#dawn!court reader

[cowboylament]

“I’m not the best guest. I don’t have much to say.”

I shifted forward, tucking my stomach nearly into my spine, digging my hands a little onto the cushion and burying the flower. I could feel the awkwardness of my body, of trying to disappear into myself before other people. It was something you could do only when you were truly alone. As Lucien watched this maneuver I looked away, avoiding the return of his gaze. 

“I don’t mind.” He said his voice gentle in its sincerity, even a little desperate with it. “You only have to give me what you have.”

I’d denied him once so on this I conceded, “Alright.”

“And after I’ll walk you home.”

It was not a question so I gave no answer. We returned to the quiet that had come and gone a few times already but something lingered in it, the promise, the plan. How often the plan in my days had been to continue only with what I’d been doing all along, the plan always being to survive, to remember. Something different hung in the air, like the silence between lighting and thunder where you know something is going to interrupt everything. And it isn’t bad, it’s almost exciting, but you’re a little scared at how loud it might come, how close the disruption will reveal itself to be.

Or

Y/N does not always have the answers, but sometimes Lucien does.

Part one, (AO3)

I rolled my head back into the current, my hair pulling out ahead of me like it too might disappear and forget it was attached to me. It was always cold, but that day particularly so, as winter had fled for an hour at most those days before full bloom. I’d wake to the sudden bursting of green having happened overnight. Spring. The speckles of sunlight managing through the trees traced across fine patterns, warming the thin skin of my eyelids. Three birds landed beside me, wetting their beak. They hopped about the shallows as if I wasn’t there. I didn’t let myself believe it was because I’d vanished. Not here, at least. This part of the world had gotten so used to me they’d learned not to be afraid. 

I’d heard it happen. It became impossible not to notice when I walked through the denser forest—a chorus of clicks. Birds, the smaller species, have a dialect. It was how they spoke to each other, of danger. The more clicks, the less dangerous. I listened to their assumptions of me as I set snares that first winter—one quick click.

Over time, however, from careful watch or inherited memory, they added on to their call, as if I’d earned each small vibrant chirp by merit of gentleness. And it meant nothing to anyone but me, the day they began to speak with four melodic notes. One for predator, four for friend, so I began to leave things outside the house for them to chew on. They’d bring me trinkets in return, acorn tops and flowers. Friends indeed.

Overhead in the mid-spring sun, I listened to the four notes. They hopped around me splashing and I held myself in careful place, the cool water a relief. The river moved through my fingers. This was the good weather, the kind where I felt touched again. I couldn’t trick myself into believing it was a person, but it was more tender than the whipping wind, the icy snow. I’d have been content enough had I not noticed it, the change, a warning to me as much to the others—one clipped note.

I sat up, the stream flowing freely in my mouth as I ducked my nose below the waterline. The muddy bottom caught my feet and slowly I turned my head, eyes tracing the bank separating Dawn from Day. Nothing but trees, greenery, birds in flight, and a male. Stopped among the tangle of vines he was riding the last moments of surprise. He’d been there a while before before any of us had caught him and I hadn’t noticed. We stared a moment, to be sure, the trickle of water the only sound. Our eyes snagged like thorns. We shared one bright and long sunbeam, that afternoon holding us both carefully in the tension, stretching the air between us all the tighter. He and that sudden life giving warmth were more real than anything, than the winter that had gone, the water that held me, than the wild beat of my heart. I knew this as I had known nothing else. He was there where absense and longing had been before. My blood was warming, singing in my ears. The bird's abandonment I understood. I angled my head slightly, he mimicked. His eyes slightly widened as mine had. He couldn’t see my throat, but his swallowed in time with mine. When his mouth twitched, the air released us and the world pulled. I bolted. 

“Stop!” He yelled.

Water splashed behind me and I climbed, hands muddy, onto the thorny knoll. I could smell him, my eyes catching my slip, my bag. There was no time. I abandoned the bag—nothing of value, grabbing the flimsy material and running. I had the advantage, I knew it all better.

“Wait, I’m not—” he began but I put distance between us, the branches tugging on the skin with familiarity. I could hear him behind me, running, twigs snapping, things breaking. I was lighter, quieter.

“Hey!” He said. “I just need to ask—“

I didn’t turn back. His voice died. The space between us grew and though I knew my way around it was too large a distance not to be on purpose. I slowed some and even then he grew no closer, slowing as well. He was not running to catch me, following yes, but in an idle way. It suddenly didn’t feel like a risk. For a long time I’d stopped fearing death, just hoped now to delay it. And with the distance between us, a delay there was. I stopped, feeling allowed. Maybe other things, foreign things, came here to be gentle too. His footsteps stopped. The woods were silent, not a whisper besides our panting. Where once there was one breath now there were two, I listened closely, where one heart had beat now there was another. I shrugged the slip on, and turned. He was far, unmoving, watching me as I watched him. No weapon drawn, just eyes that looked and saw, that answered that old question. He could see me and I could see him. Even at a distance I understood his warmth. He remained perpetually in that light.

Overhead, sweeping across the treetops, a breeze caught the tallest branches. In growing crescendo the leaves caressed one another, giving shape to the gust, before it passed on and over us.

“I’m looking for someone,” the male said finally. His voice indeed gentle in familiarity. Like I’d heard that kind of voice before but it did not belong to him. “My friend. She’s been taken.”

I’d seen no one. So far out, so far away, It would take me more than a few days to walk to run into campsites. It had been forever really, in some ways. I watched him, waiting for a reply.

“Has anyone passed through here?” 

I forgot. An answer meant I had to voice a memory, that I had to let him remember. The river that had run through my mouth had gone dry. I opened it but what came out was only wind. I blinked and decided instead to shake my head. He could see me and I could see him. There was no other need, no more that I had to give away. Another breeze caressed the treetops before he spoke again. 

“Are you alright? You’re barefoot.”

I looked down. I hadn’t noticed. Some splinters were stuck in the skin, but otherwise fine. 

I nodded. 

“I’m sorry I interrupted you. I can winnow you back if…”

I shook my head. If everything else hadn’t given him away as high fae then winnowing would’ve been the tell. So she’s gone. They’re free. 

His face seemed suddenly…sad. Ancient in it. “I’m not like them though I look it.”

I didn’t understand what he meant. No one in my memory looked as he did. It seemed all too vulnerable to let that be known so I angled my confusion away from him but it only made it more pointed. His brows lifted, mouth softening. 

He put a hand on his chest, “I’m—“

He took one step forward and my eyes widened. I shot my hand out but it was too late. A snare. Flame erupted and banked in a blink. Then quiet, not a sound, not a breath, just the beat of my heart, the cracking of burn. The world was then only my ten fingers, crouched down below the brush. I inhaled, dropping them. Slowly, rising, I peered over the shrubs and saw him hanging there. How quickly I forgot. I knew these woods. Not him. 

Our eyes met again. One strange, different from the other I realized. He said nothing just watched as I rose to my full height, unfurling like a fern before him. I took in a long breath, the both of us locked on each other, then began to close the distance. If he closed his eyes he would forget I was there. The twigs didn’t break beneath my feet, I found moss, soil, soft leaves. Not a sound. Not a trace. Nothing. 

I walked as if on a wire, carefully, and there was just one direction I could go. He at the end. I could feel him with the same realness as the body dangling, as if his presence was a second body between us and it was very close to me. The snare was in a small clearing beneath a tree. I stood at the edge where the brush began to get dense. Two small blades had fallen from his person and lay beneath him. I eyed them. 

He raised a hand, reaching, and I flinched away. It was only a shrug of my shoulders, a slight hiding, but he stopped. He frowned. Upside down it looked like a smile. I wish he would do that, I wish I could see it just once. Movement again, slower now, he turned his palm out to me. Nothing in his hands. Nothing up his sleeve. I released my tension. I forgot people could do that, relieve you of things. But there was more I wanted, that I had wanted for a long time. To walk close to him and press my cheek into his hand. But I couldn’t. Only once I bowed my head with encouragement did he continue. He moved to his waist and removed his belt which clanged to the ground. More blades. 

“I can’t reach the rest.”

I could, I thought. Show me where you keep them. But I couldn’t think of any animal, naive or not, that would reveal itself so totally. So I took the two knives and left the belt. When I rose again I was closer. None of this threatened him. Just as he didn’t threaten me. Perhaps we both should’ve felt differently. He had weapons and now so did I. I was still within an arms reach away, he swaying from my snare. He still watched me carefully. 

“I thought you were a water nymph,” He said a touch amused, but in a way that was removed and coming from a far distance, like he’d discarded that emotion a long time ago thinking it useless. “They can be flighty.”

I knew that. I shook my head and thought to back away, but a very small part of me wanted to do the opposite. I could feel his warmth and it warped the urgency of before until it was nonexistent. He was smart, surely there were weapons he could reach if he tried harder, and he was strong, but his face even at this angle struck the world with such a beauty it made you want to stand very close to it. I didn’t though, beautiful things can be exceptionally dangerous. I watched his full mouth from a distance, a small one, but more distance than I wanted nonetheless, as it opened slightly. He observed himself being observed.

“You’re bleeding,” he said, nodding his chin toward my arm. When I turned it over the cut revealed itself, slight and superficial. By tomorrow it would be gone—like him. I pressed my palm into the skin anyway, let the light in, no more than a second, than two, and the skin mended. My throat tight. 

A streak of red. Accidental violence. My fault. 

He brought a hand up behind his ear where the trail of blood was. I showed him my palms as he had shown his and his eyes went a bit wider, body freezing as I reached across the divide. A reason now, to do it, I was nearly there elbow extended when I realized what would happen. If I touched him I’d remember the feeling of someone being within reach. It was easier to go on without having had at all, to not break the momentum. I stopped. My hand dropped. 

“You can touch me,” he whispered. 

My face went red. In the new spring I knew he could see it with ease, the rising blood. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed.” 

I knew. But I was. I withdrew my attention further giving it to the rest of the scene around him. The twine on the snare would be a loss, but I would manage. Tonight I would go home and I would eat what I collected in the woods. There would be no meat. Often there wasn’t. I would live—hungry for everything, but alive. I could feel it, his eye. The golden one. I planted my feet more firmly. There was a singular special weight to it, the gaze more precise you could feel where it was. Could he…see? Could he see things that I could not? The cruel scar fell across his face in a pale arc—to touch with such violence. My hand flinched toward him again but I refrained. I could not, however, stop my furrowed brow and the lean in my spine as I tried to move closer.

“What’s your name?”

I withdrew again and he did not try and stop me, he didn’t beg or plead, not even with his eyes. He just watched me as if he were watching a wild animal move into the brush, return on wobbling naive legs to its mother. “Lucien!” someone yelled from far away. Both our heads swung in that direction. He wasn’t alone. It had been a long time since I’d seen someone so close, longer too since someone had seen me. But that was over now. I knew it would end. I didn’t get swallowed in the feeling of having someone do something back to me, like listen, like wait. We did not turn our heads back, but our eyes met at their corners watching the other. I was outnumbered and the wards were failing. My knees bent, poised to dash. If they followed they could see, and even if by some miracle the wards worked that eye...they could not be given the opportunity to see. In the few seconds I took to make up my mind his name rang out once more and he still did not call back. Lucien, I’d remember it now. 

My chest moved more rapidly than it ought to, giving away that I was afraid and how much I was. Worry settled on him, but why? Did he think me as violent as what had given him that scar? Or was I simply, to even my kind, a creature of the woods, capable under fear to be mortally wounding? He brought a finger to his lips. Shh. I blinked once. Then again. The twine caught the light and I remembered.

I took one step back to the edge of the brush, its thick overgrowth between my shoulder blades. His two knives a weight. I grabbed for one. Despite his position, he had that preternatural stillness. Terror. I scared him. My stomach hurt.

I parted my mouth, “leave,” my only command. And I launched the blade. 

His eyes widened. I didn’t stick around to watch him fall. The twine-sliced, dagger embedded in the tree behind him, my back was already turned when he hit the forest floor. I would disappear by the time he stood. He would listen, but hear nothing. I wouldn’t have been there, had never been there. I zigzagged the rest of the way avoiding the trails until I made it to the edge of the meadow. I stopped, tucking behind the tree, my shoulder exposed still, and listened to the sound of their voices, but none came. I waited to be sure. There was unending silence. Then a few chirps, four, as if the world had already forgotten. 

***

It wasn’t what I thought it would be—Velaris, but it held a memory. If I stared long enough I’d remember. There in the street, a child ran carefree and unburdened down the cobble with their families followed far behind, unafraid. The adults spoke with their hands. A story was being exchanged, one with exuberance and delight. I waited for the overlap, for the thing that connected us. But outside the window, a world moved that no longer belonged to me. Everyone was different than when I left them. The clothes they wore, the words they spoke, the thoughts they had, their logic and being did not coincide with my own. We shared something, I knew that from before. I would remember what it was if I was careful, if I paid attention.

“When do you leave for Dawn?”

“Next week.”

Azriel and Nesta stood within earshot so it looked like I was part of their group. I’d noticed it a few days ago, what they did. Sometimes it worked, sometimes I’d turn and join their conversation for a thought, maybe two, before pulling back into myself. More often though no words came at all.

“Have you found anything?”

“Just traces. Bryaxis is staying in Dawn. It broke its pattern by doing so.”

“Why?”

Azriel looked at his drink, “We don’t know.”

Nesta shuddered. Rhysand, Azriel, and I had met this past week to discuss this broken cycle. The High Lord employed my knowledge where he could. Bryaxis might not be a creature of this world, but a creature he was, and of that I had always known plenty. The middle of Prythian would be the perfect spot for such a thing, but it had not dared slip into it. Why? Food sources most likely. Dawn was abundant. That area hadn’t been depleted with so few villages around, but it had not seemed to be a thing content on rabbits and foxes. Or locked up for so long down below perhaps it had become a beast of habitat rather than migration. The cottage and its shed now lay vacant. I knew better than anyone the desire to stay in that spot even when something in you had once wanted to be somewhere else.

If nothing else felt right then there was great comfort in those meetings. Where, sitting before two males who had been in the world so long, I was part of it too, and I knew something about the way it worked. They listened to me, they took me seriously. Even when it was over I waited for what seemed in the silence inevitable since I’d told Rhysand everything. Only instead of dismissing me, after Azriel was gone, he’d tell me when to return. Sometimes he’d ask me to stay a little longer, delay my being left alone. In his office one of those nights he revealed that he too was the last surviving member of his family. I was ashamed of the comfort it brought, how it struck more like a memory.

“Helion is searching his libraries for answers, but he’s not found anything yet.”

“What about ours?”

I had yet to be to the library which had needed such protections. I hadn’t really been anywhere actually. With everything available to me I left the house more rarely than ever. I turned toward them and they were ready, waiting, eyes already on me, “Where is your library?”

Nesta gestured up, “The House of Wind.”

They spoke of this place often. Nesta lived there. It once belonged to Rhysand’s family. 10,000 steps and within it somehow a library, a library and that beast. At best I could imagine something cavernous and sharp with dark hard edges, something wicked and frightening, though the name betrayed this notion. It was surely lighter, homely, vast, and open. It was very accessible to them, but lost to me. I saw it only at a distance. I had no wings.

On days when I wasn’t needed and we weren't back in the woods and everyone was scattered in their places I could not reach it could feel as though I was alone still. Over the weeks slowly I’d met most of those names I recalled having overheard Day Court and gave my own. But Lucien—I looked for him. He was never there. Never at the river house or at the table, no one said his name, he wasn’t around any corner or across the street. I thought he would be.

“If you wish to see it we could send someone to bring you. Azriel or Cassian.”

Cassian her mate. He’d not been here at all yet. Not, at least, where I was. I’d heard him mentioned, but otherwise, he eluded me. I did not know how to tell her that I wouldn’t ever ask so I nodded and turned back to the window.

They continued in their conversation letting me pass through it and leave again, but I knew she watched me. Neither of them, but especially Azriel on those long and quiet nights in the woods if Rhysand was gone, made me talk. Sometimes, when I looked particularly tired from days in Velaris, he didn’t even wake me to take watch. 

“What are your plans.”

“Y/N mentioned some caves, I’m going to fly over, see if I feel anything.”

“Nes,” A voice said, and I knew who it was without being familiar with it—Cassian. 

Nesta looked over her shoulder, communicating something for him, before she turned back. “If you need any help,” she said before her footsteps faded away elsewhere. The end of her sentence understood by the other Illyrian without needing anything further. A glimmer of light, like that which breaks on the sea, warped and glinted with me before that hole in my stomach swallowed it.

Outside the city twinkled, the sky unobstructed. My father would love it here, love what it gave him access to. The embodiment of the stars, High Lord of the Night Court. Though Rhysand wasn’t so formal he’d have surely made some mistake, forgetting his position. In the reflection off the window Azriel’s eyes though stealthy and easy to miss, fell obviously to me. They became a weight on my shoulders. He was waiting. I could tell that everyone here was very kind. They offered something good, a reminder that they were there. But I knew this more clearly than anything. A space had been filled where it had not for so long been filled. What they didn’t seem to know was that I’d give them whatever it was they wanted if they only asked.

“My mother took me there,” I said eventually. “The caves.”

The family that had passed had faded into the distance. They became less real than the memory of that Autumn I spent hiking those rocks with her—that terrible sad season spent underground, in hibernation, crouching by the rivers, crossing one cave into another without surfacing like a secret. But it had helped me, she had helped me return to myself, she helped me live. The memory was just there, vivid and precise. I faced him fully and found my footing, my spine, extending it to my full height. “We spent an Autumn there. I helped her with her work. That’s how I know them.” 

I followed the thread of the story. It was easy at first, so simple—We’d gone there together. But the further I went the the more this story, these words revealed their thinness. The direction I was going lacked so many crucial details, so many other stories that informed the first. Until I noticed that the original thread frayed off in too many directions, each tangling in one another, splitting again. Some stories less vivid, some packed with detail, and those with their own diversions and explanations. Every word I grasped for next revealed the flatness of the previous, their inability to render what I knew in this medium, the dimensions, the life. 

It reminded me of the way some animals can see colors we can’t. It is inconceivable to the mind, living in between a real and unreal place where we know it exists but all the same cannot conjure any possibility of its existence, to which we have no true access. And we could grasp for some equivalent in an attempt to translate it, say it is like purple and blue, like the color of comets tale a split second after it has passed our line of sight, but then of course it is something else. We can only transform these truths. They become different. They are not what they had begun as.

This had never bothered me before, the mystery, the secrets held in the natural world. Knowing they were there had been enough. Even if they weren’t seen they existed. Now it was a frustration, boiling in my chest, wrinkling the skin, burning away at the muscle. How is it possible that you cannot know what I know? How can I be the keeper of a memory I cannot live up to?

Without the body everything collapsed, my spine curving under the weight of inadequacy, the disappointment. I existed in another language, one abandoned, one long forgotten that had no common root. There was nothing left to say. Or no, nothing that could be said for all that was left.

He nodded along, noticing my sudden despair. “That's very nice,” he said in his, at times, quiet voice. It was like we two were the only people at that register sometimes. If we didn’t understand each other in words we at least had this, this voice only we heard.

“She studied,” I said despite what I knew, wanting to give more but that too failed to relay a lifetime of memories and round moments that seemed only banal and muted, drained of themselves, of what had made them so important. 

He nodded again sensing the conversation was over. When Cassian and Feyre called him over he gave a polite farewell in that voice before departing. I watched the window with a heavy gaze pressing in on me from the party. I didn’t look to see who. I couldn’t make them know a thing anyway.

Few people passed but I waited, paying very close attention to them. An old fae female hands behind her back eyes at the city itself, at the young male that passed. He was not yet adult, but nearing it. He walked book in hand, eyes downcast missing but probably hearing the children. More of them, these unaccompanied, self-governing if you could call it that. Their clothes dirty, they looked somewhat wild running through the streets, not going home to their parents. A male and female passed, the male turned the other direction, the female looking at him in the way you do. Eyes bright, smile wide, I didn’t have to hear the city outside to know the speed of her furious passionate heart. 

“Looking for beasts?”

Rhysand waited, standing alone, a drink in his hand. A surprise to me, that such a male could slip away without notice or pursuit. Behind him, the party continued with rambunctious conversation, the space he’d once been was saved for him, waiting for his return. Heads were thrown back, laughter rose up through the air into the ceiling then through the floors I suspect until the moon heard it and laughed too. But still, they kept a part of their lives open for his return.

I bowed as if that were an answer, adding for good measure, “Something of the sort.” 

He stepped beside me to face the window together, sharing the view with me, looking out on his world.

“Any new insight on what Bryaxis said?”

The High Lord’s head fell to the side, smiling at me, “Must you always be working?” He asked. My attention unfaltering I heard the other thing those words said. And why aren’t you living? I didn’t know how to show, to explain, that I already was. That word had come to mean something else. Regardless, he surrendered to my question quickly, “No, not yet.” 

In Day Court after I’d shown him what he’d wanted to see and then some he’d informed me Bryaxis was not so talkative, not until it asked Feyre for a window. And even then it was rather straightforward in its desire. So why us? And if it thought that I were to die that night, why so cryptic, so suggestive? It lives where I lived. It is born where I was born. 

I hummed, “Unless he is from Dawn Court as well I’m at a loss.”

The High Lord huffed a raspy laugh. He took a moment, maybe feigning the need to clear his throat as an excuse to gather himself, to dispose of that flimsy joke before its small pleasure had gone again. We’d be leaving in just a few days. Two months, no news, no progress—that this otherworldly thing knew something we did not, and still we were going after it, trying to intercept its path.

“Do you believe it would seek out the caves?”

He shrugged, sighing, “I want to say no, it sought company and a window. The caves feel unlikely. But if it has changed its pattern then who knows. Everything feels equally plausible and useless. We have no other leads.” 

“The change could make sense. People from Dawn have been known to go there, it seems Bryaxis prefers the spectacle of hunting. Perhaps it simply wants to be entertained by its food. Maybe that's why it said what it said, for the thrill.”

Rhysand was silent, eyes narrowing as he watched the horizon like a darkness thick and impenetrable would appear, like it would come closer and tell us everything. 

“I think it saw something,” I said quietly. 

“When?”

“When it looked at me.”

“I noticed that.” He said his voice moving further from the conversation, moving inward. “Bryaxis spoke of you…”

He did not have to finish the sentence. There was something intimate, knowledgable. Goosebumps rose against my neck, my arms, and my legs. That voice even in memory was nowhere and everywhere at once, as if it had come directly from my bones. So old it had seemed then, and now young in memory. The straddling of the in between with which it had come from persisted.

“If it has decided to stay then it picked a good place. No one looks over there.”

The High Lord eyed me, closing some distance he had managed since he arrived, “You liked it there.” I nodded. Rhysand finished his glass, “If it is in those caves, if one darkness is different from the rest, do you think you will be able to wield your light as you did?” 

My mouth was dry, we’d been talking about this for days now, weeks, but he had not asked yet directly. It was inevitable though that we find ourselves in its path. They were set on putting that thing back, but how could you in good faith rely on a weapon you couldn’t be sure you could use? There was no way of knowing which light was one thing and which was the other. 

“I have no idea.” He let out a sigh that came so deep from his lungs it might have arrived the day he was born. I continued, “The reaction was…inherent, almost. I don’t know…I had no choice, but a choice was obvious. I believe in the face of such fear that reaction might be inevitable. But if that is true I had no idea.”

“But can you know?”

“There’s only one way to test the theory.”

The way the light had behaved from beneath my skin that night had been as reflexive as breathing, as a beating heart, but we could forget. Those things stopped all the time. But there was knowing and not knowing, and I preferred to know. Nothing else mattered in that equation. Rhysand said nothing still, not as Azriel’s voice hummed from behind. He wouldn’t tell us not to go, not with what he believed in—the memory, the girl in the woods. A visceral gratitude settled over me for what he trusted me with. No, it wasn’t quite gratitude. The word was unclear, but I peered over at Azriel before I turned toward the city again, thought of my dad, saw the Sidra, thought of my mom.

“Are you worried?” I asked, reaching for my glass on the table.

He swallowed, “Yes. Are you?”

“No.”

He smiled gently, “That makes me feel a little better.”

I felt a brightness permeate on my face, not that of magic, but magic all the same. I don’t know if anything had gotten better. Better, no that was not the word for what was happening these days. But sometimes, randomly, I felt something, something I didn’t have the capacity to express, but it felt good. Like the hole in my stomach blinked, closing so totally for a moment before opening back up again. It was back now, but it had closed. Silence settled between us, however, the kind that begs to ask a question. He wanted to know why I wasn’t afraid surely, what did I know, what had I experienced that made me not afraid? But just as the air announced the question’s arrival, it revealed too its departure. 

“Feyre said she offered to show you the city but that you wanted to secure your own seamstress. Have you found one?”

“I’m still looking.”

I ran my hands along the skirt of my dress. Before we’d left I asked Rhysand if he could take me back, if I might grab some things. He waited outside the broken house for me as I perused the floors, pulling from waterlogged drawers, what things I’d had left. Clothes, memories, journals, a few books. I ran my hand over everything, exiting and walking back from where we’d come. In a couple years, maybe even within this one, it would fall away completely. The damage and rot had reached the inside and even if the stones remained, its memory would reflect nothing of what it had been. The story would be lost to time itself. I knew this and so I did not turn back. I remembered. To look would make me forget. Across the small clearing, I could imagine what was my once fine home: ruins, shattered irreparable stone, an interior revealed to anyone who wished to notice. You had to want to see it. Most people didn’t want to. 

 “Is that why you have not taken my offer up yet to visit the library? Busy exploring?”

The words were not immediate. ‘No’ was the first one to show up, but it felt harsh in my mouth. There was no way to express this feeling of stubborn muscle memory. I simply could not make myself want to go here, to this house, and look at its books. Nor to see what Velaris offered and how you were with people without really being with them. I had never lived among so large a population, I had no idea a place could be like that, so contradictory.

“Any book, I mean it. You are not sequestered to sacred texts and academia. Nesta surely will have some recommendations.”

“Thank you,” I said, leaving it at that. The night sky glittered, the darkness broken up into thousands of little pieces. “I understand your bias.”

He accepted the compliment and the change of subject with a humble smile, a peer toward the window, “You’re happy though, to return to those woods. Is that your bias?”

I shook my head, “No. Maybe. But it's…”

The High Lord studied me carefully and again the silence took on that trivial air of question. Something in it bloated, making space for itself, penetrating whatever small moment we’d might have had alone in our own of brief goodness. I confirmed my speculation, knowing more clearly from feeling, on my own face, the look of someone wanting to say something and finding for whatever reason they could not.

“If you ask I’ll tell you.”

“Do you like it here?” 

“I do,” I said, picking up my glass from the table. “I like it a lot really.”

