandages, her face turned toward the pillows.

"Kaia," Nyx whispered.

The little girl stirred slightly, blinking up at them with sleepy eyes. Her lips wobbled, and for a moment, Cassian thought she might cry.

But then Nyx wiggled out of his grip, stumbling toward the bed, and Kaia’s little fingers reached for him immediately.

Nyx climbed up beside her carefully, curling into her side, one of his hands resting against her bandaged wing as if he could protect her from whatever had hurt her.

Cassian exhaled, his chest tight. He turned, stepping back toward the door where Azriel still stood, watching from the shadows.

Cassian met his brother’s gaze, the anger from earlier flaring up once again.

Azriel could feel it. He knew exactly how pissed Cassian was at him.

And he didn’t even try to defend himself.

Cassian clenched his jaw before looking back at the bed.

Kaia was safe. That was what mattered.

But Azriel had a hell of a lot to answer for.

Azriel stood motionless in the doorway, shadows coiling at his feet as he watched Nyx curl around Kaia like she was the most precious thing in the world. His daughter—his baby—was alive. That should have been enough to ease some of the storm raging inside of him.

It wasn’t.

Not when he could feel Cassian’s burning stare from across the room. Not when he could still hear your voice in his head, raw and broken, telling him you’d finally hit rock bottom.

His fingers twitched at his sides, his jaw locked so tightly it ached. He hadn’t slept in days. Hadn’t thought about anything except keeping Kaia safe.

But you had left.

And now Cassian was here, standing in his home, barely holding himself back.

Azriel braced himself for the inevitable as Cassian finally turned away from the bed, stepping toward him. His brother’s wings flared slightly, his chest rising and falling with the effort of holding back whatever was brewing inside him.

“Outside,” Cassian said, his voice a low growl.

Azriel just stared at him.

“I said outside.”

A muscle feathered in Azriel’s jaw, but he didn’t argue. Without a word, he turned and walked past Cassian, pushing the door open and stepping out into the cool, damp air of the Autumn woods.

Cassian followed, the door clicking shut behind them.

Azriel barely had a second before Cassian grabbed him by the collar of his leathers and shoved him back against the wooden exterior of the house.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Cassian seethed.

Azriel didn’t fight back. He just stared, his hazel eyes cold, unreadable.

Cassian shoved him again. “She came back to Velaris in tears, Az. She left here broken. And you let her.”

“She told me to go,” Azriel said flatly. “So I let her do the same.”

Cassian let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

Azriel’s wings twitched. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Tell you the truth? Tell you that you pushed your own mate away when she was barely holding on?”

Azriel clenched his jaw. He wanted to tell Cassian that it wasn’t that simple. That you had told him to go back to work like Kaia would just magically be fine without him. That you, who had fought for her just as fiercely as he had, were now acting like you could just—just move on.

But deep down, he knew that wasn’t what you meant.

And it hadn’t been what you needed to hear.

Cassian’s grip loosened slightly, but his expression remained furious. “She’s grieving, Az. And instead of holding her through it, you made her feel like she was the only one hurting.”

Azriel exhaled slowly through his nose. His shadows twisted around his boots, restless.

“She still loves you,” Cassian added, his voice quieter now. “But you need to fix this before she starts believing otherwise.”

Azriel swallowed, his throat tight. He had never doubted your love for him—not even for a second.

Cassian’s grip on Azriel’s collar tightened, his knuckles going white. His breath was hot with rage, his chest heaving as he stared Azriel down.

“You still don’t get it, do you?” Cassian hissed. His wings flared, his entire body vibrating with barely restrained fury.

Azriel remained silent, his expression unreadable, but his shadows coiled tighter around him, reacting to the anger radiating off his brother.

Cassian let out a bitter, humourless laugh. “You think this is just about you? About your pride? Your pain?” His voice rose, his rage spilling over. “You have no idea what she’s feeling right now. No fucking idea.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his hazel eyes flashing dangerously. “I lost her too.”

Cassian shoved him hard, slamming him back against the wooden wall. “Then why the fuck are you acting like you didn’t?!” he bellowed.

Azriel’s wings flared, his own anger finally sparking to life, but Cassian didn’t give him a chance to speak.

“She sat in her room for two fucking weeks, Az. Two weeks, holding onto that teddy like it was the only thing keeping her together, crying herself to sleep, and you weren’t there!” Cassian’s voice cracked, but he pushed through it. “You chose not to be there.”

Azriel’s breath was heavy, uneven.

Cassian shook his head, disgusted. “She begged me not to tell you how bad it was. Because she still—still wanted to protect you. And you—you stood here, let her walk away, and fucking watched as she shattered.”

Azriel’s hands curled into fists at his sides. His shadows were writhing now, slithering across his boots, up his arms, reacting to the storm inside him.

“I’ve seen her broken before,” Cassian growled, voice low and raw. “But never like this. Not even after she lost her wings.”

Azriel’s entire body locked up. A deep, old pain flickered behind his eyes, but Cassian wasn’t done.

“She needed you. And you made her feel like she had no one.”

Azriel’s chest rose and fell, fast and uneven. His shadows had gone completely still.

Cassian released him with a sharp shove, stepping back. His voice was thick with fury and disappointment. “You need to fix this, Az.”

Azriel swallowed, his throat tight, his hands still clenched into fists.

Cassian exhaled sharply, shaking his head. Then, with one last glare, he turned and walked back inside, leaving Azriel alone in the cold, with nothing but his shadows and the weight of his mistakes.

Cassian ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply as he stepped back into the dimly lit room where Kaia and Nyx were. His anger still simmered beneath his skin, but he forced himself to push it down, to focus on what mattered—on them.

The soft glow of candlelight flickered against the walls, casting long shadows over the room. Kaia lay curled up on the plush bed, wrapped in thick blankets, her tiny form barely visible beneath them. Her wings—still bandaged, still healing—rested limply against the mattress.

Nyx sat beside her, his small hand gently stroking her hair as he whispered something Cassian couldn’t hear. His expression was heartbreakingly solemn, far too serious for a child his age.

Cassian sighed and walked over, his heavy boots barely making a sound on the wooden floor. Nyx looked up as he approached, his eyes wide with concern. “Uncle Cass?” he asked quietly. “Is everything okay?”

Cassian hesitated. No. Nothing is okay. But he couldn’t say that. Not to Nyx.

So instead, he forced a small, tired smile. “Yeah, kid. Just had to talk to your uncle Az.” His voice was rough, thick with lingering frustration.

Nyx studied him for a moment before nodding. He turned his attention back to Kaia, his fingers still brushing through her dark curls. “She was whimpering in her sleep,” he murmured. “I think she’s hurting.”

Cassian’s heart clenched. He carefully lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, his large hand resting near Kaia’s tiny fingers. Her breathing was soft, but uneven. Even in sleep, she looked fragile.

“Hey, sunshine,” Cassian whispered, leaning in slightly. “Uncle Cassie is here.”

Kaia stirred at his voice, her little brow furrowing. She let out a quiet whimper before shifting, her tiny fingers reaching blindly in her sleep. Without thinking, Cassian slid his hand into hers.

Her fingers curled weakly around his.

Cassian swallowed against the lump in his throat.

Nyx looked up at him again, his voice barely above a whisper. “Is Auntie Y/N coming soon?”

Cassian’s chest ached at the question. He knew Nyx had been missing his aunt, and Rhys had been trying to keep him distracted, but it wasn’t the same.

“She’ll come soon,” Cassian promised, though he wasn’t sure if that was true. He had no idea what was happening back at the River House. No idea if Azriel had finally pulled his head out of his ass and gone after his mate.

Kaia stirred again, her grip on his fingers tightening. Cassian instinctively reached out with his other hand, brushing her hair back gently.

“Sleep, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You’re safe.”

She let out a small sigh, shifting a little closer to Nyx, her breathing evening out once more.

Cassian glanced at Nyx, whose eyes were still on Kaia, filled with the same fierce protectiveness his father had.

“She’s gonna be okay, right?” Nyx asked, voice small.

Cassian hesitated for only a second before nodding. “Yeah, kid. She’s tough.”

Like her mother.

Like her father—if Azriel ever got his shit together.

Nyx nodded solemnly before snuggling closer to Kaia, his own little hand resting over hers.

Cassian let out a quiet breath, leaning back slightly, but he didn’t let go of Kaia’s hand. Not yet.

Because as much as he wanted to believe his own words, he wasn’t sure any of them would ever be okay again.

Eris strode into the room with his usual effortless grace, though there was an edge to his movements—a sharpness that hadn’t dulled since the night he had carried Kaia, bleeding and limp, through the forests of the Autumn Court. His amber eyes flickered over the space, first landing on Nyx curled beside Kaia, then shifting to Cassian, who was still seated on the edge of the bed, Kaia’s tiny hand wrapped around his own.

Cassian barely acknowledged him, his jaw clenched tight, his attention still on the sleeping girl.

Eris exhaled sharply, crossing his arms as he glanced around again. “Where are her parents?” His tone was even, but there was something pointed in it, something layered beneath the words.

Cassian lifted his gaze then, his expression unreadable. “Y/N’s at the River House,” he said gruffly. “Azriel—” He let out a humorless huff. “—he’s probably still brooding somewhere. Who the hell knows.”

Eris scoffed. “Typical.” He took a few slow steps into the room, his sharp eyes sweeping over Kaia once more. “I expected at least one of them to be here.”

Cassian’s grip tightened around Kaia’s little fingers, but he kept his voice steady. “Y/N just got back last night. She needed time.”

Eris hummed, but his gaze didn’t leave Kaia. “And Azriel?”

Cassian’s nostrils flared. He knew exactly what Eris was doing—pushing, needling, waiting to see if his words would strike a nerve, Nesta told him when she got back from Day that you and Eris used to be a thing so if this was the point Eris was trying to prove...

“He’ll show up,” Cassian muttered, though even he wasn’t sure if that was true.

Eris arched a brow. “Will he?”

Cassian shot him a warning look.