His face took on a look I couldn’t name beyond doubt. I knew it wasn’t my fault, but there was, to me, no sadder place than that between what you were and what someone thought you to be. That unreal thing that replaces the real. You could lose a lot to something like that, to the boundary beyond yourself. It was death of a kind, forgetting of a kind. My words had failed to close that gap and I wanted him to understand me. If something did happen I didn’t want that to be the thing I left behind. But more than I wanted to be understood, I did not like the guilt that existed in him that was useless and unneeded. I wasn’t lying. I was simply alone. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yes.”

“Did it feel…different when you came back? Did you think that something else would be here?”

I understood just as quickly as the light dimmed in his face the severity of my mistake. This was not his office. He had not invited me into his feeling and by bringing it about I’d robbed him of some joy, selfishly at that. I wanted to find, again, we shared the same suffering.

Do you know it as I know it, what makes us so alike?

My throat tightened, and the world constricted. Around us grew a darkness, sunk with the intensity of collective anguish. I squeezed my hands shut, twisted them in the fabric of my skirt, pulled them from reach. No one noticed, no one turned toward the sudden void with which our part of the room had been submerged. He did not open his mouth, did not quiver his lips, or swallow anything that might have been an answer waiting in his throat. He was preternaturally still, sharp, a predator on alert. I’d put him on defense in his own home. 

I shook my head, backing up a step, “I’m sorry—”

Rhysand’s face once severe rippled, longing, pain, despair, all of it washing over him as he stared at me, eyes hard. 

I tried again, “I didn’t mean—”

“Rhys.”

Cassian’s voice broke some momentum dragging us down but did not alleviate the burden of what had happened. As he waved him over in fact the weight only became more precarious. As if suddenly I was carrying it all on my own. The hole I felt had blinked widened, enveloping my chest, my heart. If it were visible this sudden deformity I was unsure. I bowed hastily before he could turn back to me and say anything else, ending with certainty whatever had begun. 

From his reflection, I saw his head drop. The disappointment was palpable, you did not even have to look directly at it. He lingered there a second, returning himself to something calm, and left me with a slight nod of his head. There was nowhere for me to do the same, a space waiting for me to disappear into. I wanted to tuck my body further into my body to keep it from exposure. But I was in his house. The perpetual eyes, their weighty focus, grew only more precise. I could not bear to remain under it. I withdrew the only way I could manage, finding the furthest point of existence. In the far opposite corner of the room, there was a loveseat. Beside it, a vase lay in bloom. 

I sighed. Elderflower.

They were all over the woods and near the cottage. They’d become ordinary after a while but now at a distance, the pure white of the petals looked like stars. The smell of them permeated so obviously, especially as I got closer, I didn’t know how I missed them. The firm stems met my fingers. How easily I might twist them, snap them, litter them in my hair. My body not free of its tension, of its weight, managed a deep inhale that came anyway with relief. 

“Lucien.”

A known voice hummed, “Feyre.”

He was tanner like he’d been outside. It agreed with him, the sun against his skin, life outside this city. He’d said of it that afternoon that it was not home so maybe he was somewhere closer to the word. The back of my legs used the sturdiness of the couch to stand and turn into view. It did not occur to me, not at first, that there was no brush between us, that moving to the edge of my existence did not exclude me from sight as it might’ve before. What occurred was only that it was nice to see him again. Unexpected as always and a gift all the same. 

“How is the mad general?” Cassian asked.

In reply, Lucien gave him a sidelong glance that must’ve communicated enough. The group smiled with exasperation fueled only by memory and proximity. His composure did not break with the rest of them, but he looked at ease, relieved even.

“When did you get back?”

“Yesterday.”

“You didn’t say.”

“I’ve been unpacking.”

Feyre raised a brow, “You’re returning to Velaris?”

Lucien bowed his head by way of a nod, “If I’m welcome.”

The High Lady smiled, turning toward Rhysand, “We’d be glad.”

The High Lord then smiled easily, jarringly so for what had just happened, “After so long getting between those two it would be cruel not to welcome you back.” 

The group that had formed dissolved into lighter conversation. Only once they did had I noticed, in hindsight, some tension that had been there. The quiet of the room, the surprise of a face, but it vanished. Was it really there or just a trick of the mind, a projection of the conflict that had settled on my shoulders like a cloak. Or simply a moment covered by polite glamor. History existed there that I was not part of. I could make no true guesses.

When I went back to the flowers I realized one had broken in my hand. The thin stem had snapped, pinched between my fingers. Accidental violence. I twirled it left and right, the petals becoming a blur, some tearing off and falling to the floor. The hole inside me widened further. I was sure that Bryaxis might emerge from it, that I could make another beast if I continued on. It didn’t seem so outlandish a thought, that Bryaxis was a memory forgotten, a person gone sour. Too much cruelty, too much violence, until all that was left was the despair of existing somewhere that no longer belongs to you.

Hm. 

The voices smeared together until it was as if one person was talking instead of many. I fell into the loveseat, the flower in hand that now seemed so precious. I’d stopped picking them. After a few years, I stopped putting Elderflower on the table. I’d walk far out, to the field, looking for something different, something else, but I stopped choosing what was there. Not for lack of beauty. It was hard now to remember precisely why, to remember what I believed. 

“Hello Y/N”

His ease seemed more apparent up close. This suggested, rightfully so, that I knew nothing of their lives, that I’d imagined the tension anyway. There was a habit there I suppose—making something from nothing to pass the time. I wanted to think I was not so different from them for what I’d done. But that was more malicious than the first error, to desire that everyone echo my specific cruelty. I bowed my head at him in greeting.

He took stock of me, categorically, the way I would take inventory of a page and what was on it. His eyes narrowed, the one that saw everything especially so. What did he see when he looked at me I wondered, nothing maybe. Sometimes, very late at night on days I saw no one, I wondered if coming here didn’t have the opposite effect. That in fact I existed less here than I did out there. I missed the birds. I missed a lot of things really. That had always been true.

But he said my name. So I was here.

“Feyre says you’re nearly settled.” He asked, his voice softer now, more hushed, affording us privacy. He didn’t notice though what I did, Nesta rolling her eyes before landing on us from her place beside Cassian. “Are you well then?”

Well was a good word. There was maybe no other equivalent. ‘Well,’ not precisely happy, but something enough like it that you didn’t need to say anything else. Its vagueness made it not a lie. It let many things be true at once. I hummed the best yes I could manage. It hurt in my throat, ricocheting on the lump still there.

“What do you think so far?”

I turned the flower between my fingers, a breeze pushing off of it from the momentum. Rhysand face flashed in my memory, burning in the darkness of it. If I’d waited I could’ve said what I needed with invitation. I shifted my body, pushing the dark-haired male to the peripheral. The truth would be hard to say still, where even just yes had been painful.

“It's…” I paused, looking toward the male who waited patiently. I formed the syllable in my mouth, testing it. I knew he couldn’t hear me, but I did not want to offend again. His mouth relaxed in a way that was not a smile but ghosted one. Slowly I said aloud, “Different,” watching each part of the word land, ready to withdraw if I saw something in him break.

“Good different?”

Good? No that wasn’t it. Not yet, anyway. His mouth curled, down turning to a frown. His entire demeanor became unsettled and tense. When he turned his back to me it made all the sense in the world that he should wish to be elsewhere. He’d probably seen it, the dark cloak I now donned. He hadn’t at all known what it was he’d found when he met me, not the first time and not again later, not even now. What was inside and now moving up my chest, settling around my heart. Yet instead of returning to the party, he sat down on the loveseat on the outskirts of it. Only then did Nesta’s attention seem to waver from me and back to whatever it was Cassian had said, whatever it was that made her face soften just slightly. 

“You’re talking more. That's something.”

I nodded, “It's still hard.”

“Talking?”

I tapped my finger against my cup, the nail on the glass filling the silence until words could come.

“Yes. And other people.”

“Why?”

I clenched the glass, “I…think I’m still gone.” My eyes closed. I didn’t know how to express the sentiment I felt. It burned in my body, this—this erosion of a kind. A different form of erasure than life before. There was something there, there was something eating at it, and it was unrecognizable now from what it had been. So in a way, it was already gone even while being there. I felt like that, like the cottage in ruins. But how do you explain this? How do you say those words aloud?

“Can you say more?”

I thought for a moment, “No.” 

Lucien nodded, his gaze drifting down to my hands. I unceremoniously shoved them beneath my legs and kept the glass stem balanced between my thighs. The flower torn to shreds went with it, crushed under my weight. I thought of my apartment across town which for once seemed very inviting. My desire tugged me that way, but if I stood he’d ask and I would tell him what I’d done. But he watched me now with such contentment, his whole face a little brighter with it suddenly. 

“I stole something for you.”

I saw nothing in his possession, not at least from my place. The words seemed strange from him and I know this feeling betrayed me by revealing on my face a skepticism. He shifted, reaching into his jacket pocket, and took from it a small wrapped parcel. His fingers nimbly pulled the paper aside to uncover a pastry. It was no bigger than a tangerine. A custard sat at its center baked in dough. A small pie-like thing, something sweet. 

My hands did not move from their hiding, “You should have it.”

His mouth up turned with pleasantness and applying a thin layer of charm over his words he said, “I’ve grabbed myself one. This one is for you.”

“How did you know I was here.”

“I asked Feyre,” He said and raised his hand toward me. “Go ahead. The wraiths made them for after dinner.”

“I…” I began, “I don’t like gifts.”

“Why?”

I shook my head, I didn’t know how to answer the question. I wasn’t used to receiving them so I guess I’d taken that as a dislike. Instead, I said, “I don’t need it.”

I thought he would press further, but instead, he rewrapped the parcel and put it back in his pocket carefully, delicately, as if even just a little of it crumbled it would ruin the gift entirely. It was that level of care you wish always for someone to give to you. So attentive to the details, so aware of your being and how their presence might affect you.

I opened my mouth to say anything, to say everything. I’d imagined this moment a lot, this opportunity. I couldn’t though. Not just because speaking has become so hard but because we had grown differently over time. I’d had six years all alone to imagine him, to let him stand for what I hoped my life might hold: memory and other people there in it, finding you, reaching for you, meeting you where you were. That understanding, inherent, that happened with other people, where a look was a sentence, a gesture an answer. His life, however, was far less barren than my own. I didn’t have the same space to grow in his mind and so disproportionally, so out of sorts with who I really was. I was a fragment, a dream, he was a myth. No, it was impossible to know him truly unless I sat here with him first. So instead of saying everything I said nothing.

But he didn’t seem bothered by silence. Neither was I. There was joy in the simplicity, of having a space filled beside you. Of someone wanting to be where you were, even if that place offered very little, if anything at all. I tried to let that notion seep into me, flutter through me like moths to wool, tearing a hole in the widening void wrapping my ribs. We watched the party together, everyone in their world and us in mine. It worked a little. Tonight that would have to be enough. 

“I was thinking of you the other day,” Lucien said his body lifting with the sudden memory.

I pressed a hand to my chest in question.

He nodded, “I’ve been in the human lands. One afternoon I went for a walk and I found a secluded stream. I swam a while, thought about what you said, about letting the current take you.”

“It’s nice. If you can manage being only where you are.” 

“It was slow moving and I was impatient,” He admitted. “I found a bank and climbed out, but even a little release was different. Good different.”

I hummed, nodding. You need time, plenty of it, to let the world move you without resistance. You need to give up a little, on everything. For a good while out there I’d done that. At least in the beginning. “You live there they said. The human lands.”

“No—well, I was. Not anymore.”

“Do you…like it there?”

He weighed the question on his features, “I like it more than most places.”

“More than here?”

He hesitated, and I knew an answer was there, that it was clear, and that he chose anyway not to say it. His gaze fell to the bottom of his empty cup. He had given me grace so I gave him his.

I said, “They have different legends. The humans for the stars. I read some a long time ago.”

“Is astronomy an interest of yours?”

I shook my head, not really. Not at least in the way I understood an interest in astronomy. My father had been obsessed with the stars themselves and spent sometimes whole days sleeping to see them. It wasn’t unusual to wake with him there, whispering to follow, only to pull myself from bed and walk to the field beside our house to see them in their undiluted glory. He telling me their stories, their myth, acting it out in the dark. 

The next words came easily though like I’d known them forever, like I was born with them, “I think it’s nice that there are different stories. It means we have always all been trying to understand and explain the same things.”

Lucien’s eyes, just barely, suggested that there was something very deep tunneling in him, an emotion I’d not experienced enough to name. It did not look like a bad thing, or a heavy thing, but I saw it there anyway. The way it moved him. He agreed without words, shifting slightly.

“Have you found an apartment?” He asked. 

“Feyre and Rhysand have.”

“Good. They’re good with these things, generous.”

I clenched my hands under my thighs. Generous indeed, too generous maybe, if I lingered too long on the thought.

“Are you staying for dinner?” He asked. 

Sometimes I did. Such large gatherings and the speed of conversation, the thrust into the setting and having to explain myself, I was learning not to let it deplete me. But the hours and the nerves, the feeling that you are saying words and no one is understanding you how you mean—It made me miss the places I once belonged. So sometimes I couldn’t stay, sometimes I had to go to the silence of my apartment. I had not yet decided tonight what I’d do, but the answer seemed obvious.

“I hope you do,” he said.

“Why?”

“I’d like to know how you got away. I’ve wondered over the years what became of you.” 

“I know the area.”

He smiled, more true this time, like he were eating a favorite food or celebrating a birthday just after they’d lost their importance but memory and meaning lingered just the same and it alleviated something in me that was old and wanting. 

“I remember.”

“I’m…” I said as Rhysand’s figure loomed again in my vision, his attention momentarily split, watching me and Lucien while nodding along to Cassian. “I’m not the best guest. I don’t have much to say.”

I shifted forward, tucking my stomach nearly into my spine, digging my hands a little onto the cushion and burying the flower. I could feel the awkwardness of my body, of trying to disappear into myself before other people. It was something you could do only when you were truly alone. As Lucien watched this maneuver I looked away, avoiding the return of his gaze. 

“I don’t mind.” He said his voice gentle in its sincerity, even a little desperate with it. “You only have to give me what you have.”

I’d denied him once so on this I conceded, “Alright.”

“And after I’ll walk you home.”

It was not a question so I gave no answer. We returned to the quiet that had come and gone a few times already but something lingered in it, the promise, the plan. How often the plan in my days had been to continue only with what I’d been doing all along, the plan always being to survive, to remember. Something different hung in the air, like the silence between lighting and thunder where you know something is going to interrupt everything. And it isn’t bad, it’s almost exciting, but you’re a little scared at how loud it might come, how close the disruption will reveal itself to be.

True to his word Lucien didn’t make me talk more than I could. Our conversation turned and coiled its way, looping at times others into it. His manners were well-kept, pulling my chair out, the grabbing for the right fork, passing the dishes, carefully spooning his chilled soup so it wouldn’t drip. I knew only it was something people knew. I myself had not had the civilized upbringing that had been impressed upon my father. At our table it was loud, sometimes contemplative, sometimes silly. Stained clothes, food in the teeth, a broken glass, that was how we lived, totally and happily, until the last bite.

I gave him what I had, the attention elsewhere, that invisible ticking clock of conversational expectations unwound. I liked how it felt when he asked me something, knowing he would wait for my answer. And he asked many questions. He wanted to know where I had been living after we parted the first time, how I disappeared so quietly, so fast, how I learned to hunt, if it had been my snare that afternoon. He leaned in to hear my every word, elbows on the table, chin dipping, mouth twitching with amusement. But for as much as he asked about me I was twice as interested in knowing about him, this stranger that remembered me all these years. His stories went on much longer, were more lively, as if Jurian were here. Rhysand, Cassian, even Azriel at times leaned in with knowing smiles for the absent general. I wanted to ask how he did it, how he put his memories here so totally. 

Then he spoke about Spring Court, about the flowers. Daffodils, tulips, sweat pea, lilacs, all the household names fell nicely from his lips and what had no name in his mind I knew from the way he’d described them. The same lean began to press my body toward his own, the same knowing. A sigh escaped me, lips parted. I felt their bloom in my mouth. 

“Ar—”

“Tell me, Lucien,” Cassian said, articulating the crux of his thought before I could and drawing our attention away. There was a sort of playful disappointment, someone getting the better of you fair and square. For that, I could place no blame. 

Azriel leaned over, “Sorry about him.”

I shrugged. Our tasks were not so different, the spymaster and I. We were to go somewhere and leave no trace. Me perhaps more than him. I was to remain faithful only to what had been before me.  If the place I filled had before been marked by silence I was doing my job if Cassian still heard only silence.

“It is…nice,” I said. “In its own way. It's been a long time since anyone has been there to interrupt me.”

His eyes smiled more than his mouth, “Your leathers are ready. Rhys has them in his office.”

Over the din Lucien’s voice rose, Feyre’s laughing, and across from me all attention had wavered to the other more lively conversation. It had a way of making it seem like I could do this too, that maybe the answers were all right here and I did not have to know them to live within them. A little bit of myself returned from the void, something brave, hopeful, and with it came words.

“They’re renowned,” I said. The thought bursting, came slow and normal in practice. This was how people spoke in this world. It had been a long time that this skill had been absent, but I recognized the way it felt once I’d done it. Like something sliding into place, a link reformed. The vacancy of this long-lost logic filled, I felt for the place it had belonged, pressed against it, and said thank you for remembering to come back. “I read about them once, how they were made. It said they are an art.”

Azriel sat back, considering, the chair groaning with his weight as his wings adjusted, “You have quite the broad range of knowledge.”

“It was my job to know a lot of things.”

“You’ve managed that,” He said, unaware of the always larger sea of what I’d forgotten. “What should I know about the caves?”

This was never difficult, this kind of remembering. Categorical in nature and a matter of skill. We’d not encountered much in regards to danger back in those days, but of course, my mother had known them well, better than me. She’d had access to detailed maps, and had her own enviable memory and personal index. Mine was unimpressive by comparison and quicker to skim through.

“There are deep narrow pools, they’re hard to see, you could miss them easily if you’re worried about something else. If you fall the current will pull you under into the tunnel system in an instant.”

“How far of a fall is it?”

“Depends. Enough I suspect for you to act if you’re quick.”

He nodded, sipping at his drink. He was quick. To have those siphons, he must be. A space was left between us though. His reservations, that unsaid question. And you? I did not have to remain silent, did not have to say what was true. We transform, we change, we find out what is waiting at the end. Our apparent difference nosing its way in again—they had a determination to stay. I would hold onto no such thing.

“And,” I said filling the space left free by what I didn’t have to say, “there are grindylows.” 

“What should I know about them?”

I weighed this question, my head lulling suddenly heavy, eyes heavy, with fatigue, “They go after children. It will take a few good kicks but they will let you go.”

He raised his brows again, narrowing his eyes, but not maliciously, more out of curiosity I thought, “And do you know this from experience?”

“Yes and no,” I began. Yes, we’d told the story a thousand times of what happened, and laughed as we did which felt like experiencing it. But now no one was there beside me, to say what I forgot and couldn’t ever know. No one was laughing. My grip on the silverware bit at my palm. Whatever progress I’d made vanished, the inner void tightening its fist around me. I closed my eyes, for just a second, taking in a long breath to ease the tension of my body. But just as that first time the thread of the story seemed to expand faster than I could follow. I couldn’t say it, not the way I wanted to, so I said, “My friend was grabbed by one once. He made it out.”

Azriel, sensing some change, withdrew from our conversation with a graceful deep nod of the head. I joined him, sinking back in retreat, the link severed. But it had been there. Outside the sky had gone dark. I’d gotten used to it now, how ink-blotted the world got here. It would be hours before Dawn saw a sky this dark. And then only for a few hours, if that, before returning to a rich blue, like that of a mussel shell. Stories continued to be exchanged, but I didn’t really hear them. The desire to go away came again. Cool Autumn and a blemished sky, seven nymphs immortalized, poking like pin holes. A blaze, large, destructive. No. A command, a task, pleading and urgent. Then cool air. Then my mother’s words, the tide always changes, reaching, letting go, reaching out again. And Jurian fell over an ottoman. The fireflies at midsummer rising through the fields into the sky like stars, the wind bowing the grass, catching my legs. He and I were at his kitchen table, our hands interlaced, testing touches and somber smiles. What a deal we got, I thought then, think too now. Cassisan tipped his head back and laughed, his mouth opened so wide I could see his molars. 

“It’s amazing he commanded an army,” Rhysand said, pulling me, like Bryaxis, halfway between worlds. The past and the present, memories and forgetting, the dead and the undead. 

“Even more amazing that he can beat me at cards,” Cassian added.

Azriel murmured, “It’s not hard to beat you at cards,” which made Nesta smirk.

Might anyone ever know me that way? Where a story is told, the people so known, it pulls grand laughter from their mouths. A laugh strained in my vocal cords. It was big, too big to be anything but a memory. The afternoon he fell in the water I’d laughed as he told me something grabbed his ankle. He scrambled out, flailing his legs, a small cursed hand wrapped around him. He swatted at it, the large male, his clothes soaked before we could even strip for the river, and it evaded him. He was frantic, frustrated, but gentle—that is until the thing bit his ankle which sent him howling and had me doubled over. It was funny. 

“Can his temper manage without you?” Feyre asked.

 The possibility of laughter now seemed to be happening in another room or another body entirely. This body seemed to be falling fast like a child in water.

“I will make my way back now and again I’m sure,” Lucien said nodding toward Rhysand. “As you require.”

But we made it all the way home with that afternoon on it, a long long time ago. Not falling. Flying. 

“Jurian can reel it in when he wants to. If Lucien is not there, I suspect he will be…better behaved without his friend.”

Lucien nodded in agreement. I would not be remembered the way I remembered. And no one would realize what they forgot the way I was aware of this forgetting. No matter how much I wished they would, expected them to even still. He was gone, they were gone, so I was gone. 

“You can get settled here first then we’ll talk. I’m sure we could use your help elsewhere.”

There is nothing of me to resurrect. I have no stories left. I have no one to tell them while I’m away. And even if they did, no one would know me, remember me, feel me sitting in a room I was no longer in.

“What were you going to say?”

Turning toward the Autumn male Rhysand’s eyes, briefly, found mine, the crease in his demeanor was obvious the way all imperfections are obvious to those who committed them. Lucien cut into his food, brought it to his mouth, waiting, he would wait all night for me I think. I licked my lips, swallowed, and the memories were gone with the tide. 

“You lived in the human lands and in Spring?”

He shook his head, “No, not Spring anymore, just with Jurian and Vassa.”

“Did you ever come here?”

He shook his head, “I was between only those two places for work.”

I nodded, trying to remember if anything at all revealed this, where I’d made the mistake. I did not want to repeat it. I did not want to expect someone there again and discover once more they were not. “You said returning before. So you didn’t live here? When we spoke.”

“No,” he said his mouth hooking into his cheek apologetically. “No, I didn’t.”

“Oh,” I said. His apology was out of place even if he hadn’t said it aloud. I assumed something about him. I was sorry. I turned back to my plate. I’d cut up my food into small pieces, the only thing left to do was eat them which now seemed like a feat in and of itself. 

“I’m…not very good at it.”

“At what?” He asked as I lifted the heavy silver.

“Understanding. But I’m trying.”

I’d imagined him here, but I could just as easily, now having heard his stories, put him somewhere else, somewhere more real. It felt good to do so, to pull him from a place of obscurity and conjecture. I didn't know much of the Human Lands, but Spring Court, that was one I always wanted to see. The perpetual good weather, not needing a jacket, not sweating the way you can on nights like tonight. It would be a nice place to settle. A nice place from which never to return. The human lands too possibly, but I think I’d pick spring. They whispered at the library that there was a pool of starlight, and although I never saw it on any documents, in no record, I liked believing it was there. You can survive a lot if you believe in even some slim and flimsy part of the world. It doesn’t even have to belong to you, but it's enough to get you through without hurting anyone. 

“I’m sorry.” He said suddenly, voice even and slight as a secret. It was a gentleness I wanted to curl my whole body against. “I made it seem like I would be here.” My hands relaxed, pressing for him as they had that afternoon bleeding from a tree, wanting to comfort him, wanting to reverse what I’d inadvertently done. I withdrew them before he could notice. 

“I’m not angry,” I said instead, shaking my head. “I didn’t want it to seem that way.” I wanted to say also: I’ll remember how to be here with you all. I know how to do that, to make that kind of a return. I think I’ve been gone too long. I don’t think I’m allowed to come back, but if they keep letting me come here I believe I’ll be able to anyway. My eyes shut. The pit within me gaped. Its long arms. It's open mouth. I didn’t like how useless all words were, how slow they arrived nonetheless. I didn’t like how they fixed nothing.

“It’s okay,” he said placing a hand on my arm. “I didn’t think that.” 

I waited a second, and he waited too, under the warmth of his palm, no heavier or more imposing than a spring sun. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone, aside from the earth itself, had treated me so gently. So when I opened my eyes it seemed easy, familiar even, to find the composure needed to face that kind of thing fully.

“I want to understand,” I said. “That was all.”

He nodded, not patronizing, not even a trace of confusion.“And do you now?”

“You’re here.”

“Yes.”

Humming life all around us—It was as if we were alone. No one noticed the intensity I felt still, which seemed to circle every moment someone else was left with me. He seemed reluctant to let me go, holding my gaze, forcing me too to hold his gaze back.

“Do you understand me?”

He swallowed, “It’s hard when things aren’t what you expected—to show up somewhere and think someone will be waiting.” 

I nodded. That was it. He said that more simply than I think anything had been for me since I’d arrived. Now the words seemed obvious. His eyes drifted momentarily, lingering around the table, catching, before they fell. Any precision and explanations now seemed redundant. It was clear he had already felt these things on his own. 

I continued to eat slow long bites. Lucien’s attention moved away a while, deep into the back of his mind with thought. During his stories had he noticed this kind of withdrawal as I had? What did he remember, besides a name, besides my name? 

Without him conversation drifted to things I didn’t know. Different from what had been out of reach with Lucien, these stories seemed to hold everything I realized I’d missed. Years and years, war, love, friends, and maybe to them it was nothing, they who had lived 50 years over and over, but I had done so little by the time it had all begun. And it's different isn’t it, to live within something rather than to live without. To come back to your world that hadn’t just forgotten you were in it, but had stopped existing altogether.

That time, it was gone. That world was over. It happened, but it was over. 

My job, however, was ongoing. 

I wiped my mouth with my napkin. The relics of memory and experience, of connection weren’t there, but I felt for where they would go. It told me enough, enough to begin and maybe restoration would follow. 

“What do you play?” I asked.

I had wanted to ask before. I liked cards, it was one of those things we did often before. Strategy and bluffing, betting and playing, we could go all night. Our eyes drooping, our memories foggy, we’d play sloppy but we’d play and laugh as the sun brightened on the horizon. The quiet streets littered with our excitement, we loved a game. We loved anything we got to do together. 

This time Cassian heard. The table quiet now, as if doing so to accommodate my initial softness, turned to watch me. The Illyrian was the only one who didn’t change, didn’t stiffen in his spine or raise his brows. He did not know me yet. I was not nothing to him. Yet. Which was nice. You needed both. Someone who would treat you as if nothing happened, and someone who knew that it did. This is where you’re trying to get, this is where you are. And I liked this strange space where he did not see what everyone else did, that I was not really there with them in their world just yet. 

“You said cards,” I repeated when I realized only I knew what I meant, only I had followed that thread. “What do you play?”

“Poker,” Rhysand said and finally I met his eye. The crease there had eased. “Do you play?”

I shook my head, “We play a different game in Dawn. Called Smear.”

This was how I lived, in echo of what had been, by remembering. I could not fail them. I could not let that world get away. I had survived if only to do this one thing, to give this information back unblemished, perfected, and true to its origin. An archivist, always an archivist.

I added, “They also call it Blind All Fours.”

Lucien nodded, his voice still with that quiet softness that matched mine, “I’ve heard of it.”

“How do you play?” Feyre asked. 

“Someone said once that it’s like war, but the suits matter. You bid on how many points you think you can make in a round.” I said.

“Do you have teams?”

“Sometimes. You can.” I shifted, a smile curling small, wisp-like at the edge of my mouth. I decided it to be. “Everyone has different rules. A different way. It’s one of those games.”

Rhysand rested against the back of his chair, his eyes brightened with something, a mischief or joy, some friendly curiosity despite everything, “How did you play?”

“We didn’t do teams, not enough people.”

“Only child?” Cassian asked.

I nodded.

“I could tell,” He said and I felt it truly then, some distant shred of happiness pulling at my eyes, making them even just slightly brighter. Lucien turned. I checked my arms to see I wasn’t glowing so literally, that this small fleck of it had not begun something I couldn’t control. But it had not, not yet, not at least in this way. 

 “We discard after the bid. Sometimes though, if we were playing with other people, we wouldn’t tell anyone which suit was leading when they asked.”

“I never knew them to be so vicious in Dawn,” Cassian said. “And were your parents ruthless?”

“Just with cards.”

Nesta sipped her glass, “And did it rub off on you?”

“Perhaps a little.”

Everyone smiled then with some small amusement. It was clear from this vantage point that I was right. I didn’t know the answers but I would know them eventually, would remember. My happiness was muted, but it revealed at least an outline. A silhouette of a kind. Like all restoration, there was a trace of truth in absence. Not having something takes up real space in its gap. So I knew I would have it, I’d left a place for it. In a way, it already belonged to me.

“We sometimes though played with the smudge bid. You have to earn five points, four for the regular round, and…”

You know the strangest part of loss is that which happens without our noticing. The dress that suddenly stops showing up in the wash, your good cup, the name belonging to the face you know so surely. And then there are the memories we're so certain of, the things we’ve had over and over again, we begin to believe it impossible to forget. We turn away a moment and by the time we turn back, they’re gone. We didn’t hold on. We never thought we needed to.

That was what it felt like. We’d won a thousand bids. I thought I’d always know. I never imagined I’d not know.

“Y/N?”

 Somehow this loss had the power to take everything else, all function, all ability. I don’t know how long I’d been sitting there, eyes boring into my plate, drying them despite the abundant call to weep but I blinked at Rhysand’s voice calling me again, dropping my silverware with a clatter. I closed my hands tight like I might grab for the coattails of what had already left.

The room was silent like the world after a hunter revealed itself too soon. The sudden realization that the hunger would not be fed, that what you’re looking for is faster and it’s going to get away. You made a mistake, a terrible and important mistake. The flush on my face deepened. I was being strange, even for the woods, and it was a kind of embarrassment no amount of sun would ever hide it well enough. I unclenched one hand to cover it. 

“I don’t remember,” I said. I waited for the echo of my confession to find the place in memory where these rules once belonged. I wanted to know what space it had taken up. “I don’t remember.”

“Jurian plays a similar game,” Lucien lied. “I’ll ask.”

But he did not know that this was not the same. That it would never be the same as if I just knew it. There were no words to say this. The relic was partial, shattered, and I knew that now. This was the rest that followed, that abrupt margin, the end of something and the beginning of nothing. There was a desire, immediate, to dive head first into it. To disappear again more totally, but I had nowhere to go. Not anymore.

Lucien did not remove his attention, not even as everyone began to fill the silence. I forgot how people would do that, would recover the normalcy of a room after you had broken it. That they’d help you hide.

“How is the library?” asked Feyre.

“Good,” Nesta said, turning toward her sister. “Though Merrill has been on everyone these days. Gwyn says she’s close to finishing her manuscript, but I can’t imagine she’ll be idle long before she’s dominating the place.” 

“At least her research is interesting,” Feyre said before adding, “useful too.”

I stared unmoving at the remnants of food on my plate, cut up in its tiny pieces. I used to give such small things to the birds at home. I’d wrap the leftovers carefully, place them somewhere safe, and store away what I could. I’d slice it up into smaller bites, tossing it from the front steps into the lawn and dirt. From my window, I could see the vibrancy, the way they hopped for it, fighting even, but mostly calm allowing for each to pass one another. Even different species. It was interesting, and still is, the totality of their differences didn’t have to be as large as it seemed. Not so large that they failed to accommodate to the smaller, wilder, things. 

One finger lifted from Lucien’s hand, the one that had fallen to his side, and by consequence, my side. It was slight. What he wanted to do, what he hoped to do I didn’t know. I withdrew my hand, pushing it into my lap before he could do it. The knuckles burned anyway, as if a fire had been set between their joints.

“Gwyn is resilient,” said Cassian

Rhysand’s attention, its compelling power won at last. I found him. There at the table, grief and pain carved out his features plainly. He knows what I know. He did not join the others in conversation, he joined only me. 

Nesta hummed, “I’ve helped grab a few texts now and then.”

“How brave you are,” Cassian said.

“I would like her to take a vacation when she’s finished. Send her to Tarquin to repay him for the blood rubies,” she said, sipping her drink before she dared to look at me. “You worked in a library. You were a scholar.”

It was too quick, how I looked at her, I turned too fast to be okay. Rhysand opened his mouth as if to tell her not to, but these words were different, quicker, as they’d always been. 

“Archivist.”

“You studied though,” Azriel offered. 

“A little.”

“She’s an expert in the natural world. We’ve been using this expertise to find Bryaxis, especially as of late now that it’s concealed itself again.” Rhysand said I think as a way to get everyone’s attention away, to alleviate some pressure he believed I was feeling. But that was the difference again, how we saw questions. Everyone nodded at his admission, mulling it over. I didn’t correct him. I was no expert. 

His plan didn’t work. 

“Does studying not constitute you being a scholar?” Feyre asked. 

I shook my head, “It’s different. There’s a process. I didn’t finish it.” 

“So you had no underlings you sent scurrying around?” Cassian asked. “Even when you needed texts? Or later as an archivist?”

I shook my head, not even my parents had those. It was solitary work there. If I helped them it had always been partially in secret. The rules were not laid out precisely, but it was understood that things there were done a specific way, with certain method. Feyre had reached her hand over to touch Rhysand, I noticed that first when she spoke again.

“What precisely did you do as an archivist?” 

Now that one question had been asked many followed. Maybe now they understood. 

“I preserved texts, restored and repaired them. I knew our collection, knew where references were located.”

“All of them?”

“Many.”

Cassian let out a low whistle, “And all that without any help.”

“There was some help,” I said. I was not self-made. 

“Regardless, it’s impressive to see,” Azriel said plainly. 

“Did you prefer one over the other?” Nesta asked.

I shrugged. It was hard to say now what I preferred. I wanted to study, I wanted it terribly. I wanted to devote my life to what united heaven and earth, but preservation, restoration, knowing, it had taken too large a place over the years. I don’t know if I could have both. I couldn’t know, not right now. 

“I just liked working in the library.”

“Maybe there is a place for you in ours. I could ask Clotho.” 

Before I could decline, Cassian interjected, “You can meet the fearsome female herself if you can handle it. Was there anyone as bad as Merrill in Dawn?”

My whole body grew heavier, the kind that I thought might break the chair from beneath me. I’d heard about the scholar in passing: snappy, needy, imposing, and high maintenance. She expected excellence. There was no room for less. Rhysand returned to the margin where I couldn’t acknowledge him again. He wanted to say to me surely, you don’t have to answer. But I knew the answer. I shifted, uncomfortably, lethargicly, in my seat. I knew what it meant to be asked a question, that if I didn’t answer they’d never ask me anything again. All the words were there this time, there was no lack that prevented me from saying what I knew could be said. Should I say it, that was the question. My fists tightened. I did not wish to be cruel. I did not want to be like him. 

“With such pause Rhys I’m starting to think maybe you brought the cruel one,” Cassian said brow raised in unmistakable mischief. I forgot that silence suggested just as much as words. They didn’t know what I needed them to know.

What is in you is also in me. 

The world grew still for a long hot moment. The realization dawned on Cassian too late. He’d said the wrong thing. Lucien turned toward the male. 

“She was thinking,” He said, cold in a way that contradicted all he was, harsh as a winter wind. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. I knew too. How it felt to say what you should not say, to choose wrong. It was not his fault. He didn’t know. I knew this, but it could not be helped now. 

I swallowed the old words, the new ones all the more simple, “I’m going to go now.” I stood, my plate half finished, and brushed my hands against my dress. Feyre made to speak, leaning forward with the words, but she halted. She had that look that happened when Rhysand spoke to others. Helion had had it too.

“I’ll walk you out,” Nesta said shooting a glare not just at her mate but the whole table it seemed. I nodded, the attention too great to find any word to deny her. The silence of the room didn’t abate, and thus the world revealed itself. Crickets sounded, moths batted the window for the light, two sets of steps, and there at the edge of the room it arrived. Just a minute more, or maybe I needed something else entirely, but the right words came, the ones without cruelty. I paused, and looked back. Everyone was staring. Nesta’s footsteps ceased once she realized I wasn’t following. Lucien remained seated. My mouth deepened its frown and I didn’t, then, address anyone in particular. 

“There was someone like her,” I said finally. “But he died. Amarantha had him killed.”

Nesta shut the door behind us. The tips of my shoes hovered over the edge of the steps, the weightless nothing, the small void. A little drop, and then I’d be going. Somewhere else, somewhere comfortable. I wiggled them, toeing at the nothing, the wind pushing at my skirts. The air was fresh, the heat had broken. Nesta stood as she had begun to do, making it seem we were there together, within something. Maybe we were. 

“You’ll have to forgive my mate—he's like this with everyone. He doesn’t discriminate maybe when he should.”

I didn’t turn. Far away music ricocheted through the streets, echoing off the buildings before skating out onto the Sidra away from this world. “He couldn’t have known. There is nothing to forgive.”

The heat had broken and the breeze that came down the river now was inviting, beckoning even. It pulled my ankle, bent my knee, and I was moving, falling into the void. 

“What kind of books do you read?”

I stepped back, turning toward Nesta. She worked in the library herself so we had that much in common, but otherwise, it seemed like pointless work, recommending me a book. She might as well not even try. But like with Rhysand there was no way to say these things aloud. I shrugged, “It's been a long time. What I remember might not even be true.” 

“So tell me what you read before.”

I gestured with my hand to the atmosphere, “Books about this.” I said swallowing. My voice came soft as the wind. “Everything really. I think I liked everything.”

She looked around, not unimpressed but contemplative. It’s easy I learned, to mistake the two. Slowly she nodded. For most things, if you looked at it long enough, close enough, you started to understand. She was standing just there at the right distance for it, I thought, that maybe this world I’d found had closed some small gap long enough for her to reach me. 

“But I’m different now,” I added. “Maybe that’s something I cannot go back to.”

Arms crossed her studied expression that had been reserved for a moment on this world alone came to settle on me, “I really could talk to Clotho.”

My hair clung to the nape of my neck. The heat though broken left my skin sticky still from the day behind, the day already lost. I folded my arms, “I think…it’s been too long. And who knows, Bryaxis might get me first.”

“I’ve seen that beast. Once. I’m not eager to see it again.”

“I suppose the surprise is gone and that makes it easier. Being scared is familiar. Now I know how much terror my body can hold, but not much else. And…I like helping. I missed it out there. Giving. So it seems obvious.”

The air between us changed though she remained stoic in her presentation. Some complex somberness, regret even. It was almost like an optical illusion, the picture didn’t change but a second image revealed itself as I watched her too. Look long enough…

Then her face shifted again, with some amusement. That I recognized from our short time together, “Cassian encountered that creature and refuses now to hunt it. So even if you hold no ill will I’ll be sure to let it be known how brave you are in his stead.”

If the night had gone differently I probably would’ve laughed. Maybe not the real thing, but some iteration of it. 

“I meant it too,” She added. “About coming to the library.”

“I’m not a great guest.”

She looked for a long time, before she said with a note of finality, “Neither was I.”

I watched her maybe twice as long as she’d watched me before I bowed my head. It was the most of a goodbye I could manage. She watched me, I could feel her watching as I walked slowly down the street. Though I wanted to go back to my apartment there was no eagerness in getting there. My body too seemed too heavy, too tired, to go any faster than a crawl.

I’d had an idea that going to Velaris was the answer, but arriving here I couldn’t quite remember why I’d thought that to begin with. This had happened before, you lose sight of something. The answers were veiled, but I could watch all night for them. I knew they were here, I knew that I once knew this. On my way home I bought a pack of cards and laid them all face down on the ground. I stared at them, waiting for one to unearth the memory I knew buried in the rich soil. You are in there. You are not gone. 

The sun came up.

The memory remained gone. 

***

The leathers were different. There had been a full-length mirror here at one time, but without it I walked through the apartment, staring at my legs, at the place between display and conceal that the leathers functioned. While I had not been overly conscious of my body, it was a strange sensation, being clung to. The buzz and slow murmur of the hot day filtered through my window. These were for the summer, I was told, good at ventilating in the heat. We’d see.

I walked to the river house, the early afternoon still lulled by morning. The two sides of the city revealed themselves without conflict. Those who preferred the day, shopping, fans waving away the heat, and those who preferred the veil of night, the air sticky, the moon aglow. I adjusted my bag, switching shoulders when one got tired, which was frequent. 

Before I left I caught sight of myself in the bathroom mirror. The pristine glassy surface reflected a new pallor back, blemished by dull lifeless features, a smudge of deepening shadows, beneath my eyes. It seemed to me my body only moved over the cobblestone because it was what it was supposed to do and I was too tired to protest.

Rhysand would not be coming this time. He’d told me this when I’d picked up the suit the day before. I could barely manage to be in the same room with him after dinner, so his not coming was a relief. He’d shed the pain I’d caused from his being, but I could not forget it, how it felt to be the reason for it. The shame burrowed so deeply I was compelled to look away from it, to close my eyes. The water left a little coolness in the air. It glittered, inviting, and I wanted to jump into it, swim to the middle, and dip my head back, but the time was here. So instead I pushed open the door to the High Lord’s house.

I’d expected a few voices, but despite the ventilation, my whole body produced a filmy sweat upon hearing who was there.  

Lucien 

Nesta 

Cassian 

I stood in the entry, the door slamming behind me when I didn’t catch it. But they’d have known I was here anyway, their voices catching as soon as my foot tapped the tile foyer. 

Rhysand appeared first. I blinked a few times, holding the lids in place longer than I should. He moved with a certain casualty, a leisure. Believing in someone and trusting them are two different things. He was sending me away with his brother and he didn’t know if I could save him if he needed saving. Maybe he believed I’d try but if he trusted me to actually do it was a different thing. Was one more valuable than the other, or did it all cancel out if the one was missing? I didn’t know. It made no sense to me, his faith, what made him give to me as he had.

“We’re all in here,” he said nodding his head in the direction of the sitting room where nights ago, maybe an eternity, Lucien had appeared out of nothing once more. Where I’d made the first mistake and the rest followed in its wake. 

My hands clung to the strap of my bag, but after a swallow and a nod, I found myself turning the corner to see a small half circle had formed in wait. Azriel was dressed to go, a pack at his feet. Despite the fae tendency of grace and stillness, all their bodies swayed to and away from one another. Some pull I couldn’t see moving them. My eyes slid to Lucien. He stared severely, that wasn’t the word really, but there was some unbreakable attention he was paying, one that didn’t allow for even words.

Sun streamed through the windows in long sheaths having come from behind a cloud, illuminating each person from behind with a beauty and brilliance I didn’t recall having. If I did my mirror didn’t reveal it. Sweat pooled at my back, in my palms, between my fingers. 

“I brought this for you,” Nesta said stepping forward to break the silence. 

I took the books, turning them over. In her hands two books, tied nicely with a white ribbon. Maybe if I were better rested I’d feel the grief of how we’d all last seen each other, but I think if I allowed that to happen some light would go out and it would never come back on. 

“I told the house about you. It selected the top one. I selected the bottom.”

“Told the house?” 

Feyre smiled, “My sister tamed the House of Wind into a very good friend.”

“It tamed her.”

Nesta looked at Cassian, “Which of us is going to get Bryaxis?”  

“You’re coming?” I asked. 

“No,” she said. This made sense. This made more sense than if she had come. I didn’t know if I could do what I needed. And I’d left in such a way that it didn’t surprise me if no one had wanted to come, if Azriel had simply a duty. So maybe this was better. I tried to hide my disappointment. It would be nice, I think, but this was nice too, the books, the aloneness.

“Are you ready?” I asked Azriel. 

He nodded and Rhysand stepped between us holding out two elbows. I bowed my head by way of farewell. 

“I look forward to hearing how this small thing captured such a beast,” Cassian said his smile wholly apologetic. Even having not seen the true one often I could tell that much.  I wanted to convey the same depth, but there was no way, no means to do so. I was too tired. 

“Me too,” I said as if to say I know. 

Lucien remained silent. He’d been kind more than once, and that was enough to sleep tonight, to go on, to find some way of knowing him. I raised my head to meet his eye just as Rhysand pushed us through the gap in the world. Broken from a stupor he blinked three and four times. Body turning, mouth opening, my senses already in another part of the world he addressed Feyre. That was all I saw before woods. Before a hazy sky. Before the Dawn Court light. Home. 

***

“Hey.”

Azriel was standing over me, my pack against my head. Dusk was coming, the sky hazy with endings. The winged silhouette stood out, all dark severity against the soft colors of this tired piece of the world. He had not objected to my saying I was to sleep. We couldn’t afford for either of us to be tired tomorrow, regardless of what did or didn’t await there. 

“I’ll set up your tent.”

I shook my head, “I can do both.”

I’d promised, in exchange for the quiet, to make our dinner. I knew he’d let me sleep without any promises between us, but we couldn’t keep on this way: He doing me favors, taking my watch, for nothing. There was desperation there, I wanted to do what I said I would do. 

I pushed the coals into the center, found two acceptable sticks, planting them around before I went to the brush. I’d set up a few snares close by. He’d been content the last few trips to work with what we had come with, but I’d had years of experience making do with what was here. I gathered what hadn’t been eaten already or rotted in the ground and made my way back, rabbits in hand. We’d been sent with potatoes, thankfully. The wild ones here I’d learned were inedible or very nearly close to it if not. I’d found no way to make them anything else. 

Azriel had flown over the area near the caves, a sense of dread humming along his skin, and upon his return had spent an hour looking constantly behind him. That had passed, however, as the sky grew a dark blue stain and we remained silent with each other. I didn’t know what to say yet, if there were anything to say. The closing void that had been born from that dinner clamped down on me like a jaw whenever I thought about it so I tried not to think about it for too long. So I hadn’t talked about it yet, not with anyone, and no one had dared tired. 

I sliced the last vegetables into small pieces so they’d cook faster, everything else nearly done. He looked ahead now, across the fire, at me. His gaze was so intense by nature that eventually my hands fumbled with the knife, falling with a gentle thud to the dirt. Wordlessly he unhooked his own knife and tossed it to me. Wordlessly I thanked him. 

“It was nice,” I decided was a good place to start. “What you said.” 

He turned to me the question not said but there more than it was with anyone else. 

“That I’m impressive.”

“It’s true.”

I nodded. The jaw seemed to close, but I knew. He was not one to talk, especially out here. Around us, the leaves shook with the wind. It was perhaps my favorite sound of all, my favorite weather, windy wild weather. The kind that knotted your hair and warped the windows, created a draft. I loved the way the leaves sounded rubbing so close together. Especially here, where it was quiet, where it was the only noise left. 

“Were they,” I began sliding the knife through the final few vegetables. It was as smooth as running a finger through stagnant water. This was a skill, one I needed now more than before, to sharpen a blade. I peered up and realized he was looking at me, remembered that I was talking. “Were they upset?”

“Not at all. Not with you, at least.”

“It was…a hard night.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” He said.

“I do.”

I curved, hunching over the food. A sort of instinct it seemed, my stomach reaching for my spine. I would fall inward on myself, into that mouth, become Bryaxis maybe like I thought, become the thing I was trying to catch. Azriel watched, which was good. He’d understand the beast enough to get it if this happened, if he saw what it took to become it. What more profound sight is there than an origin? The final slices came easy. I wrapped them, tossing them into the coals, burying them in heat.

“Ten minutes,” I said gesturing toward the fire. 

Azriel nodded, a little hesitation there, “What...made you decide to become the archivist?” 

I dug into my bag, searching for water. I splashed what I could spare on my hands, thinking over his question. He waited. 

“It was a new rule. Unmarried females couldn’t study.”

The Illyrian looked skeptical. And not with me. I doubt he believed I was lying. I’d heard how some Illyrians viewed females before. It was likely not so much unbelievable that it happened, perhaps just unbelievable to find someone would so late in life enact this kind of rule.

“Thesan isn’t so archaic, from what I’ve heard.”

“They award a larger stipend to the most impressive incoming scholar after the defenses were made. One who shows excellence and comprehension above all. The rector wanted his son to be awarded it so he made up the rule.”

“You were that promising?”

I shook my head, “No. I was just collateral.”

Azriel leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and staring into the fire, “How long then, did you manage to study?”

“Twenty-five years.”

He let out a low whistle.

“That is the standard, where I’m from. My defense was coming up…but…”

He turned over his shoulder, looking out into the dim woods. There was no dread that did not belong first to me, no reaching magic in the marrow. Wherever Bryaxis was, it wasn’t here. I stared at the male as he turned back, his face stoic, unyielding to any emotion.

“The defense is a test of sorts.”

I nodded, “You defend your abilities and expertise, prove you have an overarching knowledge that will serve the library once you choose a thesis.”

“What was your thesis?”

“I didn’t get that far.”

He frowned. It cut deep into his face like a wound. Not quite pity, but even so I had no use for it. It was a good life, it would be a good life, even if I didn’t know how most of the time. No one was without suffering and I could at least see what had come because of it. In this sense I would not go back, I regretted none of it. I had the skillset I needed, preservation, and without what had happened then perhaps I’d be even worse off, would’ve died that night in the flames. Perhaps we’d remember nothing.

Azriel asked, “Was it Aurora? It's the only library I know in Dawn.”

I pulled the vegetables out, opening and checking to see if they were done. “Yes.”

“It was a great loss,” He said. His eyes got a faraway look, the kind that seemed to be talking from memory rather than the present, than the place we were. 

“It was.”

“And you were out here alone?”

I wiped the sweat off my brow, and found him staring off still in that faraway place, my answer seemingly just as far, “I had the birds, the rivers, wind, flowers, the stars. They’d already been my companions before I got here.”

The rabbits were finished and I knelt in the dirt and pulled them from their place over the fire to load onto our bowls and plates. One slice and the steam coiled, rising up into the atmosphere, a familiar sight. I handed Azriel his portion and stared up at the sky. I closed my eyes, maybe even prayed, if you could call it that, thinking of those people, of my people, wishing them well, before wordlessly cutting into my food. 

He looked at his hands, closing and opening them, before picking up his fork and asking quietly, “How did you survive that? The time.”

My tongue was heavy in my mouth, but the words unbearably light, “I wanted to.”

“Why?” I could tell he asked accidentally, the spell broken as he returned to the real world. I didn’t fault him. If it were another time he’d probably have had the strength to keep it hidden in him, secret. He made to apologize but I spoke first for once. 

“I understand. Why would anyone want to survive such a life of isolation, of despair. That is the question,” I said looking out on the expansive wood. “But I guess it is more the difference between us. When I look at my life I don’t see those things, the despair, I see the hope this would not be all I amounted to.”

“Sometimes those can look like the same thing.”

I smiled a little, “I suppose so.”

We ate silently. Sat silently. Night descended like a killer, quiet and unassuming. I watched and listened to the woods, ran my hands along the trees, and kept idle enough to stay awake, to take the first watch. Just before he was to go to sleep I found Azriel at the edge of our camp, his expansive wings fanned out. My eyes traced them, surely impressive, surely fast. 

“Would…” I began but he turned so sharply that the wind off his wings pushed the hair from my face. His eyes didn’t warp with the usual kindness I’d seen in Velaris. Maybe he lied, I thought, maybe everyone was mad. 

“Would you teach me to sharpen my blade?”  

His brows rose, and he looked down at my hands presenting him the dull knife before he stared at his own. A long minute went by but he hooked his fingers into his belt, no reluctance, but a returning register now settling between us. 

“Sure,” He said and I knew that if Bryaxis was close he wouldn’t hear. This was a sound only for us. 

It took about an hour, Azriel said as much. He’d huffed a laugh at the state of it, shocked it managed to cut our food at all. I had no defense other than my own ignorance. I’d stoked the fire, stone in hand, listening and watching as he disappeared into his tent. The pop of the wood was part of the many sounds, the frogs and crickets, the bats, the stalking nocturnal world, much like Velaris. The sounds of the day faded slowly with no conflict for the music of the night. 

Once I’d finished, I traded one task for another, unwrapping the books I’d been sent with, shoving the ribbon back in my back, between blankets, an attempt not to soil it in the mud. It was too fine to waste. I couldn’t be precious before, but now, with certain abundance waiting, I wanted to be. I placed each book on my lap and looked between the titles. The Secret World of Rivers: A study of the Prythian rivers and those who dwell there and The High Lord Needs a Wife. 

I wished then that I remembered how to laugh, really laugh. But I remembered other important things, like the caves and their rivers, so I put away the first book, running my fingers over the binding. Well worn, picked out by someone, someone who thought of me to do it. I missed that kind of thing. I missed when people would see something and think of me. The grief of being forgotten was always hard to master. Selfish really, to mourn what other people thought of you. And yet, how humane all the same. I hope you remember me, I hope I happened to you as you happened to me. It is a terrible curse, to lose a mutual happening, to be the one it happened to. 

I opened the book. I’m different now. It was time to learn how. 

We left early. Azriel woke me at Dawn. It would be a couple miles to the caves, we’d wanted to be safe. The maps we’d brought were redundant, I knew the way, though they were useful in case of change, of a failing memory. Through streams, we trekked, hills, sweat glistening on our foreheads but not beneath our leathers. My information was not sufficient. How had they managed such a feat in the summer sun when not even our robes offered the same relief? The House of Wind, if it were truly sentient, might be able to help, if only I asked. 