Eris merely lifted his hands in mock surrender. “I just find it interesting,” he said, voice almost casual. “That the moment his daughter is found—alive, though barely—he suddenly disappears.”

Cassian’s fists clenched, but before he could snap back, Nyx spoke.

“Uncle Az is coming,” he said quietly, his small voice firm despite the exhaustion lining it.

Cassian and Eris both looked at him, finding the young boy staring at Kaia, his little hand still resting protectively over hers.

Nyx looked up then, his violet eyes eerily serious. “He’ll come,” he repeated.

Eris let out a slow exhale before turning back to Cassian. “He better.” His voice was lower now, almost thoughtful. “Because if he doesn’t, I don’t think Y/N will ever forgive him.”

Cassian didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

Because deep down, they both knew Eris was right.

Eris lingered by the door for a moment before stepping fully into the room, his sharp amber gaze locked onto Kaia’s small form. His usual mask of indifference was thinner today, barely concealing the tension in his shoulders, the flicker of something dangerously close to concern in his expression.

He exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms as he tilted his head slightly. “How is she?” His voice was quieter than before, the usual sharpness dulled.

Cassian shifted in his spot, still holding Kaia’s tiny fingers in his much larger hand. He hadn’t let go since he’d arrived, and it didn’t look like he planned to anytime soon. His hazel eyes, weary and shadowed, flickered up to Eris before he glanced back down at the sleeping girl.

“She’s alive,” he said gruffly, his voice thick. “But she’s weak.”

Eris took another step closer, his keen gaze raking over her small frame. Her face was pale, exhaustion lining every delicate feature. Even in sleep, there was a tightness around her eyes, a subconscious flinch every time she shifted too much. The bandages along her back, where the healer had worked tirelessly to repair the deep wounds at the base of her wings, were fresh—evidence that her injuries were still healing.

Eris’s jaw tightened. He had seen the blood, had held her as it soaked into his clothes. The sight of her now, fragile and unmoving, made something in his chest twist uncomfortably.

“And the wings?” he asked after a moment.

Cassian’s fingers curled slightly around Kaia’s hand, his other clenching into a fist on his thigh. His voice was low when he answered. “We don’t know yet.”

Eris didn’t move, didn’t react outright, but Cassian saw the way his fingers flexed at his sides, the way his expression turned even graver.

Silence stretched between them before Eris finally spoke again. “And Y/N?”

Cassian let out a long, tired breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “Not great.” He didn’t elaborate, but Eris didn’t need him to.

He already knew.

-----

The River House was quiet. Too quiet.

You stood by the window in the sitting room, arms wrapped tightly around yourself as you stared out at the Sidra. The water was dark beneath the early evening sky, its surface rippling with the wind that had begun to pick up. Normally, you found solace in this view, in the steady, unchanging flow of the river. But today, it felt hollow.

The house was nearly empty—Rhys was somewhere, likely still pouring over paperwork, and Feyre had yet to return from wherever she had gone. Only the occasional crackle of the fireplace and the distant sound of someone moving upstairs broke the silence.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your sleeves. It had been hours since you winnowed away from Autumn, from Azriel. Hours since you’d stormed out, leaving him standing there. You had thought coming home would bring some kind of peace, that being here—away from everything—might help you breathe again.

But all you felt was emptiness.

Your eyes flickered to the small pile of Kaia’s things in the corner of the room. A few of her favourite books, a stuffed animal she’d left behind last time she was here. A blanket she used to curl up with on the couch. The sight of them made your throat close up.

She should be here. She should be running around, laughing, filling the house with her little voice. Instead, she was in Autumn, healing. And you weren’t there.

A lump formed in your throat, and you clenched your jaw, forcing down the sob threatening to rise.

You barely heard the footsteps approaching until a familiar presence settled nearby. Rhys didn’t say anything at first, just watched you, his violet eyes filled with something unreadable.

After a long moment, he finally spoke, voice quiet. “Y/N…”

You shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak.

But Rhys wasn’t fooled. He stepped closer, his expression softening. “I know you don’t want to talk,” he said, “but I need you to.”

You swallowed hard, still staring out the window. “There’s nothing to say.”

Rhys exhaled. “That’s a lie.”

Silence.

Then, barely above a whisper, you said, “I don’t know what to do.”

It was the first honest thing you had admitted in days. Maybe weeks.

Rhys hesitated before moving forward, wrapping his arms around you. The moment his warmth enveloped you, the dam broke. A choked sob escaped before you could stop it, and you clung to him, your body shaking as you buried your face in his chest.

His arms tightened around you. “I know,” he murmured, pressing a hand to the back of your head. “I know.”

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself fall apart.

Your sobs wracked your body, the kind that stole the breath from your lungs, the kind that left you gasping. Rhys held you tightly, his hands steady against your back, but it did nothing to stop the storm raging inside of you.

“Why do I always fuck up?” you choked out against his chest, your voice barely audible, yet filled with a raw, gut-wrenching pain. “Why is it always me?”

Rhys flinched at your words, but he didn’t loosen his hold on you. If anything, he only held you tighter, as if he could somehow keep you from unravelling completely.

Your hands curled into the fabric of his tunic, clutching onto him like he was the only thing keeping you upright. “I should have known,” you whispered brokenly. “I should have done something—”

“Stop,” Rhys cut in, his voice firm but not unkind. “Y/N, you didn’t fail.”

You let out a bitter laugh against his chest. “Then why does it feel like I did?”

Rhys pulled back slightly, just enough to cup the sides of your face, forcing you to look at him. His violet eyes searched yours, filled with something raw, something unbreakable. “Because you love too much,” he said softly. “Because you love so fiercely that when something happens to the people you care about, you take it all onto yourself.”

Your vision blurred with tears. “But I was supposed to protect her.” Your voice cracked. “She’s my daughter, Rhys. And I wasn’t there.”

Rhys’ thumb brushed over your cheek, wiping away a stray tear. “And yet, she is still here. Still fighting.” His voice dropped to something even softer. “Because she has a mother who would burn the world down for her.”

A fresh wave of tears welled in your eyes, and your lip trembled. “I just…” You shook your head, your voice breaking entirely. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

Rhys sighed, pressing his forehead to yours. “You don’t have to fix it alone.” His voice was steady, grounding. “We will get through this. You and Azriel will get through this.”

You closed your eyes, letting his words settle, letting yourself breathe. But even as you clung to your brother, the weight in your chest remained, heavy and unyielding. Because deep down, you weren’t sure if you believed him.

You pulled away from Rhys, your hands slipping from his tunic as you took a shaky step back. The warmth of his embrace lingered, but it did nothing to soothe the hollow ache spreading through your chest.

He watched you carefully, his violet eyes scanning your face, waiting, bracing. He had seen you angry before, devastated before. But this… this was something else entirely.

Your throat was raw from crying, but your voice came out steady—too steady. “I don’t think there’s anything left to fix.”

Rhys blinked, his brows furrowing as if he hadn’t heard you right. “Y/N—”

“I mean it,” you cut in, shaking your head. “Azriel and I… We’re not the same anymore. And I don’t know if we ever will be.”

Rhys’ jaw tensed, but he didn’t say anything, letting you continue.

“I’ve spent years believing in us. In our bond. No matter how bad things got, I always thought we’d make it through.” Your voice wavered, your fingers curling into fists at your sides. “But now? Now I don’t even know who we are.”

Rhys exhaled slowly, his shoulders stiff. “You’re grieving, Y/N. Both of you are. You’ve been through hell, and—”

“I know what I’m saying,” you interrupted, your eyes burning with fresh tears. “I know how I feel.”

Rhys’ expression darkened slightly. “So, what? You’re just giving up?”

You let out a bitter laugh, void of humour. “I’m not giving up. I’m realizing that maybe, just maybe, some things aren’t meant to be saved.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

Rhys stared at you for a long moment before running a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “Does Azriel know you feel this way?”

You swallowed, looking away. “I don’t think he cares.”

Rhys’ expression hardened. “That’s not true.”

You scoffed. “Isn’t it? He looks at me like I’m a stranger. Like I’m the enemy.” Your voice broke, but you pushed through. “And I can’t keep fighting for something he doesn’t want to fight for.”

Rhys sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Y/N, you and Azriel have spent centuries building a life together. You’ve survived wars, loss, everything. Don’t let this be what breaks you.”

You shook your head, your vision blurring. “I think we were already broken.”

Rhys reached for you then, his hands settling on your arms, grounding you. “Just… don’t make any decisions right now,” he murmured. “Not while everything still hurts.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Because deep down, you weren’t sure if this pain would ever go away.

Sobs tore from your throat, raw and unrelenting, the weight of everything crashing down all at once. Rhys lowered you both to the floor, his arms wrapping around you, anchoring you even as you shattered.

“I—” You tried to speak, but the words were swallowed by another choked sob. Your chest ached, your entire body trembling as you buried your face against Rhys’ shoulder. “I don’t know what to do anymore, Rhys. I—” Another sob ripped through you. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

His grip tightened, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other rubbing soothing circles against your back. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “Just breathe, Y/N. Just breathe.”

But you couldn’t.

Every breath came out shaky, uneven, the grief clawing at your throat like it was trying to consume you whole. The weight of the past weeks—losing Kaia, the helplessness, the distance between you and Azriel—pressed down on you, suffocating.

Tears soaked through Rhys’ shirt, but he didn’t seem to care. He just held you, rocking you slightly, his own breathing uneven as if your pain was his, too.

Your fingers clutched at him, desperate for something, anything to keep you from falling apart completely. “I feel so empty, Rhys.” The admission came out in a broken whisper. “Like there’s nothing left of me.”

His arms tightened around you. “You’re still here. You’re still you.”

You let out a gasping sob, shaking your head. “I don’t feel like me.”

Rhys swallowed hard, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Then let me hold onto you until you do.”

And so he did.

Minutes passed—maybe hours—as you sobbed into your brother’s arms, the storm inside you refusing to settle. And still, Rhys held you, unwavering, refusing to let you drown.