About a quarter of a mile from the caves we crossed a threshold. Impossible to see, but feel it we did, stopping in our tracks, the hair on our arms stood upright. My eyes flicked to the Illyrians as his did mine. The change was not strong, low certainly, but not totally unnoticeable. The feeling of a weight, of a sudden grime and fear. A fear that whispered to you, in the night, made you want to open your eyes to see what was there. How had they managed to keep this thing in the library? To work in the place it crept? My fists clenched.

“It's the worst at the caves,” Azriel said.

“So it's there.”

The Illyrian nodded. For a creature that asked for a window it enjoyed the darkness, better to hide maybe. But if this feeling gave its location away then could it truly conceal itself? These caves were not quite a secret, but how did it find them? All this way from the cottage, managing to end up somewhere else I knew quite well.

I shook my head, “ I don’t understand anything.”

“For now, we don’t need to understand. We just have to find it.”  

“Yes,” I said, kicking a stone, thinking. 

“How large is the area?”

“A mile and a half around.”

Azriel hummed, “I could fly over, try to find the center.”

I shook my head, “If it's outside the caves it will see you coming.”

“It already knows we’re coming.”

True. The despair pulsed with power as if an answer or even an invitation. It did know we were coming, it knew before we arrived we would come. Both Azriel and I shivered, looking at each other hesitantly. 

“If it knows we’re coming, then it has left its trail,” I muttered turning to face Azriel fully. “Perhaps we ought to use what it has left for us. You should fly to the south of the caves I can come from the north and we can approach from both ends, find the peak of this…feeling.”

“How will we know?” He asked, and indeed it seemed impossible. Terror was terror, but at such a high concentration it was difficult to miss the fading.

“Even a small change is a big relief.”

Azriel looked ahead, thinking a minute, thinking of everything that could go wrong. He was thinking of my light, of the uncertainty that it would work, of the possibility the beast would find me first. I needed only to know that he was a warrior to know he was thinking those things. 

“You said you’re fast?”

He nodded. 

“So fly fast.”

The stoicism of his face gave way briefly to something like…a smile, before it was gone again. He looked ahead, then back, “Yell for me.”

“I will,” I said unsure if I even could. If the paralysis of being so close to that thing would allow even a sound, but I would try. Then in an instant, with a woosh of air, Azriel was gone, and I hadn’t even covered my eyes from the rising sun before he was out of sight. Fast indeed. And it made me feel a little better.

At the edge of the cluster of caves, there was something just on the side of unbearable about the place, defiled by despair, the beauty almost reluctant and wincing. A wind passed around me. The trees hardly moved for it, as if they felt the darkness, moaned with it, and couldn’t shake it off. I swallowed. The grass swayed enough to make music and my eyes closed involuntarily, listening. I will free you of this, I thought. I will not let it live here. 

My hands left my sides, bowing out, letting the air pass through my fingers as the long strands leaned toward me with relief, like they knew. Yes, I thought, yes. They could not move, but I could. I know what they know, I know I will do it. So I stepped into the clearing. 

My joints ached. 

I adjusted.

I walked again. 

Easier was not the word for what it got, but the decision to continue on became more inherent. I passed the wide and small maws of the caves, yawning, wailing, ushering me to enter, offering respite from what swelled and sweltered out here. I did not answer them, did not seek their promise. I trudged on, a few steps in each direction, finding the boundary of where the despair deepened. That unearthly echo tugged at my bones, it was too potent to miss now.

Birds, I noted, did not fly over this place, just around it. I stared up at the sky, tracking this phenomenon, watching those smart things curve sideways as if hitting an air current. I’d have to tell Rhysand. 

One cave caught my eye. I couldn’t be far from the peak, but I knew this opening was not the place. There was still space for bravery, to dare. Yet, even so, the urge to look pressed against my cheek like a firm hand. I fought it, most of the time, sometimes giving in and catching it. Looking satisfied nothing, however. The curiosity gnawed at me, convincing me surely that Azriel had not yet made it to the peak, that I could spare the time. I stopped, turned back, and watched the unblemished rock. 

It was familiar to me. From an autumn a long time ago. 

The tide always changes, reaching, she said, letting go, reaching out again. 

The memory paralyzed me, my throat clamped tight. All proof of life was barred, I didn’t breathe, didn’t blink, didn’t swallow, just stared at that cave where I had once come and gone for three months as the leaves turned golden, red, then fell in great heaps. And it sat there unobtrusive like an answer. 

Sweat beaded at my temple. The afternoon sun burned. The same light that had once bathed the rivers, the water we swam in how harsh and unforgiving. Those summers, the sea, how far she’d go out, her laughing, knowing face. I blinked, the memory was enough to break the momentum, and turned away breaking the momentum. Walking into the despair I did not turn back, not even when it called again as I rounded the corner and found Azriel waiting up ahead. 

His body was pulled so taut that I swore he’d snap, that his wings would either break or fan out, sending him skyward, away from this somber place. But he defied all expectations, and I suppose I thought he would too, in some contradictory way. Nothing was as I thought it would be. I wanted to tell him what had happened but I didn’t know how, or why I would. And the closer I got the less important it felt. I saw a place I’d once been. That happened often here, in these woods. This memory, preserved and very real to me, was unreal to him. I was not Lucien. I could not do what he did. So I continued wordlessly, testing the boundary, hoping to confirm what Azriel suspected. The air eventually turned so thick it was like wading through a velvet curtain that by the time I got to him it was undeniable. I moved past him, walked just two steps, and something eased up within me.

The peak.

I turned back at him and nodded. We didn’t speak, we couldn’t yet, but I gestured toward the mouth of the cave. The plan had been set in place before we’d come. One cave a day, then back to camp where Rhysand would be waiting at dusk. We each took in one long breath, and started for the cave. With the smallest hesitancy, we waited at the threshold, turning toward each other, before Azriel crossed first. He paused. What of him I could see did not change. The tension steady, I narrowed my eyes. He turned back and I followed, confirming, no change. We continued on.

The sounds of the birds and the outside world slowly faded until there was nothing but the wet dripping against rock, and the kicking of stone at our feet. All warmth faded. And even after a while the sun couldn’t touch us, Azriel’s siphon the only light. 

I’d suggested we use chalk to track our route, that was how we’d always done it to prevent getting lost, but Rhysand and Azriel informed me the shadows were enough to make it back. I didn’t quite understand, not until we went in and they appeared more clearly than they had in weeks, swirling like a fish in a pond. They did not need to speak, he and them, they needed only a small gesture before they swam off, into the darkness, a minute passing before they beckoned for us.

“This way,” Azriel said.

I studied him a moment, then followed. Though we couldn’t see it, we could hear and feel the heavy waters rushing beneath us. Watching the floor for those hidden drops, we walked slower than we probably would’ve liked. And still, the despair did not get worse. After two hours we stopped and regrouped. 

“It's steady,” I said. 

Azriel cursed under his breath, then sighed, “We agreed to explore one cave, we might as well finish. We might find something, a nest or bones or anything that will tell us what it’s doing.”

I nodded. I don’t know what we’d been hoping for. The peak had stayed at that tense place neither rising nor falling in any way the entirety of our descent. I’d suspected something when we went over the threshold and knew it hadn’t changed when Azriel was able to speak after we found such difficulty in doing so before. Bryaxis wasn’t here.

I sighed then, found a small pool and reached into it, splashing the water onto my face hoping for some relief but when it didn’t come I knew the only cure was distance. 

“So the feeling, it doesn’t necessarily tell us where it is, just that maybe it's close?”

Azriel shrugged, “Maybe.”

To be afraid for long periods takes a toll. Our bodies had begun to sink, as if dragged down by some force, the heavy burden of existing at two places at once, in the place we were, and the other strange warp with which Bryaxis occupied. Exhaustion had come easy and fast. We could do another hour in this cave, but any more and it would be too hard to come back. The beast once again evaded us, even got the better of us. Azriel said it knew we were coming, and this was just further proof, the trail leading us on a fool's errand. 

I rolled my neck and turned to look down the cave where Azriel’s shadows waited in a corridor running perpendicular to our own. A tunnel within a tunnel. 

My mouth went dry. 

“I think we should go back,” I said. The rising terror in my body reached its ceiling, but unlike the night of the months ago, this feeling was entirely my own doing. “Azriel, I think we made a mistake.”

“What?” He asked, standing up alert, turning around to survey the area.

I stood, “I told you and Rhysand, when we first decided to search the caves, that some were interconnected. Not just by the underground rivers, but in the tunnels as well.”

Not a fool's errand. A trap.

His body tensed in understanding, but he recovered in a way I could not, “My shadows haven’t seen anything,” He said turning back toward them and nodding for them. They swam past, back the way we came. “But you’re right, we should leave.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. 

“You told us, none of us caught it.”

“No,” I said. “But I know which cave it was in.”

“How?”

“I…felt it. I was frozen but I thought it was just the memories.”

His eyes narrowed, “Memories?”

I scrubbed my still-wet face, “It was the cave my mother took me to, but it wasn’t at the peak.”

“Why didn’t you say?” He asked and though he said it in no particular way I was incapable of answering. I’d told Rhysand I wasn’t afraid, I let him trust me with this task, and I’d put his friend in danger because I couldn’t tell him what I knew, about what had happened here. I said I could do something and I had failed to do it. One task after another, failure. Azriel’s shoulders fell and he nodded. 

“Stay close to me.”

It was hard at first, to go back. The fear and dread imposed on us was replaced by something natural and our own. There is nothing more difficult to manage than the things that belong to you. Worse, we went even slower than before, not daring another sound, risking any revelation of where we were. And where it seemed Azriel had recovered as we went, I did not. The darkness of the world deepened, and the margins of my body sunk toward that center of despair in me, the void. That wide mouth had sunk its teeth in, twisted, and it did not occur to me that anything might be left if we got out. I could not feel what I had once known, could not remember ever knowing it or how to find it. All goodness had eroded. Nothing more than sandstone to a raging river, hungry, wild, going and going without pause or disruption.

We were halfway before we stopped again, briefly, for a drink. I went to splash more water on my face and stared down into one of the pools. I reached in, placed the freezing water at the nape of my neck, and breathed. I looked across the way, toward the cave wall, as I went to reach again but saw two dark eyes watching. A grindylow. We blinked at each other, and I waited for the bite, the pull, but nothing came, not an approach. In fact, with certain disappointment, as if I were an easy target, it ducked, caught on a current, then disappeared under the water into the depths below. 

Uncommon. 

The water at my neck turned to ice. 

I whirled toward Azriel, who was standing near the mouth of another pool, a deeper one we’d been careful not to fall into. The current echoed up the long drop. He stood as I made to speak, to do anything, but my throat clamped tight. The darkness behind him so impenetrable, so unmistakably unnatural. I fought, fought against the paralysis, well practiced, pulling and pulling the impossible Syllables as the shadowed corner of the cave grew larger, closer. I just needed one word, one, a name. I knew how to say it. It was in my stomach, then my throat, at the back of my tongue, before it fell into the space like shattered glass,

“Azriel!” 

The male turned toward me before he realized his mistake. He looked back in time, but only to avoid the claw that emerged from the dark and swiped at his feet. It caught just the heel and he stumbled, avoiding the pool.

That same voice of that early summer night sullied the air, everywhere and nowhere at once, “I thought I was mistaken, that you were not as clever as I believed, but you worked it out didn’t you.”

Bryaxis stalked forward, revealing itself fully. The undiluted terror, that creature of many places. All unease and godlessness, lacking any light, cruelty made real. My body screamed, the sight unbearable. It was just as I remembered, all feelings familiar. Fighting against that known instinct to remain still, to freeze, I stood as tall as my body would allow. 

The words fell from Bryaxis’ mouth like blood, “We are more alike than ever, but you, you know this already.”

“Why,” I asked, the question straining, each word a burden and a release, “Why did you stay in Dawn, why here, these caves?”

The beast tilted its head in curiosity at me, much like when it had found me before. Only now it lacked the thing that had made it seem so humane, though I could not say what had gone–some mercy, some hesitancy. Azriel had not been able to stand, to free himself once he’d turned to see the beast. He remained still on the place he’d fallen, staring up at that impossible thing, that which had no real words. Incomparable and potent terror humming off its body that seemed not even to be in the same space as us. I knew only it was by the way it had struck, by the feeling I’d had that night in the field when it had done the same. Fear, how difficult it was to break, logical even in its illogic, needing intervention, needing something between you and the thing that caused it. I did not look at Azriel, did not want to remind Bryaxis he was there.

“I go only where I feel at home, where I’m familiar and profound.”

“You defiled this place.”

“Or you did.”

I froze and that same guttural laugh slithered against the walls, crawling through my ribs, filling the empty space with an oily coating. 

“Like calls to like,” Bryaxis turned toward Azriel, pointing its long slender fingers, “This Illyrian knows it.”

The firm hand curled, a tell, a waiting strike, I could see it before it happened. The river below, the paralysis, it was going to knock Azriel away. I summoned through the sludge, through the oil, through the void—light. And Bryaxis, poised to strike, turned with such speed you’d have thought it was… afraid. If you were brave enough, if you were arrogant enough. 

But I had winnowed, already somewhere else, severing the link of what had been done. Caught between Bryaxis and Azriel the cave was bathed with it, the rocks shimmered, and the water glistened. I hoped it was enough, but not a sound came, not a thud or a scream. Just, after a long minute, the same disturbing laugh, louder now, cracked through the air, “It is not the same, as you are not the same since we began.”

The leathery hands that had once clawed at my magic returned with twice the ease and the light that had been diminished, flickered, guttering entirely until it was as if no light had ever been there at all. Not even the blue of a siphon shone. And when I dared find my peripheral, the space where Azriel had been was empty. A small relief. Something worked. Those claws grasped at me, tight, but there was no rippling, no tearing open, just that impenetrable void sinking to the marrow. Nothing. There would be no bursting, this was the breaking. There would be no power. 

“You cannot feel it, but it is still there,” Bryaxis said. 

“What?” I dared ask.

“What lives in us, what makes us equals.”

A small sob caught my throat, and Bryaxis grinned. 

“I’m not like you,” I said.

“But you know that you are.”

“I don’t want to be, so I won’t be.”

“And isn’t it strange, that this is precisely why you are, what makes it so you will be. You think you can avoid it, but it is already there, it has always been there.”

Then, Bryaxis still ready to strike, made to move, but a blade tore through its hand. 

Azriel.

Bryaxis whirled, its tail swiping my legs from beneath me. With a thud I hit the ground, the sheer blow sending me sliding, toward that wide open cavern, that long drop. The sound of water grew nearer, the spray of the current, catching. The beast watched me, and as I slid over the lip of the hole it moved with unnatural speed and sunk a claw into my arm, tearing the skin and the leather, pinning me against the wall. I gritted my teeth, dangling over the rushing water below. 

“The river will not have what I have already claimed.”

I looked down toward the raging water, those dark eyes that peered up in wait. I wasn’t sure what would be worse, death by this beast or drowning below. Hands dared, brushing at my legs and I kicked them off. Memories, such memories, tears pricked at my eyes, disguised only half-heartedly by the splash of water to the face. Bryaxis did not pull me up. Another knife sang as it passed by, imbeding itself in stone. The maneuver, an attempt to dodge, dragged me against the stone, tearing open the skin more. I gasped, pulling away in any way I could, my fingers brushing over the hilt of my knife. 

Then memories. Even more, younger memories, not so far away, not so old. That ornate wood, that beauty. A tree in spring, the light through the leaves, and something there that had not been there before. Bryaxis pulled me up, keen to devour, Azriel helpless on the far side of the pool. I was not promised to this creature, only to this world. I closed my fist around the handle, waited, watching as Azriel tossed another knife, as it was dodged, and swung. The vile thing could not occupy wholly any place at once, its attention, or worlds. So it did not see, did not expect it. And so the blade sunk into the beast's tough leg.

Bryaxis thrashed, not as it had the night near the border of Day, but I’d injured it. It kicked, turned, trying to dislodge me as if I were nothing more than a nuisance. But my weight pulled down, tearing at tendon, if that's what it was called, and Bryaxis lost its balance. Its kicking feet shoved me away and I hit the other side of the rock wall hard, knocking the wind from me. Azriel caught my collar, fast as he was. The beast was not so lucky, putting weight on the leg it crumpled, falling close to the edge. Its claws reaching wildly, they struck the hard earth, but it did not penetrate the stone. It slipped from this world into the one below. 

The Illyrian hauled me out and before we could see if the beast had followed he grabbed me and we were airborne. Following shadows, turns we hadn’t made before, he flew adgile, with that razor focus. Those veiled companions gestured, and he followed, moving across the interconnected tunnels until up ahead, light. I could’ve sobbed with relief. The mouth of the cave was so close, and he so fast that it took only the flutter of my eyes to feel the sun on my face. I made to hold onto him, but the pain lanced through my arms. The tang of blood was ripe even up there. But we were already gone. And as we went I felt the world sigh in thank you.

We hit the threshold of Bryaxis’ power and everything softened. 

“Are you alright?” Azriel said, yelling over the wind, once we were through the curtain of despair. 

I nodded incapable of anything more than that even still. 

His eyes found the torn skin. The frown that had settled on him back in the caves grew only harsher, cutting at the fine features of his face. When we got back I’d have to clean my arm, heal it. But as though he’d read my mind he said, “Rhys is waiting at the camp.”

I didn’t ask how. I didn’t care. Though we got further I felt the weight of that place boring down on me, Bryaxis's words clung to the skin. Equals. Like calls to like. You think you can avoid it. All around us this world I loved so deeply soared by, the afternoon late sky still dreamy. I closed my eyes instead and embraced that dark I knew would be waiting there. The wind on my face, the dream gone. 

Azriel landed relatively softly, carefully placing me down, supporting my weight until I gave him a nod of approval. Rhysand stood, shadow rippling around him with a severity that said it clearly couldn’t be helped. 

His eyes immediately drew to my arm, “What happened?”

I stepped forward to explain, it was my failure to claim, but Azriel spoke first, “Bryaxis isn’t hunting to survive, it’s hunting her.”

I turned toward the male, brows furrowed in question. His own demeanor held no such doubt or confusion. I was nothing. Nothing more than a meal at the very least. If it wasn’t hunting to survive then what other purpose did creatures stalk? Me, no, that was not the right word.

“We didn’t know why it stayed in Dawn and now we do.”

“If it’s looking for me then why not come to Velaris?” I asked.

“Because you came back,” He said simply. “Whatever you did that night it probably couldn’t leave, we saw that it can be injured. But we kept returning, it knows that we’re hunting it. That is why it set that trap.”

“It set a trap?” Rhysand asked. 

I turned toward the High Lord and gave a grave nod of my head, “It…fooled me. It showed me where it was but I…I didn’t think. I followed the peak of the terror to a different cave, the one Bryaxis had wanted us to go to.”

“We suspected the caves would be a kind of entertainment, and they were, but more than that, she is entertaining it.”

“How do you know?” Rhysand asked

“It said as much.”

I asked, “When? I was there I didn’t hear this.”

“Not directly,” Azriel said. “But it called you clever. Bryaxis said you ‘figured it out,’ it didn’t think you’d fall for the peak we found by the other cave.”

I huffed a laugh, “Thanks.”

“No,” Azriel sighed, shaking his head. It was clear that something had been worked out, something I myself could not see, so I fought no longer against the idea, I let him present it without issue, there would be time for defense later. 

“You said it was the same cave you went with your mother?” He asked. 

“Yes.”

“And in the memory, the night that it first found you, Rhysand said Bryaxis told you I know where you have been.” 

I paused, my shoulders dropping. 

“Bryaxis knows what that place meant to you. Somehow. We thought that the trap was where the peak had been laid, but really it was the cave with your mother. I think it must’ve been counting on something, some reason that you would go there instead of finding me.”

“How did it know we’d split up?”

“I don’t know.”

Around us, the woods swayed. Warm blood trickled onto my fingers. The pain continued to throb and the wetness soaked through to my elbow. It wasn’t enough to be worried, now that we were back at camp, but we couldn’t stay here long. Birds flew overhead, one click from their mouths. Bryaxis had said I defiled this place. Maybe what had happened was irreparable. The birds did not remember me, did not remember what I could be. I had no idea of this possibility, where one failed so totally. 

“My light didn’t work,” I said quietly. “Something was missing, but I don’t know what.”

On my peripheral where Rhysand had come to exist almost exclusively if I could help it, I saw the way his shadows disappeared. The disappointment though was not lost on me. Another task, another thing I had not lived up to. 

“She winnowed between us,” Azriel said breaking the silence. Rhysand and I looked toward the male who was watching me, but it was not like how it was with Nesta. That had happened once and was over. That closeness had passed and what had formed in its wake was the familiar chasm. He couldn’t reach me. No one could. “Bryaxis was going to strike, but the light scared him and she moved between us. It’s how we were able to get out.”

Rhysand turned to me, and his face looked calm, pleased even, before he nodded toward my arm “Is that how that happened.”

“Bryaxis tried to stop me from falling into a ravine.”

The High Lord pursed his lips, “Interesting.” Then from far away, faint and yet there enough for all three of us to look in the same direction, toward the disturbance, something in the woods howled and screamed. Rhysand’s brows raised and with almost comedic effect he turned back and told us to pack our things. He said nothing else, took some far away look and I wondered what he and Azriel were saying. Though the Illyrian showed nothing on his face, no distance, just a perfect present. 

I packed everything, but Azriel took the bag. 

“Madja will be waiting for you when we get back,” Rhysand said holding out an elbow for me.

I took it gingerly, “I can heal it myself.” 

The High Lord just smiled, “I know.”

And with that, we were gone. 

***

Though the healer was impressive, I informed her I was from Dawn and she only cleaned the wound enough for me to finish the job. When I turned toward Rhysand his mouth had pulled into a flat line. It was almost laughable if there was energy still, muscle memory left, for that kind of thing. The skin pieced itself back together, but it had been a deep cut and the muscles were sore, and scar tissue formed at the shoulder. I wondered, briefly, if it would remain. If that beast that had wanted me so badly in this world instead of the after it left this mark as proof I hadn’t vanished. But is it true, you have to be alive in order to scar?

She wrapped the shoulder in a kind of sling and I stood, ready to go home. 

“It will be about two days before you can use it again. Support it with pillows while you sleep.”

I nodded, the instructions useless. At least now I had something to pass the time if I wished to. The corners of my books protruded from the bag, giving away their position. She finished her speech and I gave one final acknowledgement I was listening though I had not. Rhysand eyed me, and as the old fae left he crossed his arms. Neither of us moved. 

A deep sense of unhappiness moved through me, to the point that I wondered if all those nights ago I’d lied to the High Lord. Did I like it here? I remembered that I knew at one time how I might be, but somehow even that seemed weak, seemed fading. The apartment that awaited me was empty, so lacking in those things that had once made places worth coming back to. There was no laughter, no memories, nothing I would take with me if I had to. But what would I do if I didn’t go? What would I be if not here in the only place I was alive in? 

“Will you be alright?”

I nodded. It was true. I knew this as I knew many things. Alright was a good word to hope for, I could put some belief in that. His eyes drew toward the door and I turned just as Feyre passed.

“Lucien,” Rhysand said and the male appeared in the door, glowing, happy. Those eyes turned toward me, the brightness not quite vanishing but, his face falling nonetheless. “Would you mind taking her home? She needs help with her bag and I need to meet with Azriel.”

The male nodded, his face softening, “Of course.”

And with that, the High Lord moved to the foyer and left hand in hand with his High Lady. Just as he had before, the Autumn male did not speak. Winnowing had cost me too much, all that light, Bryaxis reaching in and disrupting it, exhaustion beat on me. And though facing the beast had been hard, this silence was somehow even more unbearable.

But it broke, the heels of his shoes struck the hardwood with satisfying clicks, like birds. Light on his feet and getting closer, he stood, very real, very here. He took my bag. 

“Are you okay?”

“Tired,” I said the word coming out with a new rasp.

He hummed, his eyes narrowing at me in such a way that a swell of emotion flooded me. The kind that makes you want to cry, the kind that makes you miss your mom. I looked toward the window, soft sounds humming from it. A brief quick summer rain pelted the window. It would last only ten minutes, I bet, dramatic and wailing, clearing the streets of their heat before the clouds would pass and the day would be born anew. 

For now, everything was dark.

And yet gentle as a kiss, his voice slipped into the world, “Feyre told me what happened.”

I wasn’t sure if I should be thankful, the words themselves would’ve taken me hours to conjure, to retell with any real or true meaning behind them. But they also told a story about me I wasn’t sure I wanted him to know that whatever I was, whatever I could do, it had vanished that night like a cottage in a field, like a memory in a life.

“Do you have any food at home?”

I turned toward him, “what?”

“You were meant to be gone longer and you’re tired. I was curious if you had anything you could eat waiting for you at home.”

“Oh,” I said moving to cross my arms but remembering too late as I winced. “No.”

“I intended to cook myself something tonight, chicken, but I accidentally bought too much. If you want, you could have some.”

I shook my head. 

“It will go to waste otherwise.”

I could feel it on my face, how tired I was, the way my skin sagged from my bones. But he did not wince as he beheld me. Instead, his face seemed brighter, as if the storm had already passed. 

“I’m not good at dinner.”

“You don’t have to stay, not unless you want to. My apartment faces a courtyard, it gets less sun but it keeps the place cool on days like today.”

He spoke as if everything between us was a secret. Not the shameful kind, but the intimate ones. The kind that is happening all the time without people noticing. Where two people are in a room with many other people but they are really somewhere else. A world of their making, a veil drawn over them both, and every word is a kind of vow that promises to keep this world in place even as the party ends and the people go home. Which makes the words even more important, more sincere, because they are forming a place you will share together forever. And his was soft as morning sky, gentle as a fine wind, slipping around me like the sea. All this to say, he spoke in a way that was very familiar to me, though I had never had anything so precious before. 

“You’d be doing me a favor,” He said. “If that matters.”

And it did.

“Alright.”

“Good,” He said before throwing my bag over his shoulder. Adding again, more quietly now just for himself, “Good.”

“Could I get new clothes?” I asked.

“Sure. We live in the same building actually so that will be easy.”

“Really?”

He hummed a yes by way of confirmation, “Feyre told me.”

“I didn’t think anyone lived where I lived. Everyone felt…far away.”

He turned to me and smiled, larger, more charming than before, “A friend closer than you thought.”

“We are friends?”

He nodded, “You cut me down from that snare. I’d say that makes us friends.”

I nodded, “I thought maybe you were mad at me.”

“Why?”

“You didn’t say anything to me. Yesterday. When we left you didn’t say anything.”