-----

Azriel sat in the chair by Kaia’s bedside, his elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles had turned white. He hadn’t moved in hours. Not since Cassian had stormed in, not since Nyx had curled up beside Kaia on the bed, keeping her company while she rested.

He barely even blinked.

The quiet of the room was suffocating. The only sounds were the soft breaths of the children and the distant crackle of a fire from the sitting room. But even that warmth couldn’t reach him.

Not when the only warmth he had ever known had left.

His shadows curled restlessly around him, mirroring the storm inside him. He knew where you were. Could feel the bond, muted and distant but still there. Still holding. But he didn’t know if you would come back. Didn’t know if he deserved for you to.

A sharp knock at the door made him tense, but he didn’t look up. Didn’t move.

“Az.”

Cassian.

Azriel exhaled slowly, forcing himself to unclench his jaw. “What.” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Cassian sighed, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He crossed the room in a few long strides, dragging a chair closer before sinking into it with a heavy thud. He didn’t speak right away, just sat there, watching Azriel with an expression Az couldn’t decipher.

Finally, Cassian leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “She’s at the River House.”

Azriel didn’t react, didn’t let the flicker of relief show on his face. But Cassian knew him too well.

“She’s a mess, Az,” Cassian continued, voice softer now. “Rhys had to carry her to bed. She hasn’t slept. She’s barely eaten. And—” He exhaled sharply. “She thinks it’s over.”

Azriel’s head snapped up at that. His eyes, rimmed with exhaustion, locked onto Cassian’s. “What?”

Cassian hesitated, but then, with brutal honesty, said, “She told Rhys she doesn’t think there’s anything left to fix.”

Azriel’s breath left him in a sharp exhale, his wings twitching, his body going rigid.

Cassian’s gaze softened, but his tone was firm. “You need to go to her, Az.”

Azriel shook his head, looking away. “She told me to go. To leave.”

“And you actually listened?” Cassian scoffed, shaking his head. “Since when do you give up that easily?”

Azriel’s fingers dug into his knees. “She said she’s hit rock bottom.” His voice cracked, and he hated himself for it. “She said she never thought she could look at me and feel nothing.”

Cassian’s expression darkened, but he didn’t look surprised. “Then prove her wrong.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched. “She doesn’t want me there.”

Cassian huffed. “Maybe not right now. But she needs you, Az. And you need her.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Azriel’s eyes drifted back to Kaia, still fast asleep, her small frame curled up beneath the blankets. Her little hands clutched the stuffed dragon Nyx had given her.

His daughter. His mate. His entire world was slipping through his fingers.

And he was just sitting here, letting it happen.

Cassian stood, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You’re one of the most stubborn bastards I’ve ever met,” he said. “Use that. Go fight for her.”

Azriel didn’t move as Cassian left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

He just sat there, staring at his daughter, his mind spinning.

And then, finally, he stood.

Azriel winnowed straight into the River House, his boots landing silently on the polished wooden floors of the foyer. The moment he arrived, his shadows recoiled, sensing the heavy weight of sorrow clinging to the air. It was quieter than usual. No laughter, no chatter. Just the distant crackle of a fire somewhere deeper inside the house.

His heart pounded as he took a step forward, his wings tucking tightly against his back. The dim candlelight flickered against the dark walls, casting long shadows that danced with his own. He could feel you. Somewhere in this house, you were here. Broken. Hurting.

And he had caused it.

A figure moved in the doorway ahead, and Rhys appeared, leaning against the threshold of the sitting room, arms crossed over his chest. His violet eyes raked over Azriel, assessing, exhausted.

“You finally grew a pair,” Rhys muttered, pushing off the doorframe.

Azriel ignored the jab. His throat felt tight as he asked, “Where is she?”

Rhys exhaled through his nose, studying him for a moment before jerking his chin toward the staircase. “Upstairs. Her room.”

His room. Theirs.

Azriel swallowed hard, nodding once before moving past Rhys. But before he could reach the stairs, his brother’s voice stopped him.

“She hasn’t slept in days,” Rhys said quietly. “And she won’t talk about it, but I know she thinks this is the end.”

Azriel’s hands curled into fists.

Rhys hesitated, then added, “Fix it.”

Azriel didn’t respond, just started up the stairs, each step heavier than the last. The house was eerily silent, and with each door he passed, the weight in his chest grew.

When he finally reached their room, he hesitated.

The door was slightly ajar, candlelight spilling into the hallway. He could hear your breathing—uneven, strained.

Guilt clawed at him.

Slowly, he pushed the door open.

And there you were.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, knees drawn to your chest, one of Kaia’s stuffed animals clutched in your arms. Your eyes were red-rimmed, face streaked with dried tears. You didn’t even look up when he entered, your gaze locked onto some invisible point on the floor.

Azriel felt like the air had been stolen from his lungs.

He had seen you strong. He had seen you furious. He had seen you in pain.

But this—this hollow, shattered version of you—he had never seen before.

And it terrified him.

He closed the door behind him, the soft click making you flinch.

His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “Y/N.”

Your fingers curled tighter around the stuffed animal. Still, you didn’t look at him.

Azriel took a slow step forward, his heart hammering in his chest. He didn’t know what to say, what to do, to fix this. He had always known how to mend broken things. Swords. Strategies. Wounds.

But this?

This was you. His mate. His love. And he had broken you.

So he did the only thing he could think of.

He crossed the room in three steps, sinking onto his knees in front of you, his hands trembling as they reached for yours. You tensed at his touch, but you didn’t pull away.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his forehead resting against the back of your hands. “I don’t know how to fix this, but I need you to tell me how.”

For a long moment, you didn’t respond.

And then, in a voice so quiet he almost missed it, you said, “I don’t think you can.”

Azriel felt like he had been gutted.

Your words hung between you, heavier than anything he had ever carried. His wings drooped slightly, his fingers tightening around yours as if he could somehow anchor you to him, to this bond that now felt so fragile, so breakable.

“I don’t accept that,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I won’t accept that.”

You let out a hollow, humourless laugh, finally looking at him. Your eyes were dull, lifeless. “Then you’re a fool.”

Azriel flinched.

“I have nothing left, Azriel,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Nothing. I lost my mother. I lost my sister. I lost my wings. And now—” You sucked in a sharp breath, shaking your head. “I almost lost our daughter. And you—” Your hands slipped from his grasp as you pulled away from him, wrapping your arms around yourself. “You weren’t there. You shut me out. You let me break alone.”

Azriel’s throat felt raw, his shadows writhing around him in distress. “I didn’t know how to fix it,” he admitted. “How to make it better.”

“I didn’t need you to fix it!” Your voice was suddenly sharp, filled with something closer to anger now. “I needed you to be here! To sit with me in the fucking wreckage instead of running off like that would solve anything!”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his wings flexing slightly. “I thought—” He exhaled roughly, rubbing a hand over his face. “I thought if I just kept searching, if I just kept moving, then I wouldn’t have to face it.” His hands dropped into his lap, and he met your gaze, raw and open. “I was terrified, Y/N. I have never been more afraid in my entire life.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, your eyes shining with fresh tears.

“I failed you,” Azriel said, barely above a whisper. “I failed our daughter. And I don’t know how to come back from that.”

Silence settled between you, thick and suffocating.

And then, you whispered, “I don’t know if we can.”

Azriel’s stomach twisted violently, panic clawing up his throat.

No.

He refused to believe that.

“Please,” he said, his voice breaking. “Please don’t say that.”

You looked away, your fingers gripping Kaia’s stuffed animal like it was the only thing keeping you together.

Azriel reached for you again, his hands cradling your face, forcing you to look at him. “I love you,” he murmured, desperate, his thumbs brushing over your damp cheeks. “I love you more than anything, and I will do whatever it takes to fix this. To fix us.”

Your lips parted slightly, and for a second—just a second—he thought you might believe him.

But then your eyes filled with more tears, and you slowly pulled away.

“I don’t know if love is enough this time, Azriel.”

And those words shattered him completely.

Azriel stood frozen, your words echoing in his head like a death knell.

He had faced wars, endured centuries of pain, lived through the worst kind of suffering, but nothing—nothing—had ever felt like this. Like his very soul was being torn from him.

You turned away from him, your back shaking with barely restrained sobs. You didn’t want to fight anymore. You didn’t even have the energy to be angry. You were just…done.

Azriel took a step forward, but something in your posture made him hesitate. He had pushed you too far. He had let you break apart alone, and now, when he finally wanted to piece things back together, you weren’t sure if there was anything left to mend.

He swallowed, his voice rough. “Y/N…”

But you shook your head. “I can’t right now, Azriel.”

His wings drooped further, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He wanted to argue, to plead, to tell you that he would spend the rest of his life making this right. But you looked so exhausted, so broken, and he knew that pushing any further would only widen the distance between you.

So he stepped back.

“Okay,” he murmured, though it felt like the hardest thing he had ever said.

He turned toward the door, hesitating only for a second, hoping—praying—that you would call him back. That you would tell him to stay.

But you didn’t.

And so Azriel left, feeling more lost than he ever had before.

Azriel barely made it down the hall before he heard Rhysand’s footsteps behind him.

“You bastard,” Rhys bit out, his voice low but sharp.

Azriel exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself before turning. He didn’t get the chance. Rhys was already there, grabbing him by the front of his leathers, shoving him back against the nearest wall.

“I told you to fix it,” Rhys snarled. “Not to make it worse.”

Azriel didn’t resist, didn’t push back. He let Rhys hold him there, let him release the fury Azriel knew he deserved. He felt like a ghost of himself, hollow and lost, his own shadows recoiling from him.

“She doesn’t want to fix it,” Azriel muttered, voice rough. “She—” His throat closed up. He swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “She doesn’t think there’s anything left to fix.”

Rhys’ grip tightened, his violet eyes burning with anger and something deeper—something almost desperate. “Then make her believe there is.”

Azriel clenched his jaw, looking away. “I don’t know how.”

Rhys let out a harsh breath and released him, stepping back. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. “Az,” he said, quieter this time. “She’s drowning. And you—her mate, her husband—just walked away.”

Azriel squeezed his eyes shut.

“You fought for her once,” Rhys said. “Fought like hell for her. Are you really going to let it end like this?”

Azriel’s hands curled into fists at his sides. He had spent two weeks searching relentlessly for Kaia, had given everything he had left to finding their daughter. But somehow, in the process, he had lost you.

And now, standing here, feeling like the biggest failure in existence, he realized—he couldn’t let that happen.

He opened his eyes, meeting Rhysand’s gaze.

“I won’t,” Azriel said, voice filled with quiet, unyielding determination. “I won’t let it end like this.”

Rhysand held his gaze for a long moment, searching, assessing. Then he gave a sharp nod, stepping back fully.

“Good,” he said. But there was no relief in his voice. Only expectation. “Then fix it.”

Azriel inhaled deeply, steadying himself. His feet moved before his mind had fully caught up, carrying him down the familiar hall toward your shared room. The door was closed, and for a moment, he hesitated. He had no idea what he would find on the other side. No idea if you would even listen to him.

But he had to try.

Slowly, he pushed the door open.

The sight of you knocked the breath from his lungs.

You sat on the edge of the bed, your back to him, shoulders hunched. Your hands clutched one of Kaia’s teddies, holding it against your chest like a lifeline. Even from across the room, he could hear the quiet, broken sniffles.

Azriel swallowed hard, his heart clenching painfully.

He stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him. You didn’t react, didn’t even lift your head.

He took another step. And then another. Until he was standing just behind you.

“I know I’ve hurt you,” he said, voice quiet but steady. “I know I’ve made everything worse. And I know I don’t deserve it, but—please. Look at me.”

Silence.

For a moment, he thought you wouldn’t.

But then, slowly, you turned.

And when your eyes finally met his, filled with so much pain, so much anger, so much exhaustion—Azriel felt like he might break apart entirely.

Azriel didn’t move, barely breathed as he took you in. The dark circles under your eyes, the redness in them from days—weeks—of crying. The way your lips trembled, like you wanted to say something, scream something, but didn’t have the strength to.

And then, in a voice so hoarse and tired it nearly destroyed him, you whispered, “Why are you here, Azriel?”

He opened his mouth, but for once in his life, he didn’t know what to say.

To apologize? To beg? To tell you he loved you, even if right now, you weren’t sure you could believe it?

“I—” he tried, but the words caught in his throat.

Your eyes flashed with something sharp, something broken.

“You left me,” you said, your voice shaking. “You let me sit in that room alone for weeks while our daughter fought for her life. You let me feel like I had to hold everything together while you buried yourself in your own grief.”

Azriel flinched. He wanted to argue, to say that he had been searching, that he had been doing everything he could to bring Kaia home, to keep himself from completely shattering.

But you weren’t wrong.

And he knew—knew—that the worst thing he could do right now was try to defend himself.

So he didn’t.

“I know,” he admitted instead, voice barely above a whisper. “I know, and I’m so damn sorry. I thought—I thought I was doing the right thing, keeping busy, trying to fix it. But I wasn’t fixing anything. I was just running.”

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “And now you decide to come back?”

Azriel’s throat tightened. “I should have come back sooner.”

Your jaw clenched, and when you looked away, Azriel felt something in his chest cave in.

“But I’m here now,” he continued, voice raw. “And I’ll stay. If you’ll let me.”

Silence stretched between you.

Then, your voice so quiet it was nearly swallowed by the space between you, you asked, “What if I don’t know if I want you to?”

Azriel swallowed hard. He had never felt fear like this. Not in war, not in battle. This—this uncertainty, this possibility of losing you—it was worse than anything.

But he nodded. Because this wasn’t about him.

“I’ll wait,” he said, meaning every word. “As long as it takes.”

Your throat was tight, raw from the sobs that had wracked through you before Azriel arrived. You had told yourself—sworn to yourself—that you wouldn’t ask. That you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing you still cared, that you still needed to hear it from him.

But the words slipped past your lips anyway, fragile and desperate.

“How is she?”

Azriel exhaled sharply, his wings shifting behind him. He looked exhausted—more than exhausted. He looked hollow. Like whatever had been keeping him upright was barely holding on.

“She’s…” He hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure how to answer. “She’s getting better.”

Your hands curled into fists at your sides. “That’s not an answer, Azriel.”

His jaw tightened, but when he spoke again, his voice was gentler. “The healer says she’s improving, but it’s slow. She’s in pain. Her wings…” He broke off, shaking his head. “She won’t fly for a long time, if ever.”

The air left your lungs like you’d been struck.

If ever.

Your sweet, beautiful daughter—grounded.

A quiet, strangled sound left you, and Azriel took a step toward you, instinctively reaching out. You flinched back.

He froze.

You didn’t mean to do it. You knew he wasn’t the enemy, that he wasn’t the one who had hurt her. But the space between you felt like a canyon, one neither of you knew how to cross anymore.

“She asked for you,” he said softly. “Every minute.”

Tears welled in your eyes, burning hot as they slipped down your cheeks.

“I should have been there,” you whispered.

Azriel’s face twisted, like he wanted to argue but knew he had no right.

“She’ll be okay,” he said, though he didn’t sound entirely sure. “She’s strong, just like you.”

Your voice broke as you whispered, “I don’t feel strong.”

Azriel’s hands curled into fists at his sides. Like it physically pained him to hear you say that.

“She needs you,” he said after a moment. “And I—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Come back with me.”

You looked away.

You didn’t know if you could.

The sob burst out of you before you could stop it—raw and jagged, ripped straight from your chest. Your hands trembled too much to grip it properly. The weight of everything, of Kaia’s pain, of Azriel’s voice, of the unbearable hollow ache inside you—it was too much.

A gasp tore from your throat, and then another, and suddenly you couldn’t stop. Your shoulders shook violently as the sobs wracked through you, your breath coming in uneven, desperate gasps. Your hands covered your face, as if that could somehow hold you together, but the moment you closed your eyes, all you could see was Kaia.

Your baby, broken.

You bent forward, pressing your forehead against your hands, trying to breathe, trying to think past the agony that had settled deep in your ribs. But all you could do was sob harder, the sound echoing through the room.

Azriel was in front of you in an instant, kneeling, his hands hovering, unsure if he was allowed to touch you. “YN,” he whispered, his voice tight, pained.

You shook your head frantically, curling in on yourself, your hands fisting into your shirt as if you could claw the grief out of your chest. Your breath hitched, too fast, too shallow, and for a terrifying moment, you thought you might not be able to breathe at all.

Azriel’s hands finally found your shoulders, grounding, steady. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. “Breathe with me, love. Just breathe.”

But you couldn’t. You were drowning, lost in the unbearable weight of your daughter’s suffering, of everything that had been shattered between you and the only person who was supposed to understand.

“I c-can’t,” you gasped between sobs, shaking your head, your vision swimming. “Azriel, I can’t—I can’t—”

His hands tightened slightly, warm and firm, as he moved closer. “Yes, you can,” he whispered, his forehead pressing against yours now, his breath steady despite the anguish in his voice. “You’re not alone.”

But you had never felt more alone in your entire life.

Azriel didn’t hesitate this time. The second he saw you breaking apart, crumbling under the weight of everything, he pulled you against him, his arms wrapping around you tightly. His wings curled around you both, shielding you from the world, as if that alone could keep you safe from the pain tearing through you.

You didn’t resist. You didn’t have the strength to. The second his warmth surrounded you, you collapsed against his chest, sobbing so hard that your entire body shook with each ragged breath.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice raw, his lips pressing against the crown of your head. “I’ve got you, love.”

His hands moved slowly, one stroking up and down your back, the other cradling the back of your head, holding you as if you might shatter completely if he let go. His touch was gentle, reverent—so achingly familiar that it only made you sob harder.

“I know,” he whispered, rocking you slightly, his voice barely more than a breath. “I know, YN. Just let it out.”

You clung to him, your fingers curling into his tunic as you buried your face in his chest. His scent surrounded you—night-chilled mist and cedar and something distinctly Azriel—and it only made the ache in your heart worse.

“I c-can’t do this,” you gasped between sobs. “I can’t—Azriel, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” he said firmly, his hand sliding into your hair, his fingers threading through it in slow, soothing strokes. “You’re the strongest person I know, YN. You have always been strong.”

You shook your head against him, your body still trembling. “Not anymore.”

His grip on you tightened, his wings pressing closer, wrapping you in warmth. “That’s not true,” he said quietly. “You are still you. Even if it feels like you’re falling apart, you’re still here. You’re still fighting.”

Your sobs slowed just slightly, your breathing still uneven, but no longer the desperate gasps of before. His fingers traced slow, steady circles against your back, grounding you, anchoring you to him.

“I need her back,” you whispered brokenly, your voice barely audible.

Azriel swallowed hard, his chin resting atop your head. “I know,” he murmured. “We’ll get her back, love. I swear it.”

Your hands fisted tighter in his tunic, as if holding onto him was the only thing keeping you from completely unravelling. His steady heartbeat thudded against your cheek, a quiet rhythm that, for the first time in days, gave you something to hold on to.

And even though the pain was still there, even though the ache in your chest felt like it might never fade, you let yourself sink into his warmth, into the arms of the only person who had ever truly understood you.

You sniffled, your breath still uneven as you rested against Azriel’s chest. His warmth, his steady presence, was the only thing keeping you from completely falling apart. But it wasn’t enough—not yet. Not when your heart still ached with a desperation so deep it felt like it might consume you.

“I need to see her,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from crying.

Azriel tensed slightly beneath you, his arms tightening around you as if he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers. “YN…”

“No,” you said, shaking your head, pulling back just enough to look up at him. Your face was still streaked with tears, your eyes swollen and red, but there was no hesitation in your voice. “I need to see my daughter, Azriel. I need to hold her.”

His jaw clenched, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “She’s still healing,” he said carefully. “She’s fragile, YN. Moving her could—”

“I’m not asking to take her away from there,” you cut in sharply. “I just want to be with her. I just—I need to see her.”