Lucien stood there a moment thinking his mouth downturned as if even yesterday seemed too far away to remember, as if it wasn’t right there for the taking. I closed my fist, opening it again to wipe the sweat from my palm on my leathers, catching the belt. 

“It was…a rough morning let’s say.”

We all had our secrets, so I let him have it. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t just recently used those words before. Some things could only be explained in small terms. As if their grandness denied them the full breadth of explanation. My hand closed around the belt. 

“I was thinking of you.” 

“Were you?” 

I nodded, ornate wood brushing against my fingers. How many times had I touched it, afraid I wouldn’t find it, thinking I’d never really have it at all? I clamped my fingers and withdrew the blade. Opening my palm face up to him I kept everything in sight. He stared between us, at his long-lost friend. 

“I’m sorry I took it. But I…my good one had broken and, I don’t know,” I said, but I did. “It saved my life today. In the caves.” 

He took it, his fingers brushing at my palm, fine as a cobweb, soft as linen, barely there but there nonetheless. He turned it over, prodding at the edge, slicing a hairline cut along his finger. I swallowed, aware now as I watched his reaction that what I had was priceless to him, and I had handed it over without any fuss, without so much as an unreasonable delay.

And as he had adopted my silence, I took on his quiet thoughtful tone in echo, “I’d wanted to give it back once I saw you, but it was dull. Azriel taught me how to sharpen it.”

He put it into his belt and finally looked at me, not entirely recovered from the surprise, talking in ways only someone like me could hear, “Thank you. It’s my mother's.”

“I didn’t use it often.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t want to lose it,” I said and it felt, suddenly, easy to tell him this. The way I’d imagined once telling him everything, this was one of those things. I’d always thought I’d be able to give it back, I always thought I’d have a moment to say this,“I hadn’t seen anyone in so long so I guess I wanted to be sure you’d really been there.”

“Thank  you,” He said, “for taking care of it for me while I was away.”

I gave the best smile I could manage, from some old memory. Polite and for neighbors, but not any neighbors, the good ones who in times of need had come to the kitchen table, who had cooked and cleaned and left parcels of food and put us to bed when we could not ourselves. It seemed right, seemed appropriate for this male before me, who had done this without doing it, but leaving the blade in my possession. How often I had checked for it, under the squeaking floorboard where I had hidden it those years ago. Yes, no longer a myth, a friend, a neighbor. And outside the wide grey curtains opened to light, to a world in bloom. 

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Dawn Daydreams | Azriel x Peregryn!Reader

Summary: While visiting Dawn Court with his High Lord and Lady for political relations, Azriel finds himself falling for you, Thesan’s sister, from a distance, only for the bond to snap in the middle of the High Lord’s meeting.

Word Count: ~2.4k

Warnings: Mentions of passing out, mentions of sex, mating bond, nothing bad

Minors, do not interact!

A/N: I feel like this isn’t my best work but it might just be imposter’s syndrome attacking me, thanks to anon who requested this, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

Azriel had seen you before, at the High Lord’s meetings, always right by Thesan’s side when his mate wasn’t there. You were his sister, and also the best messenger in all of Prythian because of your lightweight and swift speed, even for a Peregryn you were fast.

He’d never thought much of you further than that, his shadows simply whispering of your potential working for the Court or in an alliance, or of the rumors surrounding you.

That was until today, one of the annual High Lord meetings after the war, to sort everything back out, held at Dawn Court. No one would want to use Under the Mountain as a meeting place anymore, so it only makes sense that it was held here.

He saw you, in pants and what was just a training bra but covering a bit more, sparring with a lightweight blade against some of the males in Dawn. Your speed was unmatched, and you were surprisingly muscular for how tiny you also were.

When the male you’d been sparring against was on the floor, you finally turned and noticed the High Lord and Lady of Night Court, flanked by the General on the left and Spymaster on the right and offered a grin and a little wave. Rhys let out a huff of laughter, and Feyre smiled, waving back. You’d always been friendly with them, even when political alliances were tight.

“Distracted, brother?”

Cassian asked with a smirk, enjoying his minutes of freedom before having to deal with all the insufferable High Lords, the only ones that were awful were Beron and Tamlin when in a bad mood.

Azriel gave him a withering look.

“No.”

He lied, though his brother saw straight through it.

“Pftt, you’re totally in love.”

Cassian said with what resembled a giggling laugh, clearly amused at the usually stoic shadowsinger falling head over heels for a High Lord’s sister. A light flush crept onto his cheeks. Before he opened his mouth to speak, another citizen, also watching the female train, spoke, probably overhearing them.

“You don’t have a chance with that one, she’s got males and females begging for even a glance their way.”

The older Fae spoke, his voice a bit raspy as if parched. He shook his head, before walking away. Azriel noticeably slouched a bit, Feyre seemed to notice and gave him a little nudge with her elbow.

“You aren’t just any other male, I’m sure she’d love you.”

Her soft voice tried to reassure him, at which Rhys smirked, glancing over at his Spymaster.

“Oh, she’d love him all right.”

He said, not giving any other explanation of what that was supposed to mean, before strolling into the Dawn Court Palace, Rhys smug as usual, Cassian and Azriel mostly neutral, and Feyre amused.

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

Even after all these years, you still couldn’t get used to how long these meetings dragged on. It ruffled your feathers, quite literally.

After finishing up your training, you’d hauled ass and gotten cleaned up, changed into some acceptable pants and a loose button-up shirt. You had long ago given up adorning the itchy, scratchy dresses that hurt your wings or made them uncomfortable, at this point, the fitted shirts you had were better, and you didn’t give a damn about what the other High Lords had to say.

You took your set to the left of your brother, mind already wandering off as the Lords began arguing and fighting over any and everything. You felt something nudge against your foot, snapping you out of your thoughts as you glanced down, eyes widening as you saw shadows, living shadows swirling at your feet, before quickly retracting.

You followed them all the way up to their owner, who was glancing at you.

The shadowsinger.

You’d heard rumors of him, though most of which you ignored, as rumors weren’t always true. His scarred hands remained at his side as he sat, leathery wings with what looked like scars running down them at his back, tucking neatly. His dark hazel eyes observed you, and you were a bit comforted that you weren’t the only one paying not enough attention to the meeting, but then again, he was staring at you.

It didn’t help that he was hot, either.

As soon as that thought ran through your mind, a warmth bloomed in your chest like a brick to the face, eyes widening just like his as you felt it weave a connection, unbreakable and eternal, between the two of you. A mating bond. Right here, right now, in front of all of the other High Lords and their Lady’s.

Don’t make a scene, don’t make a scene, don’t —

Your brother cast you a concerned glance, soft worry in his eyes as his hand brushed yours, the touch only further making you think of the Spymaster, how his touch might feel on your-

No. You were not going to go there.

You gave a barely perceptible nod, head swimming. You needed to touch him, needed to be closer and feel him so badly it felt like torture to stay in your chair. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him, biting your tongue to keep from saying anything.

You managed to rip your eyes off, settling on Beron and Eris. The thought of that horrible pair should’ve been enough to conjure up so much disgust you couldn’t focus on the shadowy figure cloaked in Night.

But it wasn’t, and your head was spinning, you were nauseous, and —

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

Azriel watched with strained breathing as you passed out, collapsing from your chair onto the floor, wings draping over your form.

It took every ounce of self-control he’d built up over the centuries to stop himself from helping you, fixing you, and making sure you were alright. Thesan was already picking you up as the other High Lords watched, most in curiosity or slight boredom.

Rhys noticed his rigid body, and with a glance at Cassian, both of the Illyrian warriors were fully aware of their brother’s stress. It didn’t take Rhys long before Azriel felt a mental brush against his mind, and he lowered his shields just enough to shoot one message to him.

‘She’s my mate.’

He could feel Rhys’ surprise and concern before he pulled away, his brother’s eyes narrowing, Cassian and Feyre’s face betraying a bit of shock before snapping back to normal as he must’ve shared the news.

Azriel’s shadows couldn’t stop swirling beneath his chair and on his skin, some even darting after Thesan to make sure the female was okay.

‘They’re taking our mate to a healer. She isn’t harmed.’

They whispered to him.

‘What is her name?’

He silently asked the shadows. A moment of pause, before they whispered back, equally infatuated as him with the female.

‘Y/N.’

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

You woke in the healer’s room, as she lived in the Palace alongside you and your brother in case any medical issues arose. You heard the low voice of Rhysand talking with your brother. They must’ve cut the meeting short.

Your attention was immediately pivoted to the quiet figure sitting at your side, dark and beautiful as he’d been sitting in the chair earlier. His eyes were full of concern and affection, though the latter probably influenced because of the bond.

“Hi,”

You managed, smiling weakly. Passing out was tiring work, apparently. He tried a smile back, though it looked forced. You hadn’t ever seen him with any other expression than his stoic look.

“Hi.”

He spoke back, softly, as if afraid you would shatter if he spoke too loudly. The feathers of your wings were puffed up, and he seemed to notice. A sign of your slight embarrassment at the situation. His hand rose from his lap, and he glanced down at your hand, hesitating and starting to fall away.

You didn’t let him, your soft hand enclosing around his calloused, scarred ones, thumb rubbing gently over all the ridges in his hands. He seemed surprisingly emotional at the gesture, swallowing.

“Are you…alright?”

He asked, concern evident in his tone as he examined your body, making you a bit flustered despite him being completely respectful. If you were in his position, you weren’t sure you’d be able to do the same.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

You answered, moving to sit up, your body aching as you did so, sore from training. At the slightest sign of distress, his hand slid from your grip and moved to your back, his shadows gently easing you to sit up, helping you. You sighed at the feeling of his hands on your skin, the relief it gave your body, and the craving for more.

“Thanks.”

You mumbled, your hand snatching his again, embarrassingly quick as soon as it was back within reach. His gaze softened as he felt it, shadows slithering onto the bed and hesitantly touching you, their whispered touches cold against your skin.

“How do you feel about…everything?”

He then asked with a hint of anxiety in those dark eyes. You knew what he was talking about. The bond. You thought before replying.

“I think you’re a good male. If it doesn’t cause any political problems I wouldn’t mind getting to know you.”

You answered honestly, anxiously watching him. The soft smile that then graced his lips, genuine, made your heart melt.

“I feel the same about you.”

He confirmed, just as Thesan and Rhysand walked into the room. Your brother looked concerned, but happy for you because of your little smile. Rhys looked smug as usual but seemed pleased to find the both of you bonding. The two had probably been listening in on you. The bastards.

“Well, I take it you two have gotten along well?”

Rhys drawled, at which after sharing a glance, the both of you nodded. Both of the High Lords seemed relieved at that. Azriel had a gleam in his eye, determined to see you again, to spend time with you, as he looked at his brother. He would beg on his knees if it meant he got to see his mate.

“Would anyone object to our feathered messenger visiting Velaris?”

He then asked, violet eyes examining you, your brother also watching you.

“I..wouldn’t mind.”

Azriel’s rigid body relaxed instantly at those words. You were willing to spend time in his home, with him. You shifted to sit up, and he was immediately at attention again, helping you every step of the way with a painfully concerned look that both Thesan and Rhysand noticed.

“I’ll go pack. Can he stay?”

You asked, giving a pleading glance to both of the High Lords. Rhysand gave a little shrug, and your brother nodded, just happy to see you happy. Not to mention the alliance it would make between Dawn and Night Court.

He followed you to your room, hands twitching at their sides as the shadows eagerly followed as well. You could’ve sworn they were speaking, in little tiny whispers you could hear but couldn’t quite make out.

His eyes scanned everything, your jumbled room full of a variety of things, mementos, pictures, a few weapons, letters…the list went on. As you reached up on your closet to grab a bag to shove a few things in, standing on your toes, he spoke.

“Here,”

He said quietly, easily grabbing the bag and handing it to you. It was then that you noticed the height difference between the two of you, not to mention the general size difference. Sure, you trained and had a few muscles on you, but he was somehow both lean and muscular, a mix that complimented him beyond well.

You smiled as you took it from his hands.

And you began packing.

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

The next few months were filled with you being introduced to his family, and slowly moving into the House of Wind. You moved into a room right across from Azriel’s, even though after getting adjusted to each other, you were sleeping together more often than not.

Not to mention the training he began giving you. Peregryn’s and Illyrian’s had very different training styles and methods, which you learned extremely quickly.

He began learning more about you, of your little habits like the way your feathers puffed up when you were embarrassed or aroused, or how you would wrinkle your nose in disgust at bad smells, or how sensitive your ears were….the list went on. You began picking up things about him as well, and the both of you slowly began opening up to each other.

He told you of how he got his scars, of his brothers and biological family, you told him of your biological family, their kind behavior contrasting his bio family’s awfulness.

When the time came to accept the bond…it had been a whole mess.

Rhys had offered to let you stay in the cabin in Illyria, something you had gladly accepted. You had been in for a shock once the frenzy had begun. Sure, you’d had sex before, but you’d never known just how many times someone could have sex in a row, or all the different positions and options there were…you felt more like a student sometimes with Az.

After nearly two weeks, it finally dwindled to a close, with both you and him lying together in a sweaty embrace.

“That was…a lot.”

You murmured to him, voice hoarse from screaming and moaning throughout the mornings and nights.

He chuckled against your skin, pulling you closer to his warm chest. His scarred hands were around your waist, one leathery wing draped over your body, brushing against your soft, sensitive feathers, ones he had stimulated so much that even the tiny touch made you squirm now.

“I know, but I quite enjoyed it.”

He murmured back, the smirk on his lips evident in his tone. A smirk you’d come to love. You smiled back, shifting up to look him in the eye, kissing him on the forehead, one he closed his eyes at while you did it, savoring it, before peering back at you with a sleepy gaze.

“We should really sleep, you know.”

You suggested, now yawning as you thought about it. His shadows tightened around you in a possessive and protective embrace, as they always did while you slept. He yawned after seeing you yawn, nuzzling his head into yours.

“Mm..goodnight, angel.”

He said, tone more noticeably tired now that you’d called him out on it. Your eyes began to drift as you mumbled back.

“G’night, Az.”

[lilac-witch]

Hi cute! how are you? I hope you're well! You could write about Az returning with Feyre from training and they are talking and Az is so unfocused that he doesn't notice that there is another person in the room besides the ic, so y/n screams and runs out to hug Az and they're over. falling to the ground haha ​​they are best friends who have feelings for each other. Y/n had been away on a mission and didn't know Feyre but she knew her from EVERYTHING Az had been telling her jandjsmcjsldk thanks baby

First request! Super sweet ask and a great idea :)

Gadzooks - Azriel x Reader

masterlist | part 2

Summary: After weeks away on a mission, Y/n returns to her family in the Night Court, with the addition of a new member. And thanks to Azriel, she feels like they've known each other forever. Meaning: "an exclamation of surprise or annoyance" Word Count: 658 Warnings: None.

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

"A letter has arrived for you, m'lady."

Y/n's head drifted from the paperwork before her, to the Peregryn male situated at the door. She motioned for him to come forward, receiving the envelope swiftly.

Once the male had left, Y/n tore into the white paper.

Dear Y/n

So much has happened since you left for Dawn. Feyre is officially living in Velaris, and I've taken over her training regiment. Let's just say her technique could use some work.

She's great though, perfectly suited for Rhys. If only the stubborn bastard would finally confess to her that they're mates.

I miss you. Cassian is as annoying as ever, and Rhys is so busy fretting over Feyre, so there isn't anyone to really talk to.

I hope everything is going well in Dawn, and I can't wait to see you again.

Your loyal friend, Azriel.

Y/n smiled as she finished reading through the letter. Over the many weeks that she had spent in Dawn Court, Azriel had kept her up to date on all things Feyre-related. From their first meeting, to the trauma she'd endured, Y/n knew it all.

Perhaps it was time she returned home. It was coming up on three months since she'd left, and Thesan seemed to no longer require her services. Yes, it was time to return to Velaris.

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

"You did well today," Azriel said as he and Feyre strode through the halls of the House of Wind.

"I feel like I'm getting stronger. The regimes no longer hurt so much," she laughed.

"Well then, maybe they could do with an upgrade," Azriel stated, lips twitching upwards into a smirk.

"Don't you dare, Shadowsinger."

Azriel was about to open his mouth in retort, when a solid object collided with his body, propelling him towards the floor.

Azriel would have been concerned regarding his shadows' lack of vigilence, or even his own instincts having not kicked it, had it not been for the warm vanilla scent that filled his nose.

"Y/n..." he mutter, arms wrapping around her warm body. "When did you get back?"

"A little while ago," she muttered into his neck, hot breath hitting his skin in the most delectable way.

"I missed you," he whispered.

"I missed you too, Az."

The heartfelt moment didn't last long, courtesy of his brother.

"If you two lovebirds are done, I believe introductions are in order."

Azriel glared daggers into Cassian's skull, doing his damnedest to keep the blush that crept up his neck, at bay.

He helped Y/n up, hands lingering on her waist for a second longer than what just 'friends' would do.

Rhysand cleared his throat, stepping towards the female at his side.

"Feyre, meet Y/n, the last member of our inner circle, and my most trusted emissary. Y/n meet Feyre..."

"I've heard all about you," Y/n stated, mouth spread wide in a smile. "All good things of course."

Feyre's face grew warm, and her eyes met Azriel's.

"Is that so?"

Y/n nodded, taking a cautious step forward, before wrapping an arm around Feyre, guiding her towards the kitchen.

"Indeed it is, and what better way to get to know me than over a cup of tea. Has Azriel mentioned I make a mean cup of tea?"

"He has not," Feyre stated, raising an eyebrow in his direction.

"Hm, how rude," Y/n huffed, smiling at Azriel as the pair disappeared from sight.

He felt his stomach flutter at the sight of that beautiful smile. It had been too long since he'd last seen it.

"You know, you complain about me not confessing to Feyre, but I've had to watch you tiptoe around Y/n for over a century," Rhys drawled, a teasing smirk on his obnoxiously handsome face.

"No one asked you," Azriel grumbled, heading in the direction the two females had gone, in hopes of escaping more of his brother's playful jabs.

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

And I'm back!

it feels so good to be able to write again, and to be able to bring your requests to life. A reminder that my inbox is open to all your dreams and wishes ;)

Until next time lovelies :)

[dee-writes-smut]

COURTS SERIES MAIN MASTERLIST

Lucien Vanserra x Female Reader

You run a flower shop in the lively hustle and bustle that is the center of the Autumn Court. Your dream has always been to travel the courts to meet new people and see new things. When Beron finally meets his end and a new High Lord steps in, you find yourself perfectly positioned to sell your shop and live your dreams. The plan was to go to the High Lady's coronation and then leave the next morning, unfortunately (or fortunately) the High Lady runs into you and takes a liking to you, offering you a position to be her traveling emissary when she finds out about your dream. You accept, only to find yourself paired with a more experienced emissary with a reputation for working for both the Spring and Night Court. Will love find a way to blossom along the way? Or will he never be able to let go of his mate who never returned his affections unless it was for show? 

Content Warnings Include: banter, aggression, descriptions of toxic relationships, violence, mentions of death and loss, Tampon interactions (Tamlin), and more to come as chapters are posted!

NOTE: this is a spin-off to the Flowers Series, if you are planning on reading that, then I highly recommend that you do that first before reading this series as there are spoilers to the ending of that fic. With that said, if you don't wish to read Flowers, then you do NOT have to for this story to make sense. Thank you and enjoy! -Dee

dividers for this series are made by the wonderful @/tsunami-of-tears

IN PROGRESS

THE AUTUMN COURT | none (a hint of fluff?) | These last few centuries you have felt that your home court has become drab and all too familiar. In the rush of a new High Lord, you finally decide to follow your dream, but when meeting a certain High Lady, you're forced to ask yourself whether or not you wish to make your dream bigger than you could have ever imagined. Are you willing to take the risk and jump into the unknown? |

THE SPRING COURT | a, f, h/c | A conversation with the High Lady leaves you with a lot to think about, especially the odd tug you feel toward Lucien. It certainly doesn't help when you both set off on your journey and in between the rustle of the changing trees and the calls of the birds around you, you discover a soft side to Lucien that makes you feel warm in a terrifying way. |

THE SUMMER COURT | a (?), f | Tarquin's court is beautiful, so dazzling it takes your breath away. If only that were the only thing. |

WINTER | ??? | ??? |

DAWN | ??? | ??? |

DAY | ??? | ??? |

NIGHT | ??? | ??? |

super secret potential extra chapter?

[moonlightazriel]

Fake it until you make it… /// Azriel X F!Reader

Summary: “hi! I hope you're having a great day. I love your writing so much! I was wondering if you might write an az x reader fic where the reader and he are kidnapped and stuff so they form a relationship to stay alive but then as they are freed Azriel acts all distant and stuff. idk just an idea?”

Warnings: A bit of angst, mentions of suicide and anxiety attack.

Word Count: 3K

Notes: Sorry this request took so long, but I change the storyline a bit and I love how it turned out.

Main Masterlist

Acting as the Spymaster was hard, but this was way harder, he held the female’s hand, even through the gloves he could feel how warm it was. He smiled, not very used to doing it in public, as they approached the table, Thesan smiled at them, but Azriel could feel how his mate, Caeda, would eye him, a hint of suspiciousness burned in his gaze.

“Thank you for having us, High Lord.” Her overly sweet voice sounded, and Azriel looked at her, her hair was in a bun, on the top of her head, and she wore a flowy skirt with a matching top, small jewellery adorned her ears and neck, her smooth skin smelled like vanilla.

If things were different, he could see himself falling for her, maybe asking her out, but being forced to act as her mate? He wondered how he was so blind to the obvious signals that something was wrong. He was sent to retrieve a very important artefact, the pendant would help Elain with her seer abilities, the task was simple, locate it, steal and take it back to the Night Court.

Things were too easy when he sneaked around the Dawn Court, the pendant was in between the High Lord’s personal belongings, and as he entered the safe that held the item, he was caught by her, Thesan’s personal guard. Azriel refused to answer why he was there, he refused to say anything, until she proposed to him.

“You stay here, posing as my mate, and I help you get the pendant.” He didn’t knew why she was helping him or how she knew why he was there, but Elain was his friend, and her visions were a disturbance for her, preventing her from sleep or even thinking coherently, she would just stay in a corner, watching a blank point in the wall and mumble random visions and prophecies.

So Azriel agreed, and now he was smiling to people and being shown around as Y/N’s mate, Thesan immediately welcomed him, suggesting a dinner together so he could learn about the two, and that’s what he was currently doing, sipping on his wine, chewing a piece of potato and pretending to be deeply in love with her.

“How was it?” Thesan asked, after swallowing a piece of roasted pig. “I can’t imagine being away from my mate like that.” Azriel nodded.

“It’s my personal hell, I miss her every day, sometimes I feel her scent lingering around me, and my heart almost breaks in my chest when I realise she’s not there.” He had read many romance novels, they were coming in hand for him, being useful now. “When I feel that wave in my chest, I know she misses me just as much.” He concluded and Thesan looked at them.

“That’s so beautiful, I’m so sorry things have to be this way.” He apologised and Y/N answered something before she changed the subject to random court duties.

He watched her as she talked, the way her lips moved, and the occasional scrunch of her nose, she would do this before she opened a smile, every time, without fail, when she smiled openly, like she was doing now as she listened to Caeda speak, a little dimple would appear in the corner of her mouth.

He was very observant, and in this past week he was able to learn so much about her as he slept on her couch. How she liked fresh coffee every morning, how she would look so serious doing her job, or how she would run to help someone whenever they needed. She had taken him to the city, he had seen her help so many people on the short walk around the street market, that he wondered how she wouldn’t get tired.

“Azriel, when do you plan to take my sister to meet your family?” Caeda asked and Azriel had to suppress the surprise on his face, he didn’t know they were siblings.

“Oh, as soon as she has some free time, you know she works a lot.” He hugged her side and she rested her head on his shoulder.

“I was actually planning on asking for some days off, to meet my brothers in law.” She joked, Azriel had to admit that she was a good actress, and an even better liar. The lies easily rolled off her tongue and he respected that.

“We can certainly take a look into that for you.” Thesan agreed and Caeda smirked to Azriel, something he didn’t like.

If they knew why he was truly there, he could be arrested and executed, or even worse, this could be a reason for the Dawn Court declaring war against Night, and after everything they’ve been through, they don’t need another war, especially one caused by him. So he held her in his arms as they said their goodbyes and followed her home.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“I’m working on it.” She sipped on her daily coffee, a shirt hanging on her body and nothing else, Azriel tried to avert his eyes from the exposed skin of her thighs but it was kinda hard. “I don’t know why it was open that day, but that safe is protected by ancient magic, not even Caeda enters there without Thesan.” Azriel nodded.

Another week had passed by and he was still stuck there, and as much as he hated to admit, she was getting closer and closer to him, and he was allowing it, they would spend a few hours together, have meals together, acting like a real couple was starting to mess with his head, and he didn’t liked that.

Sometimes as they read together, she would sit really close to him, once she fell asleep on his shoulder, and he allowed himself to run his fingers through her soft locks, enjoying the comfort of her presence, and the feeling of peace that invaded his wild heart.

“I’m trying Azriel, you just have to trust me.” She promised and he watched as she walked away to her bedroom, hips swaying and a hint of a lace undergarment underneath that damned shirt.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“You can’t do that!” Caeda spoke a little too loudly, and Y/N pushed her palm into his face, shutting his mouth.

“Do you want the whole castle to hear?” Her brother shoved her aside, and she hissed.

“No, but I won’t let you steal from Thesan.” He stomped his feet on the ground and she rolled her eyes.

“You were too young to remember Cae, how mom would walk around mumbling her visions, how they treated her like she was someone to be avoided, how they tried to get rid of her cuz being a seer is a curse. His friend needs help, and I’m willing to help.” Caeda looked at her, hurt laced his features as he remembered how people would look at their mom with disgust, choosing to walk away from her in fear.

“But why do that!? This could get you killed.” He protested once again, feeling the tears prick in the corner of his eyes, he couldn’t lose his sister.

“BECAUSE I COULDN’T HELP MOM!” She exploded, her voice echoing in the empty hallway. “She died because I couldn’t help her.”

“Y/N, it’s not your fault, no one blames you for that.” He tried to pull her close but she pushed him away, sending him stumbling backwards.

“Everyone did, including you.” She said, turning on her heels and winnowing away.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Azriel kept stirring the cake mixture as he heard a door closing with a loud noise, he was used to her winnowing home out of nowhere but something felt wrong, he could sense her distress from afar. Dropping everything he was doing, he walked to her door, knocking three times before he heard her sobs.

Worry filled him and he opened it, finding her curled in a corner, unable to breathe and crying, he felt desperate, as he kneeled down in front of her.

“Y/N, you have to breathe.” He begged but she ignored him, he grabbed her face, pulling her chin up and forcing her to look at him, her glassy eyes weren’t focused on him, on anything as the tears kept flowing and she gasped for air.