Azriel exhaled slowly, searching your face as if trying to gauge whether you could handle it. Whether he could handle it. But you knew him—you knew that he wanted the same thing. That despite everything, he was still terrified of seeing her like that, of feeling helpless when all he wanted was to fix it.

But he wouldn’t tell you no. He couldn’t.

“I’ll take you,” he said finally, his voice soft but firm. “I’ll take you to her.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding as your fingers gripped his tunic once more.

Azriel pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment before he whispered, “Hold on to me.”

And as he winnowed you away, your heart pounded in your chest, equal parts fear and hope battling within you. Because in just a few moments, you would see her again. And you didn’t know if you could bear it.

-----

Cassian sat in the chair beside Kaia’s small bed, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his jaw tight with barely contained fury. The dim glow of the faelights cast long shadows across the room, flickering softly against the delicate features of the sleeping child beside him. Nyx sat on the edge of the mattress, tiny fingers gently brushing over Kaia’s hand, his little brows furrowed in concern.

“She’s so small,” Nyx whispered, barely loud enough for Cassian to hear.

Cassian’s throat tightened. He knew. He knew all too well. Kaia looked impossibly fragile, her wings carefully bandaged, her skin still pale from blood loss. Even in sleep, she winced slightly, the pain still present even through the healer’s efforts. It made something sharp twist in his chest.

He reached over, smoothing a hand over Nyx’s dark hair. “She’s strong,” he murmured. “Like her mother. Like her father.”

Nyx nodded solemnly, but his eyes didn’t leave Kaia. “When will she wake up?”

Cassian sighed, his fingers curling into a fist in his lap. “Soon, bud. The healers said she needs rest.”

Nyx was quiet for a long moment before he said, “Mama would sing to me when I was sick.”

Cassian’s chest ached. He knew that, too. Feyre had done the same for him when he’d been recovering after the war. He swallowed hard, glancing at Kaia before looking back at Nyx. “Do you want to sing to her?”

Nyx hesitated, then gave a small nod. His voice was quiet, soft, a child’s lullaby barely above a whisper. Cassian closed his eyes for a moment, listening, letting the melody settle over him like a blanket.

Then he heard the distinct shift of air behind him—the subtle sound of winnowing. His eyes snapped open, and he turned just in time to see Azriel and YN step into the doorway.

And the second YN saw her daughter, Cassian saw the breath leave her lungs.

YN didn’t move at first. She just stood there, frozen in the doorway, her eyes locked onto the tiny form of her daughter lying in the bed. Azriel was beside her, his hand hovering near the small of her back, as if ready to steady her if she collapsed.

Cassian watched as her expression crumbled. She made a sound—half a sob, half a breathless whisper—and then she was moving.

“Kaia,” YN choked out, her voice breaking as she rushed forward.

Nyx quickly moved aside as YN fell to her knees beside the bed, her shaking hands reaching out but stopping just short of touching her daughter, as if she were afraid that any contact might shatter her.

Cassian saw the tears spill freely down her face as she finally—finally—placed a hand over Kaia’s tiny fingers, her touch impossibly gentle.

“She’s okay,” Cassian murmured, his voice softer now. “She’s healing.”

YN let out a shaky breath, her other hand coming up to brush a few strands of hair away from Kaia’s face. “My baby,” she whispered.

Azriel still hadn’t moved. He was standing a few steps away, his shadows curling around his shoulders as he stared at Kaia, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His face was unreadable, but Cassian could see the tension in his jaw, the storm in his hazel eyes.

Kaia stirred slightly at her mother’s touch, her little brows furrowing, and YN let out a quiet sob, pressing a trembling kiss to her daughter’s forehead.

Cassian stood, giving Azriel a look before motioning to Nyx. “Come on, bud. Let’s give them a moment.”

Nyx hesitated but nodded, casting one last glance at Kaia before taking Cassian’s hand. They stepped toward the door, and Cassian briefly clapped a hand on Azriel’s shoulder as he passed, grounding him. Azriel didn’t react, just kept staring at his daughter.

As Cassian and Nyx left the room, he heard YN whispering Kaia’s name over and over, like she was trying to convince herself that she was really here. That she was safe.

Kaia stirred beneath YN’s trembling hands, a soft whimper escaping her lips as her little body shifted against the blankets. Her brows furrowed as if sensing the weight of exhaustion and pain still lingering in her small frame.

YN sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers tightening around Kaia’s hand. “Kaia?” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Azriel stepped closer, his breath caught in his throat as he watched their daughter’s lashes flutter. It was the first real movement she had made since they’d arrived.

Kaia’s tiny fingers twitched beneath YN’s, and then, sluggishly, her eyes cracked open.

“Mama…” The word was faint, barely more than a breath, but it shattered something deep inside YN.

She let out a sob of relief, brushing her fingers gently over Kaia’s warm, flushed cheek. “I’m here, baby. I’m right here.”

Kaia blinked sluggishly, her little lips parting as if trying to form more words. Her gaze, unfocused and glassy, shifted slightly, searching.

Then, in a broken, hoarse voice, she whimpered, “Dada?”

Azriel made a sound—one that was almost a strangled breath. He dropped to his knees beside the bed, his shaking hands hesitating just above Kaia’s tiny body.

“I’m here, sweet girl,” he rasped, his voice barely holding together. “I’m right here.”

Kaia’s small fingers curled slightly, as if reaching for him, and that was all it took. Azriel’s hands gently enveloped her tiny one, his shadows retreating for the first time in weeks as he pressed a trembling kiss to her palm.

YN let out a watery laugh between her sobs, smoothing Kaia’s tangled curls. “You’re so strong, my love. So strong.”

Kaia blinked up at them both, her little body weak, but the warmth of her parents surrounding her seemed to settle her.

Then, in the softest, sleepiest voice, she whispered, “Home?”

YN bit back another sob, leaning down to kiss her daughter’s forehead. “Soon, sweetheart,” she promised. “Soon, we’ll go home.”

Kaia’s lashes fluttered as she drifted back into sleep, her breathing deep and even.

Azriel exhaled shakily, his forehead pressing against YN’s as they clung to each other, holding onto the one thing that mattered most.

One more part left...

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x oc #azriel fanfic #azriel spymaster #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel imagine #acotar fanfiction #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #az

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sodapopwrites · 7 months ago

Text

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.

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“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.”

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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.

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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.

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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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the-lonelybarricade · 2 years ago

Text

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 · 9 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 · 7 months ago

Note

Omg…I just realized…Grim!Rhys and Feyre are Lucifer and Chloe (from Lucifer TV)!! 😆😆😆 (and as a fan of the show I mean this as the highest compliment)

I can totally see that!! 😂 Exasperated human just in a constant state of damage control because of her supernatural boyfriend

#Grim!Rhys #Till Death Do Us Part

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moonlitstoriess · 3 months 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 · 6 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 · 1 year 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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milswrites · 1 year ago

Text

Hobbies Part 1. ~ Azriel X Reader

Summary: In an attempt to keep Azriel away from Elain, Rhys sends him on a sabbatical to the Day Court. With a lot more free time on his hands Azriel needs to find something to keep him occupied. Unfortunately he meets Y/N who has the annoying habit of not staying away. Can she teach him that there’s more to life than he thought?

Grumpy!Azriel X Sunshine!Reader

Series masterlist

Warnings: Sad Az. Angst

Azriel was bored.

It had only been a week since Rhys had sent him to stay in a flat he had borrowed from Helion in the Day Court with the excuse that he had worked so hard all these years and deserved to take a break.

Azriel saw right through him. It wasn’t long ago that Rhys had pulled him aside and banned him from seeing Elain. And so Rhysand wasn’t too pleased when barely a month later he had caught Azriel and Elain on a walk together along the streets of Velaris. Always one to overreact, it was safe to say that Rhys wasn’t too happy and a week later he had taken Azriel to the Day Court, walked him into the flat he’s currently been sulking in for the past few days and winnowed away.

Azriel wasn’t a fool, he knew Rhys had asked Helion to keep an eye on him during his stay, his shadows reporting back to him that people were watching the flat, no doubt reporting back that he hadn’t left. That he hadn’t even opened the blinds. Selfishly, Azriel hoped they reported his lack of movement to Rhys. He hoped his brother would take pity on him, forget his anger and let him come back home. He would do his best to stay away from Elain, he just wanted out of this damn court. He just wanted to go home.

It wasn’t until another week had passed that Azriel had come to the grim realisation that Rhys wasn’t coming. He was stuck here for the indefinite future.

The time finally came when Azriel would have to leave the flat. The cupboards which were filled with food by Rhys upon his arrival had run bare and after suffering for two days without food as he sulked in his bed, his stomach was now cramping with hunger. Reluctantly, Azriel opened the door and left the flat. Immediately shooting his hand up to cover his eyes as the sun blinded him, causing his head to pound at the change from the sullen darkness of the flat to the bright skies that waited for him outside.

Grumbling at the situation, Azriel started to make his way down the street hoping it wouldn’t take long to find somewhere where he could purchase some food before heading back to the flat to wallow in his self pity some more. Unfortunately the Mother had other plans.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes”

Azriel whipped his head around at the sound of the annoyingly cheerful voice directed at him. He locked eyes with a young woman who was sat on the floor outside the flat building, book propped open on her lap as she leant her back against the wall and looked up at him, a wide smile adorning her lips. Cursing his shadows for not noticing someone watching him, Azriel turned back around without replying, continuing on his way and praying that the woman would stay where she was and not bother him.

But of course his run of bad luck continued as she put her book away into the bag by her side, stood up and dusted herself off before running to catch up with his long strides. “I was beginning to think you’d never leave” she continued, looking up at him now she had caught up to his side, smile still plastered on her face as if they were old friends. His shadows slowly inched towards her before Azriel subconsciously tugged them back to him. Again, Azriel didn’t respond, hoping that if he didn’t talk she would get the hint and leave him alone. But that didn’t stop the woman who was clearly intent on making his life a living hell, “so why did you leave today? Finally got bored of sitting around doing nothing?”