He scattered around his mind looking for something helpful, when he found it. Holding her face in between his hands, he pulled her close, kissing her lips, the salty taste of her tears filled his mouth, but she kissed him back, and slowly her breathing became even, and as he pulled apart, she was looking at him, breathing normally.

“How?” She asked, her voice raspy from crying.

“I read once that a kiss can make someone breathe better and go back to reality, when they’re distressed.” She watched him, her eyes slightly wide, and she took a deep breath.

She felt it, she grasped with her life to that thread, her heart pounding fast and head spinning, a voice inside her screamed the word “MATE!” to her, as soon as Azriel pulled away from her. She kept looking at him without knowing what to say! Should she tell him? Should she say anything at all?

“Do you want to talk?” He whispered and she nodded.

“I wanted to help you, help Elain, cuz my mom was also a seer.” She started and Azriel sat on the floor in front of her, massaging her hands, he didn’t care about his own, that brought him so much shame, at least not right now. “No one helped her, my father didn’t knew how, Caeda was a kid, and I was trying my best to get us going, she couldn’t work, and my father was underpaid for his services, so I had to go around and find any way to make money.”

“It must’ve been hard for you.” He said and she shook her head in agreement.

“It was, we tried to find potions or healers able to help her, we couldn’t count with the High Lord’s help cuz Thesan’s father wasn’t as good as him. People would cast her out, call her crazy, and treat her poorly for something she couldn’t control. One day, I was working in a rich family house, watching their kids and keeping the house organised. They paid well but they weren’t nice, so when I asked for the day off to take care of my mom, on a really bad episode, they refused.”

Azriel knew perfectly how she felt, it was how he felt all his life, trying to protect his mom from people who didn’t gave a fuck about them.

“So I went to work, but I didn’t know she was tired, she couldn’t take it anymore. I should’ve been there, I should have been watching her, but we also needed to eat. So she left the house, walked the whole day until she reached a beautiful ravine, and she jumped.” Azriel gasped in horror. “My father blamed me, and Caeda resented me for not being there. I still carry the way they would look at me in my memories, and this haunts me to this day, not being able to do anything.”

“How do you know about the pendant then?” Azriel dared to ask.

“When Caeda and Thesan met, they knew they’re mates, and they haven’t been separated since then, Caeda got me training and I became Thesan’s guard. In one of my studies I learned about it, and immediately knew where it was. When you finally told me about Elain, I understood. This is my redemption, the chance I have to prevent the same thing from happening again.” Azriel pulled her for a hug.

“Thank you for everything.” She nodded, and sought comfort in her mate’s embrace.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“Here you go.” She said, after another week, no explanation, no nothing, just the pendant hanging from her finger straight to his palm. He grabbed it and looked at her.

“Thank you very much.” She brushed him off.

“Just promise me you will write back.” He nodded, promising that he would, before he gathered his things and winnowed home.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Azriel watched as another letter appeared on his desk, destined to him, from her. He grabbed the envelope and discarded it on a pile of other unopened letters. He needed time to process everything that had happened.

Elain was better, the pendant held her visions back and made her slowly get back to her normal self, everyone was happy and back to their lives, but why did his heart yearn for something? For someone?

He would wake up in his own apartment, it lacked the smell of fresh coffee every morning, it lacked the subtle fragrance of her vanilla smell, it lacked the nice flowers hanging from the ceiling, it lacked the nice family photos where she smiled so brightly, it lacked her personal belongings around the space, and most importantly, it lacked her, resting her elbows on the countertop, with a damned shirt covering her perfect body, slightly tighter in the shape of her breasts and reaching the middle of her thighs, and that fucking little vision of her undergarment whenever she walked back to her room.

He missed her, a lot, but this could never work, he would rather let her forget about him, than feeding hopes of something more that would lead to more hurt and sadness in the end. So he shut those feelings for her and ignored that pull in his chest, not daring to dream of a life with her.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“I know what you did!” Thesan said, as he rose from his seat and headed to the door, inviting her in. They sat in the lounge area of his office, a soft breeze filled the room. He looked at her, really seeing her, the smile she always wore vanished, and she had bags under her eyes.

“I’m so sorry.” She didn’t see motives to try to deny, he knew and he would do whatever he wanted to her, he had that right as she stole from her own high lord.

“And I’m not mad, I didn’t know this pendant could do that, and if it’s helping someone, I’m glad it’s being used.” Thesan said and she looked at him, surprise marked her features. Thesan hadn’t seen her show another emotion other than sadness ever since a certain Shadowsinger went away. “But I need you to be honest with me, no more lies.”

“No more lies.” She agreed.

“Do you love him?” Thesan asked and she felt the tears gathering in her eyes and her chest heavy, exploring the thread between them, she nodded.

“He’s my mate, and ever since he went away, he pretends I don't exist. I sent letters and he didn't answer, I can’t simply go there without a reason.” She blurted and Thesan pulled a letter.

“Matters of the heart are a good reason to go to another court, go after him. I saw the way you looked at him, true love is so hard to find. Promise me that you will sort this out.” He begged, a stronger breeze filled the room.

“We just want you to be happy, my dear sister.” Caeda winnowed behind her, squeezing her shoulder, she turned around, hugging him with all the strength she had, then she hugged her High Lord.

“Thank you for this.” She winnowed home, preparing a small bag with some clothes and taking a long shower.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“Rhys, I’m here!” Azriel shouted as he entered the hallway leading to Rhysand’s office. He opened the doors but it wasn’t Rhys standing there waiting for him, it was Y/N. His heart almost burst out of his chest. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t answer my letters, I needed to see if you were alright.” She shifted her weight from one foot to another.

“Why do you care? It’s not like we’re really mates.” He said, and a strong pull in his chest made him flinch, like his own soul was disagreeing with him.

“That’s what you don’t get yet, we’re mates, and I will wait for you my whole life, but I don’t think I can’t wait for you like that anymore, I don’t want to be apart from you Azriel.” He looked at her in shock, was he her mate?

“Y/N, please. Don’t make this hard.” He pointed to both of them. “This won’t ever work, we’re from different courts and we can’t stay together without failing our respective duties.” His heart was splitting in two in his chest, he wanted to touch her so badly.

“Here.” She handed him an opened letter, he removed it from the envelope and read the words, but his brain couldn’t make sense of them.

“What is this?”

“My dispensation.” She smiled at him. “Thesan fired me from my job so I could be free to be with my mate!” Azriel swallowed harshly.

“And do you want that?” He approached her, his unsure hands pulled her close, and he breathed in her scent, his racing thoughts immediately gone quiet, this felt so right.

“I miss you every day, sometimes I feel your scent lingering around me, and my heart almost breaks in my chest when I realise you’re not here.” She repeated his words to him, and he pulled her to a kiss, all those confusing feelings finally vanished, giving space to the blooming love in his heart, love for her. “ I want to be with you, discover the wonders of our bond together, I want to be there when it snaps for you too. I want to love you and be loved by you.”

“It would be my honour to have you by my side, I don’t know when it will happen, but I know I’m ready to be with you.” He rested his forehead against hers.

“The bond can wait, but this can’t!” She looked at his eyes. “I love you Azriel.”

“And I love you Y/N.” He said back, kissing her with more passion than the first time. His hand sneaked to her ass. “Let’s go home, you’ve been driving me insane with that pretty ass for weeks, I need to have a taste.” He said, already starting to scent her arousal.

“We have all the time in the world, Shadowsinger.” She smirked at him. And he winnowed them home. Where they belonged.

[greycloudsinwinter]

YANDERE THESAN HIGH LORD OF DAWN COURT X READER

🌅 thesan is a high lord that all the other high lords get along with and trust. After all they did have there meeting there since thesans court is the closes in the middle.

🌅when he meets you he is calm and collected unnervingly calm. But in private he’s a blushing mess and trying to punch himself to see if he is awake or asleep since you were to perfect.

🌅you are most likely his mate so he does everything in your power to make you feel content around him.

🌅he has gentle lingering touches on your lower back as if to guid you closer to him.

🌅shows you the best places to watch the sun.

🌅once you get comfortable enough with him he will finally kiss you a gentle kiss that turns into a raw passion.

🌅his possessive nature shines through when you talk to others. He gets so jealous that he orders everyone (without you knowing) to not talk to you and if they do he will banish them.

🌅he won’t necessarily kill anyone but he will banish them or get people to torture them.

🌅if you try to reject him he gets on his knees in front of you sobbing . BEGGING you not to leave him . Trying to manipulate you into feeling guilty.

🌅your marriage is at the most beautiful part of dawn where everything has a dim glow.

🌅names you his high lady and bows at you in front of the WHOLE court to prove his devotion.

🌅would love LOVE to have children with you he is thinking about 3-4 children. He doesn’t mind if there his blood or not as long as you are the picture perfect family .

🌅buys you the most gorgeous silks and the most rare flowers that only grow in dawn court.

🌅rivals he banishes he doesn’t want to kill anyone but they aren’t allowed to have you … think of it as a compromise.

🌅one of the better yanderes to have since he loves you and doesn’t want to harm you or anyone…

🌅you shouldn’t really have a problem with him cause he’s a sweetheart and will do whatever you say ( as long as you stay with him).

Thank you ❤️❤️

[anarchiii]

WELCOME TO MY MASTERLIST!

Have a look and see if anything peaks your interest <3

ACOTAR MASTERLIST

An amalgamation of fanfiction I’ve written for the series, A Court Of Thorns And Roses by the incredible @sjmaas.

TOG MASTERLIST

An amalgamation of fanfiction I’ve written for the series, Throne Of Glass by the incredible @sjmaas.

CC MASTERLIST

An amalgamation of fanfiction I’ve written for the series, Crescent City by the incredible @sjmaas.

FW MASTERLIST

An amalgamation of fanfiction I’ve written for the series, Fourth Wing by the incredible Rebecca Yarros.

*Animated Dividers by @cafekitsune

[sixxteenbullets]

Why is every main character in ACOTAR described as slim or thin. Like where is the diversity in body types with people other than the side characters? Let's not forget how Feyre described one of the human Queens as ugly because she didn't care how she looked, whether she was fat or skinny. Like wtf? One of my many issues with SJM's writing.

[lavenderdreams22]

Ya girl has COVID. My plan this week was to get a new chapter of A Court of Dawn & Dusk out, and then start working on requests, but it doesn’t seem to be in the cards for me at the moment. I’m pushing the post date to the weekend, hopefully that’s do-able.

Big thank you to everyone who has read, commented, liked or reblogged-it means the world to me ❤️

[sketchyorsomething]

Heyy does anyone out there beta read a oneshot (about 1,3 k words) of mine? It is abt Thesan and his lover fom acotar

English isn't my mother tongue so I'm kinda nervous of it containing grammar errors or some other language related stuff

Update: I already posted it a while ago and made a post about it, you can find the post by clicking here

[skyler-reads28]

Have a little pride stack before June wraps up 🌈🩷

[chloe-petrichors]

seething, blooming // jace x reader

your father has always been something of an opportunist, but trying to marry you off to the blacks while he courts the greens? this is taking playing the game to a whole new level.

the rose discovers she is an instrument of war. —victor hugo.

fandom; house of the dragon pairing; jacaerys velaryon x f!tyrell!reader (no use of y/n) warnings; canon au (set after aegon takes the crown but before luke's death bc luke will never die in my eyes), altered timeline (jace and reader are in their 20s), arranged marriage, mention parental death/death in childbed (reader's mother), love at first sight vibes, jace is a flirtatious little shit with his betrothed, tooth rotting fluff, love confessions. word count; 6k+ notes; one day i might write for another man. but that day is not today. jace velaryon u have my heart. i'm not majorly pleased w this fic but it's given me enough trouble and it's as good as it's gonna get! this was longer originally, and was meant to be a bit more political at first hence the blurb/quote choice, but i haaated some of the scenes so ended up scrapping 'em. she's not as long as predicted as a result but still an ok length i think. some of the scenes i scrapped were tragically the smut ones, so have this fairly pg one-shot with the promise of the smut-shot sitting in my drafts coming ur way soon. fair warning that the scrapping of scenes has fudged with the pacing a bit but honestly i can't take this fic sitting in my drafts any longer so here u go!! i have a taglist now, mostly cos eldrith keeps telling me i have to tag her in everything, so lmk if you'd like to be added to it! requests; are open !

the rising sun paints highgarden in shades of pink and gold.

you stand upon your balcony, finger curled loosely over the pale marble as you stare distantly out over the rolling green fields and blooming gardens. the faint bubbling of the river mander in the distance adds to the peaceful morning, the early wash of sunlight coaxing the sleeping world into life. a cool breeze carries the sweet smell of roses and you take a steadying breath, eyes fluttering shut as you tilt your face up to the sun.

it's a morning that starts like many others. you’ve always risen from bed early, the slow blooming of morning stirring you from slumber more often than not. birds chirp and bees buzz and the river flows and you rise with it, like part of you calls to the breaking dawn.

if not for the thick sheaf of parchment discarded on your father’s desk, it could be a morning like any other. but the parchment is there, and this day will be like no other before it.

today, a dragon is expected at highgarden.

a targaryen has not stepped foot in the reach since before you were born. you don’t think even the princess rhaenyra – queen, now, according to some – had come this far on her marriage tour years ago. but your father has taken it upon himself to invite a prince to your home.

you love your father deeply, but in this you think he must be a fool. as lord paramount of the reach he is, in theory, the power of this kingdom. but anyone with a lick of sense knows that it’s the hightowers that the people look to; oldtown is home to the starry sept, the citadel and, perhaps more importantly, the dowager queen’s family line.

the tyrells have only been in power for a few generations, and people’s memories are long. too many know the truth of how house tyrell had been only a steward when the gardener kings had ruled before the conquest. and so too many see tyrell as a house grasping for power that should be beyond their fingers, and your father is apparently determined to prove them all right.

he’s been careful about his neutrality as war threatens to break out between the targaryen kin, brother and sister both claiming their right to the throne and the realm splitting down the middle. your father has not officially allied with either side, walking a careful tightrope to appease both. up until now you had assumed he sided more with the greens, but he’d sent your assumptions crumbling with only a few sheets of parchment.

your father has always been too ambitious for his own good.

gods, how you miss your mother. when she’d been alive, she’d tempered the worst of your father’s foolishness. she’d been a stark before she’d married, steadfast and sensible in the face of your father’s folly. she’d been a woman unlike any other you’ve known; ferocious and a little wild, but with a good heart and a warm smile for any she’d met.

she’d taught you how to be a lady, but so much more than that – she’d taught you to know your own mind. to know when to mind your tongue and when to speak, how to grow your roots so deep you will always stand tall, flourishing and growing like the most determined of flowers. she’d taught you a little of that northern ice, too, reminding you oft that for as much as you were a rose of highgarden you were equally a wolf of the north, and the wolf’s blood has always run thick in your veins. 

she’d called you her little winter rose; delicate and steely and a rare bloom, indeed. she had loved you so fiercely you’d flourished with her tender care, just as the patch of winter roses she’d brought from the glass gardens of winterfell had bloomed ‘neath her careful ministrations. a piece of the north she’d brought south with her, a tiny bit of her home that she’d cradled and cared for until the day you’d lost her to the birthing bed.

your little brother is nearing six, now, and many moons have passed since the sudden grief of your mother had overwhelmed you. but, in recent days you have ached with her loss more often, wondering what she would think of your father’s plans, what she would say to soothe your storm of anxiety. with your looming marriage you find yourself missing your mother acutely, the grief a reopened wound in your chest.

because you are a betrothed woman, now, to be married to a stranger, a prince who is sure to be fighting a war against his kin in the moons to come.

the velaryon prince arrives on dragon back as the sun reaches its peak in the sky.

he dismounts his winged steed in an empty stretch of land a distance from the keep itself, and your father greets him there with a host of staff to accompany him back to the entrance courtyard.

your brother leo bounces in place beside you where you stand with the rest of the household in the courtyard, fairly vibrating with energy at the prospect of seeing a real-life dragon. since the news of the prince’s arrival was announced a sennight ago, leo has done little else but babble about dragons and magic and targaryens. you wish you could share his excitement, his sheer uncomplicated joy, but this visit comes with too many conflicting emotions for you to enjoy it at all.

you’ve always known you would not marry for love. you are the eldest child and only daughter of the lord of the reach – love has never been a factor you could afford to consider. you would do your duty and marry for your house, to seal whatever alliance your father deemed important enough. you’d resigned yourself to this fate as a young girl when your mother had told you in slow, halting words the fear she had felt coming south to marry your father.

but you’d not expected to marry a total stranger. you’d thought your father would at least do you the courtesy of allowing you to meet a suitor before betrothing you to them, but in his feverish ambition to sit his blood on the iron throne he’d promised you to a man you’ve never laid eyes upon.

you don’t want to be queen.

frankly, you think yourself a touch unsuited for it. your father has many times bemoaned your wildness, the wolfs blood that drives you to stubborn recklessness. though you’ve mellowed a little with age and experience, you think you’re still a bit too prone to chaos to be queen of the seven kingdoms one day. never mind the complexities added by the fact that queen rhaenyra’s claim is so fiercely contested, and her half-brother is the one currently physically sitting the iron throne.

thinking about the mess you’re marrying into too much makes your head ache, and the blazing noon sun does little to ease it. leo beside you continues to whisper rapidly about everything he knows about dragons, which is actually quite a lot considering his young age. you think absently you might need to have a word with the maester’s again; leo has wrapped most of the household around his finger, and the elderly maester is prone to indulging your brother when he fixates on a new topic of interest instead of sticking to his lessons.

the sound of hooves on cobble stones startles you from your meandering thoughts, and you straighten your spine as your eyes take in the unfamiliar man riding into the courtyard beside your father while your brother finally falls silent.

he’s handsome, at least; a tumble of dark curls brushing his shoulders, a sharp jaw and a strong nose. though you like to think yourself more than superficial, it eases at least some of your worries to know the prince is attractive to you. your mother had done you the courtesy of explaining what was expected of you on your wedding night after your first moons blood, and in secret since you’d perused the library for books detailing more lustful acts in an effort to satiate your unending curiosity.

you’re worried enough about completing your wifely duties without having to worry about finding the man lying with you repulsive, and so you allow yourself a few moments of relief at his pretty face.

your father dismounts first, gesturing for you to step forward as the prince gets down from his own horse. leo moves forward with you, eyes wide and shining with something akin to hero worship as he gazes at jacaerys. you have a wry thought that perhaps he should marry him since he is so clearly already enamoured, but you brush that aside as your father and the prince approach.

“i am most pleased to introduce my daughter, your grace, as well as my son and heir, leo,” your father says as they reach you, his satisfaction in his successful planning clear as he smiles smugly.

you dip into a perfect curtsey as leo bows a touch clumsily at your side. as heir it would traditionally be leo’s job to greet the prince, but when you send him a sidelong glance you see he is too busy making moon eyes at the darkhaired man to say anything, and so you take it upon yourself to speak.

“welcome to highgarden, my prince. we are honoured to host you,” you greet, finally meeting jacaerys’s eyes. they’re a warm amber shade, the noon sun turning them to liquid honey as he looks at you, and you feel your cheeks flush with the appreciation you can see in his gaze as he drinks you in. it seems he does not find you repulsive either, at least.

he sketches a quick bow, eyes never leaving yours, and you feel your heart start to race in your chest at his attention. “it is an honour to be here, my lady, and to finally make your acquaintance.” he smiles at you then, small and a little crooked but there, and your flush deepens. “i look forward to getting to know you better in the coming days.”

you swallow, hoping your budding attraction is not as obvious as you fear it is. your father is looking increasingly smug as he watches the interaction, though it seems to war with some paternal annoyance as jacaerys lightly flirts with you.

“and i you,” you return softly, a smile quirking on your lips.

“—can i meet your dragon?” leo bursts out, seemingly unable to contain himself any longer, and jacaerys blinks down at him in surprise as you resist the urge to press your palm to your face.

“leo,” you scold immediately as your father chortles at his heir’s enthusiasm for dragons. “the prince has had a long journey. you should give him a chance to settle in before demanding anything of him.”

“right you are, my dear.” your father waves to the household steward before turning to the prince. “alyn will show you to your rooms, your grace, so that you might freshen up, and then we have a feast prepared for this evening to welcome you to highgarden.”

jacaerys nods easily as the greeting crowd begins to disperse, the maester corralling leo to take him for his lessons with fond exasperation even as the boy loudly protests. you mean to go walk the gardens, and so you stay standing in place as the prince trails after your father and steward alyn.

he pauses beside you, though, a slight smile on his face as you look up at him questioningly. your eyes catch on the smattering of freckles on his face, and it takes a moment for you to process his words. “i look forward to speaking to you further at the feast, my lady.”

you smile back at him, cheeks flushing once again as his eyes linger on your mouth for a breathless moment. “i shall save you a dance, my prince,” you return a touch coyly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“only one dance?” he teases, eyebrow arching.

you hum, head tilting to the side in mock consideration as something like satisfaction gleams in jacaerys’s eyes. “i shall have to use the first dance to judge your dancing skills, your grace, before i risk promising you another.”

he laughs then, a little surprised but no doubt pleased as his eyes crinkle with his wide smile. “then i shall do my best to meet your standards, my lady.” he dips into a quick bow of farewell, then, as you finally take note of your father lingering on the steps to the keep with raised eyebrows.

“we shall see,” you return as you curtsey.

you allow yourself a moment to watch his retreating back, eyes dragging over the strong line of his shoulders before you internally shake yourself and head to the gardens, thoughts swimming with honey brown eyes and tanned, freckled skin and a slow dawning certainty that while this betrothal may be unexpected, you doubt it will leave you unsatisfied.

the feast is in full swing by the time the prince arrives at the hall.

the minstrels are playing a jaunty tune as couples twirl on the dance floor. you sit at the head table with leo and your father, watching with a careful eye as your brother cuts up his food. he’s only just mastered the art of eating his food without spilling half if it down his doublet, but as distracted as he is by the festivities and the prospect of seeing a dragon close up, you worry he’s at risk of making a mess of himself regardless.

so absorbed in your task you are, it takes a long moment for you to realise jacaerys has arrived. it’s only when your skin prickles with awareness that you look up from leo and catch sight of the prince winding his way across the floor to the head table, eyes fixed on you. your head tilts to the side slightly as you watch him move, graceful and controlled, through the crowd.

he’s in black and red again, just as he had been when he’d arrived. it seems your father had been right when he’d stated that jacaerys favours his mother’s house colours. you smooth your hand over the skirts of your dress, the deep wine-red of the material feeling less out of place now, before standing with your father to greet the prince.

you all exchange pleasantries quickly as the noise in the hall dims, people realising the prince has arrived. your father ushers jacaerys into the empty seat between you and your father as he raises his goblet to the hall before speaking in his booming voice.

you don’t pay attention to your father’s speech, too aware of the warmth radiating from jacaerys who stands only inches from you to focus. you risk a glance at him from the corner of your eyes only to find his dark honey eyes fixed on you, and you cannot help but smile to yourself even as you flush, turning your eyes back to the crowd.

rousing applause and cheers draw you back to the moment, and you catch yourself in time to raise your wine in toast with your father. you go to sit back down as the crowd returns to its revelries, but the soft brush of a hand on your arm halts your movement. you turn expectingly to the prince, a soft smile on your lips.

“yes, your grace?”

“would you do me the honour of a dance, my lady?”

your lips quirk into a sly smile even as you bob your head in a nod. “i suppose i did promise you one, did i not?”

“that you did, my lady, and i have thought of nothing else since.” dark honey eyes sparkle with mirth as he offers you his hand, and with a quiet giggle you take it and allow him to lead you to the dance floor.

you feel the heat of his hand on your waist like a brand even through the layers of your dress, and it makes your breath catch in your throat. you inhale deeply in an effort to steady yourself as you rest your palm on his strong shoulder, and are immediately overwhelmed by the woodsy scent of him as he claps your hand in his and begins to dance.

you start the dance in comfortable silence, both of you taking a few moments to get a feel for the other and settle into the steps, and when you feel comfortable enough you speak.

“how are you finding highgarden, prince jacaerys?”

“jace, please,” he entreats, and elaborates only when you blink at him in confusion. “my friends and family call me jace, not jacaerys. we are to be married, my lady. it would please me a great deal for my future wife to refer to me as such.”

you nod in acceptance, butterflies erupting in your stomach at his eager expression. “jace it is, then,” you say, and try not to feel the way your heart flutters at his radiant smile in response. “although you have not answered my question. how are you finding highgarden?”

he hums, twirling you as the dance requires and then pulling you closer before responding. “your father has been very hospitable, and it is certainly beautiful here. the grounds especially, though i’m afraid i’ve not had the opportunity to see much of them as yet.”

“a shame we shall have to rectify, i think.” you offer him a small smile as you press just an inch closer, finding yourself wanting to be nearer him. “perhaps i could show you the gardens on the morrow?”

“yes,” he agrees a touch too quickly, and you giggle as his cheeks turn pink. “that is to say— i should like that very much, my lady. very much indeed.”

you lapse into silence once more as the dance reaches its crescendo, and you find yourself reluctant to leave the comfort of his hands as the music pauses while the minstrels ready their next song.

jace seems to share the sentiment, it seems, as his eyes linger on your entwined hands for a long moment before returning to your face. “have i met your standards enough for another dance, then?”

you take a moment to pretend to consider it, eyes narrowing slightly as you hum. he shuffles on his feet as he waits for your response, and you find the nervous motion far too endearing.

“i suppose so,” you concede after a moment, grinning at his smugly pleased smile as he tugs you closer.

“and what about the dance after that?” he asks lightly, something cheeky in his eyes as the music starts up again and he sweeps you along the floor.

“you should not press your luck, jace,” you say imperiously, although the effect is rather ruined by the silly smile on your face as he laughs with you.

jacaerys smirks. “my lady, since meeting you, i have felt nothing but a lucky man.”

you smother a snort, shaking your head at his unrepentant expression. “you are incorrigible.” it comes out a touch exasperated and yet far too fond.