He was bored, but Azriel wasn’t prepared to tell this stranger that. It was obvious she wasn’t going to leave him alone any time soon so Azriel stopped in his tracks and turned to her, a deep scowl covering his face at the realisation she was waiting for him and had probably been the person he felt watching the flat the past few weeks. His scowl didn’t phase this unknown woman, she was slightly panting from the pace of keeping up with him but still annoyingly grinning up at him, the smell of vanilla overwhelming his senses as she walked alongside him. “What is this? Did Helion send you? Because if so get lost and tell him that I don’t need his lackeys following me around when I’m perfectly capable of going around on my own” he spat, different from his usually deadly calm demeanour but after two weeks of solitude and thoughts swimming with anger over the situation he was forced into, Azriel didn’t care about pleasantries and was looking for something or someone to take his anger out on.

His rude behaviour didn’t even phase the stranger before him, in fact Azriel could have sworn he saw her smile twitch a little bit wider. Now he was definitely certain that she’s positively insane. “Yes Helion sent me, but only because Rhysand asked him to. He was worried about -“

Azriel cut her off, “Well you can tell Rhysand that I’m fine, I don’t need your help” and with that he resumed his fast-paced walking once again trying to get away from her. Thankfully, she didn’t follow him this time. Instead she stayed standing where he had left her and called out, “the markets the other way!” He whipped round, cheeks heating with embarrassment at having this pointed out to him. “Just thought you should know” she grinned before nodding her head in the other direction, towards where the market must be, “shall we?”

He huffed out in frustration but admitted defeat, the quicker he got to the market and got food, the sooner he could get away from this pestering woman and go back to the soothing solitude of his flat. Content with his decision the lady smiled and fell into step with him, humming to fill the void of uncomfortable silence. Azriel clenched his jaw - couldn’t this woman stay silent for a minute?

As if his day couldn’t get even worse, Azriels shadows began to slowly dance around him as if enchanted by the melody she was producing. He was struggling to reel them in and his jaw clenched even harder at this unfortunate situation. If the lady had noticed, she doesn’t say anything or let on that she’s uncomfortable, continuing to him to herself as she skipped along.

Finally, as the street turns, Azriel can see the market stalls and some of the tension in his body is eased as he knows he’s one step closer to getting home. Not home. Back to the flat.

The two of them approached the stalls, Azriel looking over the food, some of which he hasn’t seen before as they don’t have the likes of them in the Night Court. His guide had started enthusiastically talking to the vendor of the stall, clearly they were familiar with each other and so he took the opportunity to silently break away and move away from the stalls, seeking to get away from her, need for food forgotten.

This didn’t go unnoticed though, as she excused herself and trailed after him. “So do you enjoy cooking?” She asked, aiming to break the awkward atmosphere between them and start a conversation.

“Litsen-“ Azriel started but was interrupted by your voice “Y/N”

“What?”

“My name. Y/N. May as well know it if you’re going to yell at me” she teased, lips upturned into a playful smirk as if she was enjoying this. Which only angered Azriel more.

“Listen Y/N. I didn’t ask to be here and I most certainly didn’t ask to be babysat by the likes of you. I’m perfectly capable of getting my own food and finding my own way back.” Azriel noticed Y/N’s confident demeanour wavering and took a deep breath out, satisfied that she would now leave and give him the space he so desperately required. Her face, a picture of sadness as she looked up to Azriel and asked, “and then what will you do?”

He could feel brows furrowing in confusion as he looked down at Y/N, “What?”

“What will you do when you’re back? Surely you can’t expect to just stay alone in your flat all day every day?” He wanted to make an angry retort and comment about how being alone would be miles better than being with her but Azriel was left speechless by this woman who he had never even met, who had the beginnings of silver tears in her eyes at the thought of him being alone in his flat.

Azriel was always used to caring for people , his brothers, Feyre, Elain and even sometimes Nesta but he wasn’t used to receiving care.

“I know it’s not fair. The situation you’re in. But you’re just going to make a shitty situation even worse by locking yourself up. Aren’t there any hobbies you could do while you’re here? Isn’t there anything you enjoy doing?”

Azriel could feel the anger wash away from him as shock flooded in. Did he have hobbies? It had been a long time since he had time to do anything he wanted. He wasn’t even sure what he liked to do. That’s when his thoughts turned defensive, shadows pulling tight against him to provide a sense of protection. Why was he letting these words from someone he only met a little under an hour ago get under his skin?

“I train” he tried to sound convincing, perhaps more so trying to convince himself than Y/N. Training was a hobby right? He’s done it everyday for hundreds of years… well up until he got sent here and then he hasn’t been doing a right lot of anything.

Y/N tilted her head in thought, “Do you enjoy training?”

Again, her questions had Azriel thinking harder than he had in days. Did he enjoy it? He liked the routine it brought and the strength it made him feel. But the more he dwells on it the more self conscious he becomes that he’s never done a lot of anything else.

“I… guess I do,” Azriel was unsure now. Why was he even entertaining this conversation. He knew if he really wanted to he could leave. Leave Y/N standing there and go back to his dark little piece of the Day Court. Heck he could even use his shadows and travel back to the Night Court, but he was sure his arrival wouldn’t be appreciated by Rhysand and he really didn’t want to risk angering his brother even further. No. Azriel was well and truly stuck here until his brother decided otherwise.

Sensing his unease, Y/N donned a soothing smile. Oddly enough it calmed Azriel and he found his shadows, that had started swirling around him at his distress, start to calmly sway. Even more unusual than the fact Azriel found comfort in this woman’s smile, was the lack of pity in her eyes. Her eyes that he found himself gazing into for some form of stability, some indicator that told him he wasn’t really alone in this court until he had been staring to long that he could feel the suffocating tension in the air.

“Well…” Y/N started, Azriel tried not to flinch as she sliced through the tension, not letting on whether she felt it too, “you may be here a while. I don’t see why you should hide away and force yourself to suffer. Why don’t you take the time to pick up some new hobbies?” The thought she voiced brought a dazzling grin to her face as if she couldn’t think of anything more wonderful than the thought of Azriel doing something new.

The suggestion made Azriel scoff.

“Oh yeah like what?”

“Like…hiking! That’s similar to training right? Or you could try baking. Or art is meant to be very therapeutic…ooh you could paint!…”

Y/N trailed off looking to Azriel who was stood with his brow raised as if he couldn’t think of anything worse than all the things she had suggested. Fear crept into him as he kept staring at her wide grin, as if she was already picturing him in an apron, decorating cakes in his kitchen. Wanting to step away from this situation and melt into his shadows Azriel just stood in silence.

“Rhysand wouldn’t want you to do nothing”

And that was when something snapped in Azriel. Pure rage at the thought of Rhysand feeling anything other than contentment at the suffering he has forced Azriel to enjoy. Y/N clearly realising she said the wrong thing as her smile wavers and she took a step back to avoid his shadows which were amassing around him, stammering apologies of how she was just trying to be helpful.

“Well don’t,” Azriel stated, void of emotions, “I don’t need your help and I don’t want it” and with that he took off, striding away and leaving Y/N behind who finally had the sense not to follow him. He made it back to his flat, not even caring that he didn’t grab the food he had gone out for and collapsed into bed.

His emotions hit him in powerful waves, the abandonment he felt from his friends, his brothers, sending shockwaves to his heart. Alone in his flat, tears fell down his face. Was this truly what he deserved for just trying to get close to Elain? To help her feel more settled into the night court with the rest of the inner circle, with him?

Azriel cried and cried until exhaustion overwhelmed him and he had no other option than to let sleep take over him. He wasn’t sure how long he had slept when he was awoken by a soft knocking at the door. Anger coursed through him again at the thought of having to talk to you on the other side of the door. At the thought you may have been doing your job, watching him, reporting his tears and his begging to go home to Helion so he could report to Rhysand. He flung the door open, prepared to curse you and shout at you.

Only when he did open the door he wasn’t greeted by you. There was no one there. He could smell the sweet scent of vanilla in the air but his shadows told him you were long gone. His eyes fell to the floor where there was a basket full of food which he grabbed and brought inside and closed the door.

He emptied the basket, snacking on an apple from the goods as he did so. And when he reached the bottom, his hands faltered before taking out a simple black sketchbook and a set of pencils that were placed inside. Azriel let out a disgusted sound and tossed them on the floor.

Part 2

#azriel x reader #azriel #azriel imagine #acotar #fanfic #sarah j maas #x reader #acotar imagine #a court of thorns and roses

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agentstarkid · 15 days ago

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WHAT THE GODS TRIED TO BURY ✦ 03

✦ WORD COUNT: 4K

✦ WARNINGS: ANGST, violence, language, gore, moral ambiguity, a wee bit of 'down bad' situation from our girl, unrequited love (OR IS IT).

✦ MAY'S RADIO: Forgot to ask before, how good are your symbolism skills, besties? Y'know, just... curious 👀 A lil flashback in this chapter and... uhm... let's pretend a Commander comes before (under?) a General because I don't know how these military ranks work. Ah once again, Rhys can fuck off <3

< previous | series masterlist | next >

It felt like trying to hold back a tide with bare hands.

She stood amidst the chaos, mud sucking at her boots, blood drying on her fighting leathers. The battlefield stretched endlessly, painted in shadow and flame. Screams echoed like war drums, and still, the enemy pressed forward, ruthless and tireless.

An attacker lunged from her blind side—too fast, too close. She spun, blade flashing, and met him with a snarl. Steel met flesh with a wet crunch, and he crumpled at her feet.

She pivoted on her heel, eyes scanning the ridge ahead where the enemy’s forces were surging, their armor obsidian and unholy. Their power churned the wind, thick with dark magic that clawed at her skin like nails. Behind her, Rhysand was somewhere deep in the skies, shielding them with the last dregs of his strength.

Her family was fighting. Cassian’s sword gleamed; he dragged his left wing as he fought, gory and barely holding himself upright. And still, he moved like a warrior carved from legend—unyielding, unstoppable, heart laid bare in every swing.

Mor moved like a blade of light, bright even beneath the smoke-choked sky—beautiful and devastating, the very embodiment of battle-born grace.

Amren had her hands raised as a crackling burst of silver fire erupted from her palms, obliterating the enemy line in a flash of unforgiving power. She was wrath incarnate, ancient and terrifying and utterly magnificent.

And Azriel—

Her heart clenched. Azriel had vanished into shadow minutes ago, and her soul had gone with him.

She hated that part. The part where he disappeared and took her peace with him.

“Commander!” a voice barked through the chaos—it belonged to one of the Illyrian warriors under her command. She knew they hated calling her that. Hated being led by a female. For an Illyrian male, it was the ultimate insult. Well, fuck their fragile egos, she thought with a quiet chuckle. Blood soaked the warrior’s leathers, but he stood tall, defiant. Just like the others. Just like she had to.

“Hold the line!” she shouted, her voice ringing out like steel over the chaos. The curved Illyrian blade in her hand gleamed as she lifted it high, golden eyes blazing. She was no High Fae. No Illyrian. She didn’t even know what she was. But Rhysand had called her sister. Cassian had shed blood beside her. Amren, strange and ancient as she was, had taken her under her wing with a rare kind of quiet allegiance. Mor had defended her place in this Court like a lioness guarding her pride. And Azriel…

Azriel, against all odds, had become the light in the heart of her darkness.

But to him, she was just his sister. Of that she was sure.

His eyes never looked at her like she was something worth unraveling. They returned again and again to Mor. She could never hate her for it. Mor was starlight and elegance; the kind of creature you worshipped. She, on the other hand, was all jagged scars and forgotten origins. A nameless female who woke up on a rotting ship nearly two centuries ago, drifting into the Night Court like a curse whispered in the dark.

“What, planning to take a nap in the middle of a battle?” Cassian tsked teasingly beside her, blood running freely down his temple. “C’mon! You’re not dying here, Commander.”

She let out a grim chuckle. “Neither are you, General.”

Cassian gave her a tired but fond smile before rushing back into the fray.

The sky screamed above them as Rhys roared—and then, at last, a blur of midnight and cold steel tore into the fray.

Azriel.

His siphons blazed white-hot, twin blades slicing through enemies like a silent storm. But there was no relief. Not yet.

Because his wings—gods, his wings—were torn, shredded along the membrane, blood streaming in ribbons behind him.

And still he flew. Still he fought. He moved like he wasn’t hurting. Like pain was just another shadow he knew how to command. He was agony wrapped in silence, devotion made flesh.

She watched him, breath caught in her throat, heart breaking and swelling all at once. He was magnificent. Terrible and beautiful and brave in a way that made her want to fall to her knees. And to her, he had never looked more like a star—brilliant and achingly divine.

In a blink—

She watched it unfold like a nightmare in slow motion. One wing dragged uselessly, his siphons sputtering out, his dagger knocked from his grip. He hit the ground hard, vanishing beneath a wave of enemies.

She screamed before she even knew she had.

A raw, primal panic surged through her chest, wild and foreign, as if her very bones were being ripped apart from the inside. The world tilted.

Her heart stuttered and then roared to life, thundering with something that didn’t feel like fear. It was deeper. Sharper. As if the very air had turned to ice in her lungs, and some invisible tether inside her had been violently, cruelly pulled.

She couldn’t breathe.

If she didn’t reach him, if she didn’t see him breathe again—

Something inside her cracked at the thought.

It wasn’t the sound of bones or war cries—it was inside her. A pressure, building in her ribs, searing through her veins. Not pain. No. It was flooding her with warmth. Familiar. Like an old friend who had simply been sleeping.

The wind whipped around her, tugging at her hair, rustling the bloodied banners overhead. It howled like something alive, and yet she did not flinch.

She couldn’t.

Her knees trembled, her fingertips tingling with something electric. Her teeth ached, her chest grew tight—tight in the way storms press against the earth before they break.

She looked to the skies and didn’t realize they were darkening with her grief. Her rage.

Azriel was lying still. The seconds stretching into something unbearable, each heartbeat screaming that he wasn’t getting up fast enough.

And that’s when she felt it—like lightning threading her spine, like static across her skin. The charge of it. Her nerves sang with it, her blood surged with it. The very air bent around her.

She didn’t understand what it was.

Only that it wanted out.

Then—

Nothing.

A flicker in her mind.

And the warmth vanished.

The wind fell still.

And the world pressed down like it wanted her to stay still. To kneel.

She blinked, confused, as though suddenly waking from a dream. Her limbs—gods, they were heavy. Like the weight of the world had settled on her bones. Her arms wouldn't lift. Her legs refused to obey. A scream sat caught in her throat, strangled and unmoving. She tried to command her body, tried to fight—but it was like her limbs belonged to someone else now. Heavy. Numb.

And then the first arrow struck.

A sharp burst of pain tore through her shoulder, her body jerked under the force of it, a choked breath slipping from her lips. A heartbeat later, another embedded itself in her leg, dragging her to the mud-slick ground. She gasped, breath shallow and wet. Her fingers twitched. That was all she could manage.

And still, she could not scream. Could not move.

Something was wrong.

The pain was sharp, red-hot—but distant. Like it wasn’t hers.

Not just pain. Not just blood.

Her veins felt heavy, sluggish, like ice was crawling beneath her skin.

A cold, smothering weight settled over her limbs, heavy and unnatural. Like her very essence had been severed.

She tried to rise—but her limbs lagged, slow and unresponsive. Her breath came shallow. Her vision blurred.

Something was…very wrong.

Faebane.

The word flared in her mind like a curse.

The arrows…, her mind whispered in alarm.

She could hear them—feel them. Her name, like a lifeline, ripped from Mor’s throat. Cassian’s bellow of rage. Even Azriel, distant and hoarse, calling out for her.

But she was trapped inside herself. Floating. Watching.

She looked up, desperate for something—someone.

And she found him.

High above, silhouetted against the darkened sky, his wings stretched wide like a judgment, was Rhysand.

Her High Lord.

Her brother.

Her savior.

Their eyes met—and her heart nearly broke with relief. She pleaded silently.

Rhys, I can't move. The arrows—the arrows are poisoned. Help me. Please. They're coming.

But he didn’t move.

He just… looked at her.

Her chest heaved, lips parting to form a soundless cry. Why wasn’t he helping? Why was he just watching? Was this it? Was this how it was meant to end? Maybe this was her purpose all along—to be the sacrificial piece. To die for the family who had taken her in.

But how could she fulfill that if she couldn’t even move?

Maybe the Cauldron had a cruel sense of humor. Maybe the Mother watched with idle amusement as her lamb was readied for slaughter, unable to run or fight back.

Then, aurulent eyes met violet once more. And that’s when she felt it.

A subtle shift.

Something foreign—not in her body, but in her mind.

It wasn’t just panic or dissociation or her body's failure under pressure.

No.

This was someone.

Him.

A presence. Familiar, suffocating, powerful. Slick like shadow and silk.

And suddenly she knew.

It wasn’t her body that had betrayed her.

It was Rhysand.

Deep in her mind. Subtle as fog and just as overwhelming. Holding her still. Containing her.

Paralyzing her.

And the look in his eyes—she understood it now.

He wasn’t her savior. Not then. Not ever.

Something fractured. A flicker of emotion crossed his face. Something that looked—was it sorry?

Or… was it pity?

She couldn’t tell.

She couldn’t understand.

This.

This was betrayal.

And from him.

Her brother—not by blood, but by bond, by time, by war and memory. The male who had welcomed her into his Court, who had named her Commander of his forces.

Had this been his plan all along?

Was she always meant to be a sacrifice? A pawn to burn out quietly so the rest could carry on?

Her thoughts spiraled, panic latching onto grief, confusion twisting into something far darker. Were the others in on it, too? Mor, with her bright smiles? Cassian, with his booming laugh? Azriel, whose silences used to feel like safety?

Azriel.

The betrayal gnawed at her ribs like a starving thing, matching pace with the blood pumping faster and faster through her veins. The stronger the feeling, the quicker her heart worked—spilling her lifeblood from the arrow wounds that pierced her like a doll torn apart at the seams.

Time slowed. Sound warped. Everything around her muffled, like she was submerged underwater.

But her heartbeat—it roared in her ears like a funeral march. A steady, impending beat of the end.

And then—

She felt it.

The talons of Rhysand’s mind retracting from hers. Slipping away.

Too late.

She gasped—choked—and tried to move. Crawled, inch by inch, through mud thick with blood and death. Every pull of her shattered body screamed, ribs grinding, arrows dragging through flesh and tendon.

She screamed. At least, she thought she did.

In her ears, it was a hollow echo.

No voices answered. No hands reached out. No wings soared above her.

Where were they?

Where was Cassian?

Mor?

Amren?

Azriel?

Azriel…

Nothing answered. Only smoke. Only mud. Only the iron-stench of spilled blood and the looming, choking certainty of defeat. Of death.

Maybe, if she was lucky, it would come swiftly. Maybe the Cauldron would show her a single mercy and take her soul gently—before her body suffered more.

But she kept crawling.

For what felt like days.

(Maybe it had been only minutes. Maybe seconds. Time had stopped meaning anything at all.)

Then, she felt a presence behind her. A breath too close.

Her fingers stretched, trembling, toward the hilt of a discarded sword lying half-buried in the muck. Hope, stupid and fragile, dared to rise in her chest.

But before her fingers could close around it—

Agony.

A scream tore from her throat as cold, unforgiving steel punched through her hand—pinning it to the mud.

A blade. Driven down from above.

She couldn’t breathe.

And this time, she knew for sure—

No one was coming.

The moment he felt the wards stir around Velaris—felt them bend around two familiar presences—Rhysand exhaled a slow breath.

He pressed a final kiss to Feyre’s temple, smoothing his hand down Nyx’s dark curls before gently untangling himself from his family.

“I won’t be long,” he murmured.

Feyre said nothing, only looked up at him with those soul-deep eyes, the ones that knew him too well. There was no judgment in them. No condemnation. Only quiet, patient understanding.