“yes,” the prince agrees readily, a sly twinkle in his eyes. “but i think you rather enjoy it.”

your startled laugh is loud, though thankfully not so loud as to be heard over the minstrels. “perhaps.”

after that, the night is lost to flirtatious banter and dance after dance in your betrothed’s arms as a seed of affection is planted deep in your heart. and when you wake in the morning after dreaming of nothing but jace’s lips and eyes and words, you can think only one thought;

gods, i am in so much trouble.

time passes in a slow trickle of syrupy summer heat.

as the days go by, you find yourself spending more and more time in jace’s company. you’re always chaperoned, of course, a household guard following at a respectful distance wherever the two of you choose to roam. you find the whole thing a touch ridiculous; jace is to be your husband. it’s hardly like spending time together alone would be a significant scandal in light of your impending marriage, but your father insists there will be no doubts about your honour before the marriage actually takes place and so ser dickon is assigned as your reluctant shadow.

the date of the wedding itself remains unset as you and jace start to know one another. your father wishes for the marriage to wait until the war is done – a last-ditch chance to keep his options open, perhaps. Or, if you are feeling generous, a way to try and keep you safe from the greens when war inevitably rages. jace’s mother wishes the marriage to happen as soon as can be arranged – a way to try and ensure further heirs with the uncertainty of war looming, you assume.

you find yourself hoping the queen’s will wins the day as time creeps on. jace becomes ever dearer to you the more you learn about him, and soon you think of your impending marriage with nothing but hope and warm desire.

because oh, how you want him. from the first moment you’d laid eyes upon him you’d been attracted to him, but the more you get to know him, the more your heart opens to him – the more you ache for him. for his mouth on yours, his fingertips on your skin, his voice in your ear. if you were a less reckless woman, a little less shameless, you’d be embarrassed of how easily you think of him in your moments apart.

but late at night when the candles burn low and you are alone in your bed, there is no shame to be found, only the wildness of your wolfs blood and liquid heat as your hand drifts between your legs and you find completion with your betrothed’s name on your lips.

beyond the desire, though, is a slow blooming affection. it feels like every time you learn something new about him or share a new experience together, another petal of tenderness unfurls in your chest. when your father had first told you about your betrothal, you’d not dared to hope for more than civility with your husband-to-be, but now you find yourself harbouring deep fondness on top of steadily burning desire, and you look to your future as his wife with little else but excitement.

you’re not sure if jace feels the same. you don’t doubt he desires you; his flirtation and the weight of his gaze on your form is too frequent a thing for you to think otherwise. but desire is not the same as affection, and though you hope desperately that the way he always seeks your presence whenever he steps into a room means what you want it to mean, you can’t be sure.

after a week passes, you both start to chafe at the relentless presence of ser dickon. it feels like every time you so much as think about inching closer to jacaerys, ser dickon is there with his stern glare of disapproval. and so, when one morning jace suggests taking you to meet his dragon, alone, you are quick to agree.

you leave your guard long behind at jace’s instruction; he doesn’t want vermax crowded with strangers, he explains, but you personally think he seems a little too gleeful at the idea of being alone with you for that to be sole reason behind his insistence ser dickon stays far away. you don’t say anything since you’re equally pleased to finally be spending some time with your betrothed without feeling others curious eyes on you.

your excitement starts to waver, however, as you and jace get closer to his dragon. you’ve only seen vermax from a distance before this, and though it perhaps shouldn’t the size of him startles you. he’s just so large and fierce looking, the sharp spines on his back catching your eye. the beast yawns as you slow to a stop, jace sending you a quick smile before he continues on to greet his dragon with fondness, and the glimpse into vermax’s open maw – gods, there as so many teeth – has your palms starting to sweat.

jace stands beside his dragon, murmuring soothing words in high valyrian that you don’t understand as his hand smooths along his snout. your heart races in your chest, nerves making your hands shake when faced with this great beast. you curse your reckless curiosity, your northern stubbornness that makes it impossible for you to refuse a challenge. you have no idea how jace can look so at ease, the line of his shoulders relaxed and the slightest smile on his face as he talks to his winged steed, but there he stands.

“you can come closer now.” he turns to you, brown eyes shining with excitement and, yes, a hint of challenge.

he expects you to back out, you think, and that realisation has you straightening your spine and pressing your lips together. you twist your fingers in your skirts to hide the way they tremble as you step cautiously forward, eyes darting from jace to vermax and back. when you’re within touching distance of the velaryon prince, he reaches for your hand. the shock of his bare skin against yours arrests you for a moment, the slide of calloused fingers around your wrist startling in how easily it sparks desire in you.

you’re so distracted by the feel of him that you don’t realise until it’s too late that jace has tugged you closer, guiding your hand until it’s pressed to vermax’s scales, and then you’re too busy being surprised by how soft they feel to be annoyed that he’s so easily coaxed you into this position.

you still as the dragon rumbles, swallowing thickly as your fingers twitch against green scales. he blinks lazily at you, an alien intellect gleaming there as he seems to consider you for a long moment, and as you blink back at him some of the fear in your chest shakes loose.

because this is not just some beast, you realise. this is fire and blood and magic made flesh. there is life and intelligence in vermax’s eyes, not one you recognise but one you immediately respect. being this close to the dragon is a heady rush of awe and adrenaline; the knowledge that vermax could so easily harm you at any moment but is choosing not to because he trusts his rider. it’s staggering and wonderful and beside you jace is beaming, eyes shining with happiness at seeing you greet his draconic companion, and you are helplessly, hopelessly, wholly overwhelmed by your affection, your desire, by jace.

you kiss him.

it’s barely a kiss, more a breathless press of your mouth against his, and he startles at the sensation even as his arm loops around your waist. you break apart for the barest moment, nose sliding against his as you tilt your head, and jacaerys sighs out your name with heavy relief before he captures your mouth once more.

you’ve been kissed before, so you know the mechanics of it, but it’s never been like this. his lips move smoothly against yours as his hand flexes on your waist, drawing you closer until your chest is pressed against his. your hand tangles in his hair, fingers twisting in the soft curls and he moans with it, hand dragging up your back to cradle the back of your head tenderly as his tongue sweeps over your lips.

the gentle pressure of it has you gasping and he takes the opportunity immediately, tongue sliding against yours as heat pools in your core. your thoughts tumble wildly, incoherent as you can think of nothing but of how desperately you want more. the taste – the smell – the feel of him is drowning everything out that isn’t jace and you cannot resist it, do not even want to.

you want to kiss him forever, want his hand in your hair and his tongue in your mouth for always. you think he might even let you with how relentless he is, barely giving you a moments pause to catch your breath before consuming you in another desperate kiss.

you finally part only when vermax grumbles, cheeks blazing with heat as you step out of jace’s arms. jace murmurs lowly to his dragon in valyrian, and he nudges his great snout against jace’s shoulder in response before stepping away and curling down into the long grass to sleep. you take the moment to properly catch your breath again, hand pressing to your heaving chest in an effort to soothe your racing heart.

when you peek up at jace from beneath your lashes, you flush deeply at the sight of him. his curls are a mess, his lips swollen and cheeks pink beneath his tan. he looks almost debauched, and it sends a rush of desire through you. you suddenly can think of nothing other than him looking like this only flusher and skin glistening with sweat and in your bed.

the thought startles you into dropping your gaze to your feet, and you shuffle uncertainly. you feel – unsettled. you don’t think there’s anything wrong with sharing a kiss with your betrothed, and yet something like guilt curdles in your stomach as you worry at your bottom lip. you had kissed him. for all that he’d kissed you back, you worry that now he will think differently of you. think worse of you.

a knuckle tucks under your chin, then, lifting your face so that you meet jace’s eyes. you feel small and strangely vulnerable in the aftermath of your kiss, like you have somehow shown him something you never intended to, and the urge to shy away remains. but you are not a winter rose for nothing and so you tuck the doubt away as jace runs his thumb soothingly along the line of your jaw.

“i have been thinking of doing that since the moment you first smiled at me,” he confesses, a hint of shyness in the quirk of his lips even as he stares steadily into your eyes.

“oh.” you blink at him once in surprise, the uneasiness in you finally settling at the fondness in his gaze. “oh. that’s— good.” you curse yourself for your lack of wit in this moment as jace snickers.  “i-i mean, i’m glad that it was not… unwelcome.”

your betrothed looks at you with deep affection, then, cupping your cheek and ducking down to press a fleeting, butterfly-soft kiss to your mouth before reluctantly parting from you. “it was most welcome, my lady. most welcome, indeed.” his eyes sparkle with mirth. “i find myself looking forward to the next time you greet vermax, if this is the kind of response such a thing garners.”

“jace!” you narrow your eyes at him in pretend annoyance, even as you smother a giggle with your fingers. “you should not expect me to indulge in such desires again, then, if you persist in being so smug about it.”

his laugh warms you as the two of you fall into easy banter, leaving vermax to his rest and returning to the ever-watchful ser dickon, and all the while all you can think of is how much you cannot wait to kiss him again.

as the air cools with the dying light of day, you lead jace to the gardens.

in the week since your first kiss, jace has oft tugged you into shadowy corners for more kisses any chance he’s had. his desire for you is matched only by your own for him, and as your confidence in your mutual attraction has grown, you have been equally as likely to pull him into a dark alcove to trade sweet words and sweet kisses in secret.

it’s thrilling and exciting and wonderful, but as the week passes you find a growing doubt whispering in the back of your mind.

while you cannot doubt jace desires you, not when he is so relentless in chasing after your smiling mouth, neither of you breathe a word of any feeling between you beyond attraction. perhaps it is reckless of you, foolhardy to fall for him so quickly – but then you are your parent’s daughter, all wolfs blood and deep roots, and you know no other way of being than this.

so you take him to the gardens as the moon rises in the sky, sneak past the night guards and out into the fresh air. you guide him through the blooming flowers and swaying trees, stopping along the while when the fancy takes one of you to stop and examine an interesting bloom or inhale a sweet scent. at least three times he stops you to slot his mouth against yours, to swallow your breathless giggling with feverish kisses, and each time he does it takes longer and longer for you to disentangle yourselves from each other.

eventually, with swollen lips and mussed hair, the two of you reach the winter roses. your effervescent mood becomes sombre as the moon shines on the blue flowers, turning the petals almost silver, and jace seems to recognise the change in atmosphere, a seriousness overtaking him as he watches you approach the flowers.

“my mother planted the first of these roses,” you tell jace as you kneel at the edge of the flowerbed, uncaring of the risk of dirt on your dress as you brush fingers over the pale blue petals tenderly. “winter roses, they are, from the north. from winterfell. she was born a stark, you see, and when she was betrothed to my father the only thing she asked was to be able to bring a few blooms from the glass gardens. she used to call me her little winter rose when i was a child, and she would bring me here and show me how to tend to them.”

jace kneels beside you, glancing at the side of your face before turning to look curiously at the blue flowers. “they’re beautiful,” he tells you sincerely.

“i’ve always thought so, too,” you agree almost absently, stroking the petals in an effort to calm your racing heart. “everyone told my mother she’d never be able to get them to grow so far south. they’re very rare, you see, and need very particular conditions.” your lips quirk up into a fond smile. “but my mother, for all that she became a tyrell, was always a stark at heart. stubborn, you know. and now look at them, thriving.”

you gesture out at the carefully tended rows of roses. “nobody else comes here, now, other than the gardeners and me. i think… i think my father finds it too hard, being here. it makes him miss her too much. so i come here when i need to be alone. or when i wish to be reminded of her. it's the one place in the world where i feel i can be wholly myself, without any pretence or worry.”

jace’s gaze is fixed on you, now, eyes almost black in the faint moonlight as understanding dawns on him. “thank you for bringing me here.”

you nod once, climbing back to your feet, and jace follows you. he watches you so intently, like he’s afraid that you might disappear if he dares to look away. you feel a little like you might, feel tenuous and vulnerable and a breath away from cracking your chest open.

“i’ve never brought anyone else here,” you confess quietly, flexing your fingers with nerves as jace’s lips part in surprise. “i wished… i wished to share this with you. to share who i am, myself, with you, i suppose.” you laugh a little self-deprecatingly. “however pretentious that sounds.”

“it doesn’t,” jace denies immediately. you sense he wants to say more, but he seems to understand that you’re building to saying something yourself, and so he stays quiet, expression earnest and open and fond as he gazes down at you.

“i know it’s perhaps too soon – we have only known each other a few weeks. but i… when i first found out we were betrothed, i was so scared. i worried you would be some arrogant princeling, and i dared not hope for anything more than civility between us. i’ve always known i would not marry for love, but i did not ever consider i would marry a man i had never met.”

you pause for long enough to suck in a breath, feeling a little like the floodgates have opened and you simply can’t stop speaking, can’t stop the feeling pouring freely from you. “and then i met you, and you were so unlike anything i’d expected. i know we still have so much more to learn about each other, and i know that things are— complicated, with the war, and that our marriage may be a ways off yet, but still— i find myself feeling for you, and i cannot hide it anymore. i don’t wish to hide it from you anymore.”

you let the open affection in his face buoy you as you steel yourself, pressing your shoulders back in a mimicry of confidence. “i wanted to show you this part of me, this place, because i….” you hesitate for a breathless moment, biting your lip, before gathering every scrap of courage you possess and diving in headfirst. “i am falling in love with you, jacaerys.”

you inhale the sweet scent of the pale blue petals deeply, let the familiar scent soothe you as jace stares at you with wide eyes. the winter roses are something that, until now, have been so uniquely yours. as you’d told jace, none other than you and the gardeners comes to this corner of the gardens now. the staff that tend so carefully to the flowers know to leave you well enough alone if they stumble across you, skirts splayed on the ground and fingers diligently caring for the roses. you’ve never even brought your sweet little brother, though you can admit that’s for practicality as much as anything else – his childish energy is a bit too boisterous for these delicate blooms.

bringing jace here, bringing him here to confess the deepening affection you harbour for him, feels raw. feels like you’re tearing your heart out of your chest and offering it up to him for perusal, hands bloody and soul bare. feels like saying ‘this is all that i am and all that i have been and all i will ever be and i hope, i hope, i hope it’s enough.’

jace finally, finally speaks, sighs your name, soft and sweet and tender, and hope blooms in your chest.

“oh, my sweet lady,” he murmurs, crowding into your space as he cups your cheek, and the smell of woodsmoke and dragon and jace floods your senses. “i am falling so unbelievably in love with you. only, it does not feel so much like falling as it is like choosing it, like walking into love with you with my eyes wide open and seeing nothing but you.”

it's almost unbearable, the blazing heat of his gaze as he presses his forehead against yours, and it makes you tremble as your hands clutch as his elbows in an effort to ground yourself to this moment, to him. “our betrothal was decided for us without care or consideration for our own desires,” he says, lips brushing against your own with every whispered word. “i know that as well as you, but i need you to know that if i had the choice i would choose this. i would choose you, your stubborn heart, your fierce spirit, your gracious soul.”

his hand slides from your cheek to your hair, holds you so tenderly like you are something precious, and it steals your breath from your lungs as you revel in his unbridled affection. “i care not when we marry, if we marry, in truth, because in my heart you are already mine just as i am already yours.”

he kisses you, then, a desperate and greedy thing, as if he can no longer restrain himself from devouring you whole. and you are just as needy, hands fisting in his doublet as you press yourself against him and somehow finding yourself wishing to be closer still. the world narrows down to him and him only; his mouth, his hands, his hair. you can think of nothing else, and do not wish to, because in this moment you are wholly yourself and he is wholly himself and it’s enough, it’s wonderful and delicate and it’s enough.

and, there beneath the moonlight and amongst the winter roses, deep and enduring affection, the kind of love the bards sing songs about, takes root.

taglist; @eldrith

[bunnis-monsters]

Please please please 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

Mermaid reader x merman, reader being courted by the mermannn, like, giving her shells, hunting big fish and like that!!

NSFW

A/N: Decided to post this little snippet tonight… you’re getting more merman stuff tomorrow lol… the mermaid pod one is coming and it’s short, but it’s more of me putting an idea out there to see if anyone wants me to continue than an actual story.

You raised an eyebrow as your newfound friend brought you yet another pretty shell, cooing and nuzzling against your leg.

It was the fourth one that day, and when you didn’t sound as impressed this time, he frowned, tilting his head and resting his chin on your knee.

The small deck by the beach had become your meeting place, where the two of you would hang out, swim together, and share gentle kisses.

You weren’t sure if he understood that kissing like that was for couples, but he obviously enjoyed it. And after you kissed his lips for the first time, he started bringing you gifts, expecting a kiss every time he came.

Before you could apologize for not being grateful for the shell he brought, he brightened up and swam away. You were sad to think you may have scared him away.

For the better part of the summer, he had been your only companion. It would break your heart if he had left for good because of your rude response.

But to your surprise, he returned within 15 minutes, the tail of a large fish in his mouth. He dropped it next to you, laying his head in your lap and purring loudly.

And it dawned on you then as he looked up at you expectantly, pawing at your bathing suit.

He was courting you.

Your face felt hot with both embarrassment and arousal. It wasn’t long before you slipped into the water, letting him tear at the thin fabric keeping your fat pussy away from him.

Every thrust felt like heaven, and he couldn’t stop crying out at the warmth your pussy exuded as it clamped down on his fat, slippery cock.

By the end of the night you were stuffed full of cum and being safely tucked away in a small cave where he’d been storing his kills.

Your love was so happy you’d finally accepted his proposal~

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @buckoothecow @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila

[milswrites]

Sweetened Dreams

Pairing: Azriel x Dream Weaver Fem!Reader

Summary: Having access to the people of Velaris' dreams was a gift you did not take for granted. Having access to your mate's heated dreams? Absolutely delicious.

Warnings: 18 + mdni (f oral, p in v, sex dreams).

Word count: 2.6k

You watched on from the balcony as rosy fingered dawn made her appearance. The warm light of the morning sun bled into the horizon, casting an amber glow over the sleeping streets of Velaris.

It was early — far too early for you to be awake on your day off. And yet, despite the remnants of drowsiness which still lingered in your system, you found yourself incapable of succumbing to the warm embrace of sleep.

Rather, you welcomed the gentle breeze of the morning air as it kissed your reddened cheeks on the balcony of your home, the wind working to quell the heated blush which had risen in the wake of your untimely stirring.

You were no stranger to being awake at unreasonable hours — it was the gruelling nature of your job. Gifting dreams to the slumbering citizens of the Night Court. Yet, in all your years of working, never had you been disturbed by another person's dreams as you rested. Not until now.

The soft, lingering touches as his gentle hands explored your curves.

The salacious cry of pleasure which slipped from his parted lips.

The mouth-watering drag of his hips languidly meeting your own.

Azriel was dreaming.

Dreaming of you.

The sensuous image of Azriel's lustful fantasy, alongside the blinding wave of arousal being passed down the bond, was enough to leave you flushed. Dawn's cool air provided you with no respite from your mate's titillating thoughts as your cheeks grew warmer and warmer with each minute passed.

The heated kiss of his soft lips trailing across the sensitive skin of your neck.

The grounding touch of his calloused hands laced between your own.

The desperate groan which followed each passionate thrust he delivered.

It was impossible to block him out — whatever meagre control you once held over your magic had since been relinquished. Unable to change the course of his temptuous dream, your mind focussed solely on the primal surge of your mate's pleasure as it travelled down the bond. Finding every ounce of him overwhelming — your swirling thoughts were consumed by Azriel, and Azriel alone.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

Lost in the haze of the male's lustful vision, images of his mouth latched onto your skin caused a pleasant warmth to pool between your legs. Desire rising in your chest, you failed to notice that Azriel's dream had ceased. The familiar hum of your unruly magic had long since subsided and yet, even in the absence of its presence, your amorous thoughts remained solely on him.

Absorbed by the insatiable pulse of your growing hunger, you startled as the low voice of your mate called out from behind you. The remnants of sleep clinging on to Azriel's words as he huskily uttered, "my love, do you ever rest?"

"The city is sleeping, and so I'm awake," you answered simply, pausing for a moment as your mate's tender hands came to wrap around your middle — Azriel's welcoming warmth enveloping you as his chest firmly pressed against your back. You released a small sigh of contentment at his action, your head rolling back to rest against his shoulder as you continued, "when you sleep, your . . . thoughts -" Azriel's nose nuzzled into the crook of your neck, a wave of pleasure washing over your body as his soft hum urged you to continue, "-they're quite loud."

A low sound of amusement rumbled in Azriel's chest at your words. Yet, the male's efforts remained focussed on leaving a trail of languidly placed kisses along the expanse of your neck, until — finally — the ghost of his heated breath enticingly blew against your ear as the Shadowsinger confessed, "I was dreaming about you."

You were helpless in stopping the quiet moan which slipped from your lips as Azriel gently tugged you closer towards him, goosebumps rising on your skin as the light touch of his growing member brushed tantalisingly against your back. Breathless, you replied, "I know . . . I saw it."

"And was this your doing?" Azriel enquired, a small cry of frustration escaping your mouth as the male halted his sensuous actions. His teasing lips torturously hovering over the sweet spot on your neck as he continued to press, "have you been blessing my dreams again, my love?"

"Not this time," you answered truthfully. Whilst soothing Azriel's restless slumber and unsettling nightmares came naturally to you, never have you had the courage to bless your mate's dreams with the sweetness that he was referring to, "those thoughts were yours alone."

"A pity," Azriel concluded, the male lessening the grip of his arms around your waist as he devilishly smirked down at your faltering expression, "I suppose if you've already seen it, I needn't provide you with a demonstration — oh, but what a sweet dream it was."

You pouted at the absence of Azriel's searing touch as you turned to face the male. Your hand moving to slowly graze your mate's bare chest as you lifted your playful gaze to meet his darkened eyes, "now that you mention it . . . I may need a reminder of exactly what it was that I saw."

"Is that so?" the Shadowsinger asked with a raised brow, his wings twitching with a mind of their own as he noted the pleasant shift in your honeyed scent.

"Hmm . . . how did it start again?" you mused, an alluring smile working its way onto your face as you moved your lips to lightly brush against his own, Azriel's breath catching in his throat at your teasing contact as you seductively whispered, "like this?"

"Actually," Azriel's wandering hands slipped down to meet the back of your thighs, the male swiftly lifting you up into his arms as he began to retreat back into the comforting warmth of your bedroom. The promise of a fulfilling morning upon his lips as he purred, "I think it began with my head between your legs."

⋆⭒˚.⋆

The experienced swipe of his salacious tongue against your slick.

The cooling bliss of his restless shadows as they moved to explore the soft contours of your writhing body.

The heated lust in his sultry gaze as he worked to keep his sight on your hooded eyes.

Azriel devoured you like a man starved.

And yet, despite the fervent nature of his actions, your mate's passion was delivered with an air of intimacy. The Shadowsinger's gentle hands moving to lace between your own as he softly groaned in satisfaction against your dripping sex.

It was almost too much to bear — your back arching from the bed in response to the carnal swipe of Azriel's tongue against your pulsing heat. A low whine falling from your lips as the male contentedly lapped up the taste of your sweetened arousal.

You mewled when Azriel turned his attention towards your clit, your mouth parting breathlessly as the male lazily trailed small circles around your aching bud. Gripping his hands tighter, you helplessly bucked against his face, your eyes closing in ecstasy as you lowly begged for more.

It was utter bliss.

Your senses were wholly consumed by your mate as he eagerly worked to bring you to completion, each delicious movement succeeding in ebbing away the last dregs of drowsiness which still remained from your early wakening.

Yet, your feeling of intense pleasure was gone all too soon, Azriel having pulled away just as you were on the precipice of your high. Groaning at the absence of his heated touch, your eyes fluttered open to meet your mate's mischievous gaze, a matching smirk etched onto his handsome face.

A lucky female indeed.

"Is this stirring your memory yet, my love?" Azriel crooned, the male slowly crawling up the length of your body until his swollen lips came to brush against your own. That same glint of unbridled mischief reflecting in your own eyes as you hummed your reply, "possibly . . ." Your hand leisurely trailed down Azriel's chest until it came to rest upon his hardened cock, "but I may need a little reminder of what came next."

A frenzied growl broke from Azriel's throat at your action, the male's eyes growing dark with lust before he finally sealed his lips against your own.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

The kiss was searing — a passionate clash of tongues and teeth. Your mouths moved together in a wondrous synchrony as the two of you sought to sate your growing desire.

You were insatiable; wanting nothing more than to be consumed by all Azriel had to offer.

His sweetened scent.

His delectable taste.

His heated touch.

Every last inch of him was intoxicating.

You needed your fix of him, and so, desperate to quell the pulsing ache which had risen in your core at his fervid touch, you impatiently rolled your hips against his own. A feverish moan spilling from your lips as the head of Azriel's leaking cock brushed tantalisingly against your dripping folds.

Softly chuckling at your growing frustration, Azriel playfully nipped at the push skin on your lips as he pulled away from the kiss. Admiration pooling in your mate's hazel eyes, he stole a moment to take in the radiance of your morning glow. His once darkened gaze softening as it swept over your heavenly features, the male's mouth parted in awe as he quietly asked, "am I still dreaming?"

You blushed at the innocence of Azriel's question, your hand moving to lovingly rest against your mate's face as your thumb began to gently caress his pinkish cheeks. A soothing smile crossing your lips, you replied with a question of your own, "and what would you do if you were still dreaming?"

Azriel lent forwards, the heated touch of his breath softly tickling the sensitive skin of your neck as he purred, "I would do this." The male placed a gentle kiss into the crook of your neck, your body quivering with anticipation as he began to trail his mouth lower. "And this," he uttered, sweetly placing another kiss onto the curve of your breast. "And also this," he finished, his lips moving to ghost over your pert nipple. Azriel's mouth parted into a soft 'o' as the male lightly blew onto your stiffened peak, a warm smile stretching across his face before his swollen lips finally came to close around your breast.

Sighing in bliss, you arched into the male's touch, your body writhing underneath his own as he delicately sucked at your tender skin. "Is that all?" you taunted breathlessly as Azriel moved his mouth to tend to your other breast, whining as your mate teasingly rolled his tongue around your peaked nipple.

Yet, the wondrous sensation which had risen from your mate's salacious kisses did nothing to sate your ever-growing desire. And so, needing more, you ground yourself against the male's hardened cock — your eyes heavy with want as you urged him to act.

So Azriel did. A soft cry spilling from your lips as the male slowly pushed his cock into your pulsing heat, your mate euphorically mumbling into your skin as he did so, "gods, you're perfect... my beautiful, beautiful mate." 

You flushed at both his sweetened words and the pleasant feeling of his cock as he fully sheathed himself inside you. A languorous moan emitted past your lips as he stretched you fully; the sound turning into one of incredulous frustration as your mate failed to move. Locking your legs around his waist, you impatiently ground your hips against his, asking — no begging — the male for more. "Eager little thing," Azriel whispered as he began to move his hips at a torturously slow pace, "let me enjoy you, my love."

⋆⭒˚.⋆

It was impossible for Azriel to look away; his drunken gaze lust-filled and half-lidded as the male fought against his growing pleasure to keep his eyes locked on you.

On the delectable bounce of your plush breasts as they followed the slow rhythm of his passionate thrusts.

On the darkness which had consumed your irises as lust and desire took hold of your gaze.

On the shape of your parted lips as you let out sweet sounds of pleasure as you milked his warmed cock.

If this were a dream, then Azriel wished never to wake — the male longing to stay in his slumber forever, so as to memorise every intricate detail of your face.

Craving a more intimate connection, Azriel entwined his hands with your own, his face moving to burrow into the curve of your neck before softened words of love and adoration began to tumble from your mate's awestruck lips.

Azriel gritted his teeth as he quickened his pace, the male chasing after the addicting high of his release. His heart pounding at the way you clenched around his cock as your own organism grew nearer. And it was there, the sweet sound of your mewling slowly working to coax your mate's eyes open, that Azriel once more bore witness to your ethereal glow. 