He stripped out of his fine black suit and pulled on the Illyrian leathers, ones he hadn’t worn much in the last years. The air in his lungs shifted—heavier now. Older. He poured himself a glass of whisky, let the amber liquid settle like courage in his palm.

Then he winnowed.

The House of Wind was silent when he arrived. But it was the silence before a storm—thick, taut, expectant.

He stepped onto the training ground, the familiar stone beneath his boots, and waited.

Because this was how it would be.

They were Illyrians. And this kind of grief—this kind of betrayal—had never been settled with just words.

So he drank the rest of his whisky—slowly. Let it scorch down his throat like penance. Set the glass down on the railing with a quiet clink that rang like the tolling of a bell.

The shadowsinger landed like a meteor, wings flared, shadows roiling off him in waves. His voice cracked through the quietness of the House of Wind like thunder:

“Rhysand!”

Cassian’s landing followed seconds later—less rage, more heartbreak in his roar. “Rhys!”

Rhysand said nothing. He didn’t move.

Azriel didn’t hesitate.

The punch came fast and brutal—Rhys barely raised his arms as a shield in time before the impact cracked through it. Azriel launched himself at his High Lord, his brother, fists already bloodied by the sheer force of his fury. The moment his knuckles collided with Rhysand’s jaw, something deep in the mountain seemed to quake

“You lied to us,” Azriel growled, every word a dagger. “You let us mourn her—grieve her—for centuries, and she was alive all this time?!”

Rhysand didn’t strike back. Didn’t counter, didn’t throw a single punch. He merely blocked, deflected, absorbing the storm Azriel had become.

“I had to,” he said, breath shallow. “You don’t understand—”

Another punch, a knee, a growl ripped from Azriel’s chest. “Don’t you dare—don’t you dare tell me I don’t understand what you took from me.”

The commotion must have echoed through the entire House because footsteps thundered up the stairs, and then Nesta and Elain appeared at the edge of the training ring, eyes wide.

“Azriel?” Elain’s voice was tentative, soft, panic brushing her tone. “Azriel, stop—”

Cassian held an arm out, blocking both females before they could step closer.

“Don’t,” he said grimly, eyes locked on his brothers. “Let it play out.”

Nesta frowned. “What the hell happened?”

Cassian shook his head, jaw tight. “Everything.”

Elain made a move again, her voice breaking now. “He’s getting hurt, Cass—he’s losing it—”

“I know,” Cassian murmured, but he didn’t budge. “He needs this.”

Because this wasn’t just rage—it was heartbreak. The kind that sat under Azriel’s skin like fire and shadows and old, unspeakable grief. For years, they had mourned her. For centuries, Azriel had lit candles for a ghost. And at one point, he had looked at Elain, convinced himself it could be something, that it made sense, that he could fit into the idea of loving her.

But none of it fit. Not really.

Because deep down, something in him had always waited for her.

She, who had been dead and wasn’t.

She, who had been his and never was.

She, who now lived beyond their reach.

And Rhys had let them believe she was gone.

Azriel’s fists didn’t stop. Even with shadows dancing madly around him, even as blood trickled from his knuckles and smeared across Rhysand’s brow, he kept going. Snarling like a wounded, cornered animal.

“You stopped me from going back,” he spat. “I begged you—I knew. Something in me knew.”

A roar of frustration left him—and this time, it wasn’t a punch that came, but a shove that sent Rhys skidding across the ring.

Cassian stepped in then.

His wings flared wide, a warning to both of them as he moved between his brothers. “Enough.”

Azriel didn’t back down. “Get out of my way.”

Cassian didn’t. Instead, he took one look at Rhysand’s bleeding lip and nose, the dark bruises blooming on his jaw—and then, with a deep breath, punched him in the ribs hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

“One for me,” he muttered. Another hit to the stomach. “And that’s for her.”

Rhys staggered but stayed upright.

Cassian caught Azriel’s shoulder and turned him around, his voice quieter now. “He made his choice. We’ll deal with that. But we can’t lose ourselves in it, brother.”

Azriel’s chest heaved. Shadows curled tighter around his form like armor, like a threat—whispering unceasingly, full of venom.

Liar. Liar. Liar. Killed her.

“I’m not done,” he muttered.

“I know,” Cassian said. “But we might lose her again if you don’t get your shit together.”

Those words stilled Azriel more than a punch ever could.

Behind them, Elain was still standing with a hand clutched to her chest, watching Azriel with wide, devastated eyes.

But Azriel didn’t look at her.

His gaze went to the sky. To the horizon. As if he could still see clearly her retreating body from here.

Azriel’s chest was still heaving, blood smeared across his hands, his jaw tight with everything he couldn’t say. But the silence that followed the fight was worse than the violence—it crackled between them like static, thick with betrayal.

“You knew,” Azriel hissed finally, shadows still flickering like fire. “You knew she was alive.”

Rhysand wiped the corner of his mouth where blood still dripped and met his brother’s eyes. “I suspected,” he said hoarsely. “There’s a difference.”

Azriel’s snarl was pure, broken rage. “Bullshit.”

Cassian’s brow furrowed as he stepped between them again—not to stop another blow, but to stand witness to the truth finally unraveling. “Then why didn’t you tell us?”

Rhys’s violet eyes swept over them—the only two beings in the world who had stood beside him through everything, who had bled with him, laughed with him, mourned beside him. And he’d lied to them.

“Because I had to make a choice,” he said, voice low and cold, like it had frozen over centuries ago. “To save this Court. To save all of you. I had to leave her behind. Not because I didn’t love her—but because I knew what was coming. And I couldn’t risk it.”

Azriel stepped back like Rhys had struck him. Like the words themselves had knocked the breath from his lungs.

“You chose to leave her?” Cassian asked, stunned. “You—chose?”

“I did,” Rhys said, the admission searing. “It was the only way I knew how to keep the rest of you alive. I knew she didn’t die on that battlefield. I didn’t know what became of her. I didn’t even know if she’d survived what came after. I suspected—but I didn’t know.” As if the words themselves bore the weight of his failure, he added quietly, “I spent years searching for her, but I couldn't find her.”

“You let us believe she sacrificed herself to buy us time to escape,” Cassian said, the betrayal raw in his voice. “You said she was gone. That she never made it out.”

Azriel’s voice dropped to a broken rasp. “I was going to go back for her.”

It was betrayal that burned in his brother’s eyes. It was heartbreak and disbelief and something far more dangerous: hope that had been twisted into a blade.

Cassian’s wings twitched once. His jaw clenched. He looked like a man who had buried a sister once—and had just found out he’d done it for no damn reason at all.

Rhysand’s throat bobbed. “I remember.”

“You told me it was too dangerous. That she was already gone. That there was nothing left to find.”

“I needed the rest of my family alive,” Rhys said softly. “I needed to keep the court standing. I couldn’t risk losing you, too.”

Cassian’s head snapped toward him, disbelief flaring into fury. “Family?” he echoed, the word sharp as steel. “Wasn’t she your family too?”

Rhys didn’t answer.

Cassian stepped forward, voice trembling now with more than anger—with something raw and wounded. “What does family even mean to you, Rhys? Convenient loyalty? Selective grief? You let us think she was gone.”

Azriel said nothing, jaw tight, shadows coiling tightly around him, waiting to strike. But he pulled them closer, reining them in with a force of will that trembled at the edges.

“You lied,” Cassian spat, venom in every syllable. “You let us burn a pyre for her. Let us mourn her like she was ash and memory. And it was all a fucking lie.”

“I grieved her too,” Rhys said softly. “Every damn day. But I can't change what I've done.” He closed his eyes, as if the words themselves carved into him. “And I’ve lived with that every day since.”

Azriel’s voice cracked, bitter and hollow. “You heard the stories, didn’t you? That’s why you’ve sent me to investigate them. You heard these tales of a being haunting the wild lands of the continent. You knew. You knew it could be her.”

“I heard whispers,” Rhys admitted. “Tales passed through myth. I didn’t know for certain. But I didn’t let myself believe them. Because if they were true… it meant I’d left her to whatever came next. Alone.”

Cassian looked like he might be sick. “She was our sister.”

Something in Rhysand’s eyes shattered. “I know.”

Azriel’s wings trembled. “You stole her from us.”

“I did.”

“You stole centuries from us,” Cassian said, his voice breaking. “And for what? Fear? Cowardice?”

“For survival,” Rhys whispered. “For this Court. For all of you.”

Azriel’s voice was colder than ice. “I swear to the Cauldron, if we lose her again—if she disappears because of this—”

“We won’t,” Rhys said, almost pleading. Like it was a prayer. Like he needed to believe it, too. “I swear it.”

Azriel’s wings twitched. He didn’t answer. His shadows moved in restless coils around him, curling close—like they were trying to soothe him. Hold him together.

Because he knew better than anyone: some promises were just words.

And when it came to her, Rhysand’s promises meant nothing anymore.

“Elain…” Cassian warned softly as she stepped forward.

But she didn’t stop.

“Elain,” he said again, firmer this time.

She reached out, voice trembling. “Azriel, please—”

He flinched. Almost imperceptibly, but enough.

And then—he stepped back.

Not just a step.

His wings flared wide in a sharp motion, dark and vast against the sky. For a heartbeat, his eyes met hers.

But whatever lived in that gaze wasn’t for her. Not anymore.

Without a word, he just launched into the sky, a silent blur of dark wings and storm-touched fury disappearing into the misted horizon.

Elain’s hand dropped slowly to her side, fingers curling as if they ached. The space he’d left behind felt colder for it.

Cassian watched the sky where his brother had vanished, jaw clenched tight. His shoulders were rigid, his heart an unsteady beat in his chest.

Nesta stood beside him, her arms crossed over her chest, expression carved from stone—but her eyes were molten.

Rhysand finally looked up, but neither of them spared him a glance.

No one did.

A gust of wind swept through the training ring, and Cassian didn’t know if it was the storm rolling in or something else entirely.

Because for all the hope Azriel had tasted—for all the centuries of grief and silence and love buried in ashes—

Cassian knew one thing with devastating certainty.

She had no intention of coming home.

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