A bright warmth radiated from your skin, the soft light reflecting in Azriel's reverential gaze. It was as though you had been blessed by the stars themselves; your skin holding a golden lustre which made you look utterly irresistible.

You were a gift.

To Prythian.

To Velaris.

To Azriel.

Basking in the light of your other-worldly power, Azriel's grip on your hands tightened as he continued his bruising rhythm, his wings twitching as he took in your godly form beneath him. A strangled cry of pleasure escaped your lips at the male's deep strokes, his fervent passion succeeding in tipping you over the edge of bliss as the heated wave of your orgasm finally washed over you.

Guided by your glowing light, Azriel continued to chase after his own release. The male's thrusts grew desperate as he moved deeper and deeper inside of you with each stroke delivered. Until finally, Azriel reached his own high. The low tones of his frenzied groan reaching your ears as your mate came undone, ribbons of his white hot cum painting your walls as he did so.

You both lay there for a moment, the weight of Azriel's chest heaving against your own as the two of you fought to catch your breaths.

Stealing a moment to bask in the peaceful silence of dawn, you admired the male's post-sex glow. The glistening sheen of his sweat-soaked brow, the delicate curl of his tousled hair, the satisfied smile which lazily stretched across his swollen lips.

It was difficult to believe that Azriel was real and not simply a conjuring of your own imagination — a manifestation of your sweetest dreams. Yet, the grounding touch of his hands clasped between yours reminded you that this was real; that he was real.

It was only when the crushing wave of your highs had subsided, and the golden glow of your shimmering skin had dwindled, did Azriel then then pull himself from you. The male slumping onto the bed by your side, his large wings dropping in fatigue before he pulled you into the the warm embrace of his arms.

Softly sighing at the cool touch of his wandering shadows which still trailed across the length of your heated skin, you began to tease, "Was that everything you dreamed of then?"

"Everything and more," Azriel replied, his thumb working to rub small circles into your hip as he nestled his head into the crook of your neck once more, the male placing a gentle kiss onto your skin before he continued, "what a lucky male I am, to have had my dreams turned into reality by a being as beautiful as you."

You blushed at his words, amazed at the effect that the male still had on you even after years of being together. Glowing in domestic bliss, you answered, "perhaps I may have to start blessing your dreams myself if this is the treatment I'll receive. A good morning, indeed."

Azriel sleepily chuckled into your shoulder at your reply, his bright eyes finding yours before he warmly stated, "It's always a good morning when I wake to the sight of the sun between my arms."

Notes: so I'm back on the writing grind (hopefully)! I have a few more ideas for this pairing so let me know if you want to see more of them! Thank you to @itsswritten and @writingcroissant for sparking this idea and to @sarawritestories , @ninthcircleofprythian and @daycourtofficial for dealing with my mental breakdowns whilst I wrote this lol.

Divider by @tsunami-of-tears

[heirofnight]

meddling

azriel x reader drabble

word count: 2k - longest drabble ever, i'm so sorry

summary: reader just escaped a horrific past that has left her closed off and in need of isolation. she takes up residence at the house of wind, finding solace in the private library. she's content to keep to herself, but a meddling house and a stray little shadow have other plans.

a/n: i wrote this very quickly, this is more like a stream of consciousness than a well-planned piece of writing lol. also my first time posting so pls be kind 😭 i just felt like writing and then ... this happened. ok enjoy!

azriel was a silent, watchful protector of yours when you initially arrived at the night court. studying you, observing you from afar. you spend most of your time on the third level of the house of wind - shy and in need of isolation. your past was something you were desperate to forget. but, even after your relocation to velaris, your mind was murky. you'd tried sorting through thoughts and emotions that you'd pushed deep down in order to survive, but it all felt akin to wading through waist-deep mud in heavy, laced-up boots. you'd found solace in the private library on the third floor, only doors down from your own chambers. many mornings you awoke, dressed, and shuffled to the warm library that was lit with beams of light from dawn's glow. you'd curl into your favorite chair that overlooked velaris and the glistening sidra far down below, taking in a centering breath. it felt like muscle memory, and the house had learned of your routine. a warm teacup waited for you, right beside your well-loved armchair. your tea was the perfect temperature: the house had learned that too. and every morning, a sly, stray tendril of shadow wove its way through the half-opened library doors. it noted your presence, your general state of well-being, before darting away playfully to relay this information back to its master. yes, rhys had asked azriel to watch over you, but even az knew that this level of attentiveness was overkill - even for him. you'd peek up at the tiny shadow each morning, expecting it now. at first, shortly after arriving at the house, you'd blink up at it - not having the mental energy to delve into its motive. now, a couple of months later, you'd felt more settled. more relaxed. and you almost considered this lone shadow to be a sweet little companion, the only being that dared approach you this frequently. you'd give it a soft grin each morning, and it would swirl happily, lazily, before departing as quickly as it came.

you were always cold. try as you might, you often only felt true, comfortable warmth when bundled beneath the layered blankets that adorned your oversized bed. you knew you shared this hallway with azriel, but rarely ever saw him. you'd hear him arrive late at night every now and then - assuming that he'd just returned from some sort of mission. what you didn't know, however, was that azriel had tried his hardest to silence the thump of his boots against the stone floor every single time he approached the arched door of your room. before, when he only shared this hallway with cassian, he'd make noise on purpose upon arriving home. his own way of letting his brother know that he was home and safe, without having to strike up any sort of conversation. he was drained after most missions, had enough of speaking. but with you occupying the room next to his own now, he wouldn't dare disturb your well-deserved, peaceful slumber. az assumed with the past you'd endured, that you'd trained yourself to sleep light. not a sound, don't fuck this up, he'd think to himself, willing his shadows to silence his footsteps entirely. even with the suppressed steps, he still tightened every single muscle. stepping so slowly, he knew he must look ridiculous. if cassian ever saw this, saw him, he would never live it down. on several occasions, your heavy wooden door had unlatched on its own during the night, leaving just enough of a space between the frame and the door that azriel could see the beige drapes that fluttered lightly against your windows through it. your sweet shadow companion would leave az's silent side to dart through the crack, and return just as quickly to whisper cold, shivering against his master's ear. to deter the draft from chilling your bones any further, azriel would reach a scarred hand out to the doorknob, closing it as silently as possible - making sure to pull until he heard the slight click of the latch.

you'd often opted to eat your meals either in the library or in your room - the house setting out a plate and silverware for you wherever you'd decided to spend your time that evening. you didn't allow yourself to wonder what the members of rhysand's family must have thought of you - a secluded, timid female that went out of her way to avoid the members of a family that had tried so hard to give her a home, a place to heal. you'd always quickly push those thoughts to the back of your mind, wanting to focus on taking care of yourself, and not others for once.

tonight, you'd chosen the library. you'd recently begun a trio of books that you'd found on one of the overflowing shelves, and you were unable to put them down once you'd started. you didn't notice the time, didn't notice the mid-afternoon sun become dusk, making the sidra glow like wildfire. you did, however, notice the grumble of your stomach once it became evening. the light of day was gone - the library now filled with the warm glow of faelights, dim candles sitting in golden candelabras, and a crackling fire within the hearth across from you. you frowned to yourself, noticing now that the house hadn't placed dinner on the mahogany coffee table that sat in front of the fire. you glanced around, the thought of verbally speaking to the house itself feeling a bit silly. you briefly told yourself that asking the house may offend it - that was even more laughable. could you offend a house? while silently mulling over these questions, that sly, sleek little tendril of shadow slowly approached you from the door of the library. it curled and twisted its way to you, stopping at your right hand to weave its way around your wrist. you looked down at it curiously - it had never touched you before, had never gotten this close. you'd deduced at this point that it was one of az's shadows - figured that it was just curious about the new presence in the house. however, it began to twirl, trying its best to get your attention. "yes?," you whispered aloud. speaking of silly interactions, you thought briefly. it weaved through your fingers, as if it were trying to hold your hand, before darting towards the door and stopping in the doorway. it was waiting for you; wanted you to follow. you cocked a curious eyebrow, slowly closing your book to set it on the table before you. gathering your linen dress in your hands, you stood, hesitantly walking towards it. "where are we going, little one?," you whispered towards it. the shadow responded immediately by darting down the hall and to the left, towards the stairs. you quickened your steps to catch up to it, only to find it waiting on the landing of the staircase for you. once you spotted it, it darted away again, down one level. peering over the railing, you noticed it twirling towards the doorway of the dining hall. family dinner was taking place, and judging by the various muffled voices and laughter you were able to hear from the staircase, everyone was present.

you tiptoed quietly down the stairs, which you realized was probably pointless. you were sure at least one of them had already picked up on your approaching scent by now. the patient shadow still waited by the door for you, swirling and twirling happily. inviting you inside to dine with its master and his family. you took a deep breath, watching as the shadow darted back to azriel's shoulder, whispering something against the shell of his ear. immediately, az's head snapped towards the doorway, meeting your own nervous gaze before you had the chance to escape without being noticed. his presence felt grounding - it had since the first time you met him. he didn't speak much, but neither did you. he felt familiar, safe, and you wondered briefly if it was due to the affection you'd grown towards his shadow that checked on you dutifully since your arrival - an act that you assumed was azriel's doing.

your hands were clasped in front of you as you nervously played with your fingers. you surveyed the room, taking everything in: the relaxed family, the spread of delicious food on the table. azriel continued to watch you with a calm, yet indiscernible expression on his face. the corner of his lips turned up just slightly, trying to convey that it was okay, you could come in. rhysand noticed you next - he followed azriel's distracted gaze to the threshold of the door, finding your small frame standing there. "well, look who it is," rhys drawled politely, loud enough to quiet the rest of the family sitting around the table. everyone's gaze found you at once, and you swallowed thickly. your eyes darted back to azriel's in a silent plead, his hazel eyes feeling like a lifeline. az nodded once, gaze soft and kind. "why don't you sit down and join us? we were hoping you would," rhys stated sincerely, gesturing a sweeping hand out over the spread of food. “help yourself, y/n. if you don’t see something you’d like, the house will prepare a more suitable meal," he smiled warmly. as if on cue, a goblet of wine, plates, and silverware appeared in front of an empty chair - courtesy of said house itself. you smiled softly, at the high lord, at the house's display of affection towards you. "thank you," you spoke warmly, perhaps the first time most of them had ever heard you speak at all.

the empty seat that was now prepared for you was right next to azriel, and you slowly made your way towards it. you felt the prying gaze of everyone at the massive dinner table, and silence still encompassed the room. your eyes flitted around nervously, and azriel tracked the movement immediately. he cleared his throat once, a silent, stoic glare tossed to his family. they got the hint, and all fell back into comfortable conversation amongst each other - attention no longer all on you. you took your place next to him, staring down at your empty plate. your hands fell into your lap, your fingers fiddling together once more. azriel watched you from his peripheral, not wanting you to feel balked at.

he leaned over finally, speaking so only you could hear, "would you like to try the potatoes?", his tone was warm and soft - comforting. you darted your gaze over to him, only meeting his eyes for a moment. he was much more intimidating up close, and you were far too shy.

"they're my personal favorite," he continued on, the corners of his mouth curled upward. you let out a small breath of a laugh, playing with a stray thread on your gown. "yes, please," you whispered to him, eyes raking over the large elaborate plates and dishes set in the middle of the table, searching for the potatoes he spoke of. before you could reach towards the gold serving spoon that sat within the buttery dish, his hand had already grasped it, bringing a heaping serving right over to your plate.

"i've got it," he spoke softly, dishing your meal. you nodded once, cheeks heating at the action. it continued this way, azriel asking if you'd like to try each entrée and side, one by one. he'd offer his own personal opinions on each one, and you'd both laughed at the way he'd described the asparagus - "absolutely abysmal," he'd report, nose scrunching dramatically.

after your plate was adequately filled, az went back to his own food. you began to poke at yours. "thank you," you whispered over to him after a moment. he glanced over at you and replied with a friendly smile, and over his shoulder appeared a small tendril of a shadow - your meddling little companion that had also apparently conspired to bring you closer to its master. it twirled your way happily, looping through your fingers and up your arm. you laughed softly, meeting azriel's sparkling hazel eyes. he smiled fondly at his shadow, "i'm sorry, sometimes it feels like they have a mind of their own," he paused for a moment, watching the smoky tendril weave through your hair. "they like you," he whispered, meeting your eyes with a grin.

"don't apologize," you replied softly. "i like them too. i think they knew i needed company," you said pointedly, not dropping his gaze for the first time all evening. he nodded in understanding, plopping another bread roll onto your plate.

"well, welcome to the family, y/n," his words were soft, but the weight you felt in your chest was overwhelming. warmth, true warmth, spread through your limbs, snuffing out the chill that had left you constantly shivering.

[florencemtrash]

In a year's time - Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Angst, jealous Azriel, fluff

Masterlist of Masterlists

"But for all he knew you could have fallen for some dashing golden warrior, or found that you preferred your shiny, new friends over him - that you’d found a quieter city full of fae that stole your heart as well as your attention away from him."

Mor narrowed her eyes at the Shadowsinger, watching as he adjusted the collar of his newly tailored suit jacket and then combined his hair back with scarred fingers. 

Azriel had always been annoyingly beautiful - even during their middling years when their voices cracked and they hadn’t yet grown into their long, slender limbs - and so he’d never needed to take special care of his appearance. His hair dried in perfect waves, his skin was smooth and clean despite the scars, and his training had carved out a silhouette as strong and capable as it was alluring. So why did he keep smoothing down his waistcoat like he was nervous?

Mor darted out a tongue, cleaning up the drop of wine that threatened to fall from her ruby red lips, “Azriel? What in the Mother’s name are you doing?” 

His eyes barely flicked over to where she lay sprawled out on his bed. She had no intention of attending this ball sober, and if the near empty bottle of wine balanced precariously against her knee was any indication, she would exceed her goal before they even stepped outside his bedroom. 

He picked up the tie - midnight blue and hand-embroidered with silver thread - and flung it around his neck.

“Getting ready for the ball.” He answered blandly.

She rolled her eyes, “Obviously,” then continued to stare at him expectantly as he finished knotting the tie, folded his pocket square, and then slid his weapons into place as a last measure, cobalt blue siphons flashing from the backs of his hands. 

It clicked all at once as he strolled for the door, forcing Mor to abandon the glass and drink straight from the bottle. 

“Oh my gods.” She said, mouth agape. Her shoes clicked along the marble floors of the River House like the beating of drums. 

Azriel groaned internally. Even tipsy and wearing seven-inch heels, Mor kept up with his long strides easily, prodding his side accusingly with her wine bottle. It magically refilled itself with every jab.

“You’re trying to impress Y/n!” 

Suddenly it was as obvious as the sun rising in the east. He’d chosen the tie you complimented him on last Starfall, despite his hatred of its fanciful nature. He was wearing the silver moonstone cufflinks you’d bought him for his birthday. He’d even combed his hair because he knew you’d notice and muss it up for him.

“Mor-” He warned, color beginning to dust his cheeks. His shadows darted around the hallway, climbing the velvet curtains and peering around the corners to watch for any potential eavesdropping. 

“I knew it! I knew it!” She said, swatting him with a frustrated hand. Her red silk dress clung to her waist and thighs before fluttering out in a halo around her knees as she chased after him, aiming to slap him across the head. 

Azriel stopped in his tracks and grabbed at her wrists, desperately hoping no one else in the house had left their rooms yet. If he was really lucky, the two mated couples would be making enough noise of their own to drown out Mor’s excitement.

“Mor, stop it. And be quiet.”

“You loooove her.” She crowed, dragging out the sound. Suddenly she straightened up, hands on her hips and frowning, “Is that why you’ve been so irritable lately? Because you miss her?” 

Azriel said nothing, gave away nothing, even though Mor had hit the nail on the head in her drunken stupor. 

It had been a great honor when Thesan offered to take you under his wing and train you personally. More than a favor to Rhysand, he’d seen your healing talent and wanted your expertise to be well represented in the Dawn Court. So a year ago you’d packed up your things and said your goodbyes.

“It’s only temporary.” You’d promised him, “I’ll be back before you know it. In a year’s time.”

But a lot could change in a year. You’d sent plenty of letters back and forth to each other, and Azriel would be loath to admit that he slept with them clutched against his chest every night so whispers of your scent would chase the nightmares away. 

But for all he knew you could have fallen for some dashing golden warrior, or found that you preferred your shiny, new friends over him - that you’d found a quieter city full of fae that stole your heart as well as your attention away from him.

He was happy for you and had been the one to encourage you to move to Dawn. But that didn’t mean he didn’t miss you terribly. You’d been missing from his side like a torn limb, and Azriel had been walking through life at a crooked angle ever since. 

“I don’t-” He sighed, he couldn’t lie and say he didn’t love you. He just couldn’t, “It’s none of your business, Mor.” He amended. 

He released her wrists breezed past her, but she sprinted ahead of him, splaying her limbs out on the staircase to block his path.

“You need to tell her you love her. Tonight.” She commanded. Her words slurred out gently, the faerie wine finally kicking in when she’d wanted it to. “I mean it, Az.” 

He shook his head, “I can’t tell her tonight.” 

“Why not?” 

“I haven’t seen her in a year! I can’t drop that kind of truth on her.” 

“Yes you can!” She fought back. There was some muddled piece of information hanging at the edges of her mind, something important she needed to tell Az. But the wine held it back. Fuck. She cursed inwardly.

“No. I. Can’t.”

“Yes. You. Can.” She was practically seething, pearly brown eyes unfocused but unrelenting. She knows something I don’t, Azriel realized in a burst of shock. 

“What is it, Mor? What did she tell you?”

She blinked, dropping her arms from the burnt umber railings. His heart quickened. Had his worst fears come true? Had you found someone else in Dawn worth staying for?

“I-” Damn it. She shouldn’t have finished the second bottle. She cradled it protectively against her chest, feeling the glass cool her hot skin, “I don’t fucking remember.” 

“What do you mean you don’t remember?”

“I mean, I’m drunk, Az. And drunk Mor doesn’t remember shit.”

His heart quickened further, a crushing sense of guilt and loss wrapping around his chest like a corset and tightening. Mor at least was saved from further useless interrogation when Rhysand and Feyre bounded out from down the hallway, tastefully disheveled and looking sinful in Night Court black. 

Rhysand cleared his throat, straightening his dinner jacket and absent-mindedly straightening Feyre’s crown for her, “Everyone ready to leave?” His eyes glazed over, calling out to the last missing members of their party. 

Cassian and Nesta spilled out of their room next, the braids of her coronet slipping out and spilling over her heaving chest. Azriel tipped his head to the ceiling and cursed silently. Mother have mercy…

Nesta pulled up on the strap of her lace dress, only to find that it had been torn to ribbons. 

Cassian was in no better shape - the collar of his white shirt was smeared with lipstick, although he didn’t have the same sense as Nesta to look annoyed at the interruption to their… activities. A toothy grin bloomed on his face, shoulder-length hair tangled like someone had been yanking it for hours.

“Can’t make it tonight, Rhys.” He said. He glanced down at Nes, “I’m not feeling well.” 

“Me neither.” Nesta said hastily, slipping back behind the door and hauling Cassian inside with her like he weighed as light as a feather. Four months after their mating ceremony and they were as insatiable as ever. 

“You’re full of shit, Cass!” Rhys called out just before the door slammed shut. A muffled Fuck you! Came from within, followed by a, Tell Y/n we’ll see her at home! From Nesta. 

They winnowed to the outskirts of Daybreak Hill, landing in a field of cushiony moss dotted with pink and violet heather that stirred in the breeze like the dusk-painted clouds above. 

Feyre sighed deeply, breathing in the scent of lavender and rosewater. She loved Velaris and no one could hold a candle to the beauty of the Night Court… except perhaps Dawn. 

It was like someone had laid a mirror flat on the earth. Periwinkle skies kissed rolling sage green hills dotted with red-roofed villages and sank into lakes of pearl and lavender until it was impossible to tell where the sky started or ended. 

The Dawn Court Palace’s twisting spires of honey marble glowed brighter than the setting sun. So brightly in fact that Mor had to help shield Azriel’s eyes with her soft hands as he carried them up through low-hanging satin clouds. Dots of scarlet and midnight black soaring through cotton skies. 

His hands turned clammy and the tightness in his chest felt like a giant’s fist squeezing his heart, but he convinced himself it was the thin air that was responsible, and not the raging longing in his heart for you. Still, he had to appreciate the beauty of the red-roofed villages below, tinkering hands hard at work inside chestnut workshops filled with glistening bronze and copper. 

They dove through the columns into the open-air hall, any dampness from the mist magicked away by Thesan’s careful hands as he stepped down from the golden dias to greet his honored guests. His rich, copper-colored skin radiated light, melting with the darkness that rippled off Rhysand and Feyre’s shoulders as they shook hands and exchanged the usual pleasantries. 

Mor stretched her silky arms above her hands, catching the eyes of a cherub-faced female reaching to grab a flute from the champagne tower. Normally, Mor would have been flattered, but with Emerie at home and a wine-drunk haze over her mind, she was feeling more anxious than anything else. What the fuck was it that she was trying to remember?

Faelights bloomed above him, tinkered in the shapes of roses that gently pulsed, fluttering petals propelling them across the room in a sway of light. 

But Azriel was barely paying attention. His eyes skimmed the crowd, searching for a silhouette he knew as intimately as the ridges of his hands. 

There. 

You stood across the room, half-hidden in the stone archway beside Thesan’s lover, Herades. You bowed your head towards him in silent conversation, nursing a glass of champagne in your hand to try and cool your nerves. Azriel would be arriving soon, if he wasn’t already here, cradling the walls in search of dark corners like he was bound to do. You’d been imagining all the ways you’d greet him - with a joke, with a meaningful embrace, with a kiss. You shook her head, pushing the last thought out of your mind and focusing on Herades’s story again. 

Your laugh was a flare of light blooming at the end of a match. Azriel stared utterly captivated. Time moved slower than syrup when you finally met his eyes and smiled with an affection more precious than gold. 

“Az!” You squeezed Herades’s arm, politely excusing yourself, and then you were off. You sprang across the room in a billow of cream fabric, like milk poured into coffee. The tips of your pleated skirts were touched with blue like you’d waded out into the night sky. The color matched the ribbon in your hair, and the siphons of a certain lovestruck Shadowsinger. 

“Y/n,” He breathed out. You flowed into his arms and he gathered you into them like a bouquet of wildflowers, breathing in your familiar scent of rosemary and peppermint. Gods I missed you. He whispered in his mind, hoping that somehow you’d hear it at the end of that glowing thread.

But the hug was short-lived. Too short-lived. 

“Mor!” You sang in that melodic voice he loved so much, grasping for her next, then Rhys, then Feyre. 

Thesan looked on humbly, sighing faintly when Herades caught up to you and immediately slid to Thesan’s side. 

“Oh I’ve missed you all so much.” You said, rocking back and forth. 

“We missed you,” Feyre said into your hair. She was the one to pull away, smoothing out ribbon and giving you a once-over look. 

Your time had been well-spent at the Dawn Court. Extra color bronzed your cheeks and tinted your lips a pale berry shade. You stood up straighter, smiled a little wider, and walked with an extra height to your step. You’d always been beautiful and graceful, but it was like you were aware of it now - like you’d grown the last few inches into your body. 

“You look lovely, Y/n.” Feyre said and Mor agreed enthusiastically, commenting on your dress and your hair and your… well everything.

“Thank you,” You said, blushing, “Thesan’s treated me very well.” 

That was an understatement. He’d set you up in his personal household, paid you handsomely (even more than Rhysand paid you if that were possible), and had had the royal seamstress sew ten dresses for you to pick from for tonight’s ball alone. It was your party after all in commemoration of the advancements you’d made in child birthing practices. You’d handled twelve pregnancies alone in the past year across Dawn and Winter, all of the children delivered safely and as plump and rosy as summer cherries. 

“And you’ve repaid it to my court ten-fold.” Thesan said and held up his drink. Even Herades smiled, tawny feathers flaring out with pride. You were responsible for the safety of his sister-in-law and the birth of his nephew - hawk wings and all. 

It was a flurry of activity following the Night Court’s fashionably late arrival. You dragged Azriel and Mor up to the dais after Rhys and Feyre. Traditionally the table was only meant for High Lords and their partners, but Thesan was a unique and progressive leader in more ways than one. 

Herades and Thesan sat in the middle with Feyre and Rhysand, leaving you, Azriel, and Mor at one end and Thesan’s sister and her husband at the other. 

Azriel was eternally grateful when Mor lunged for the center-most seat, forcing you to sit between her and Azriel. You bumped knees with him, leaning close as you whispered about the Court gossip you’d managed to overhear from the cooks or discussing the progress you’d made in the Winter Court. 

Course after course appeared in front of him and disappeared, hardly touched. He wasn’t hungry for anything other than you, focusing on the crease within your brows as you tried to remember all the news you couldn’t write to him about or the twist of your perfect, flushed lips as you displayed your displeasure and your joy. 

If he believed himself to be worthy of your affection he would have whisked you away hours ago, disappearing into whichever room in the palace was yours and pressing you against the wall, lip-locked until the need for air forced him to stop. 

“How are Kallias and Viviane doing?” Mor asked, perking up at the mention of the Winter Court.

You smiled, your cheeks flushing with color, “I’m not supposed to say, Mor, so you must promise not to tell anyone. Anyone.” Mor locked her mouth and threw away the key. Your lips brushed against the sharp curve of her ear, “She’s pregnant.” 

Mor clapped a hand over her mouth, nearly upsetting the glass of wine balanced precariously on the edge of the table. One of Azriel’s shadows darted out, pushing it safely out of the way of her swaying arms.

“Stop.” She hissed in disbelief. Her golden hair seemed to brighten with her cheeks. 

You nodded, “With twins.” 

Tears flooded her eyes, “That wench didn’t tell me.” 

“She’s been busy, if you can imagine.” 

“Still!” Mor muttered under her breath, eating her food slowly and sipping on her wine quickly. She gave up on being sober the more males approached her from the base of the dais, bowing deeply with proud, puffed up chests and asking for a dance. Word had gone around about her… preferences, and far from dissuading suitors, it seemed to have been offered up as a challenge as to who could change her mind. Thank the gods Emerie had declined the invitation to join them. She would have castrated half these males in an instant, if Mor didn’t beat her to it. 

Thesan, gratefully, put an end to it once he caught onto the pattern. One sharp look from him sent them scampering back, coattails between their legs. 

There was one final male though who ignored the previous warnings, humbly bleeding out of the crowd as remnants of rose cake disappeared from the tables and the quartet swelled to include twelve musicians plus a singer. Full, cream-colored wings hovered above the ground, tawny-tipped and lush. Even Mor had to admit, with his olive skin, amber eyes, and warm honey curls he was stunning. Like liquid gold poured out of the setting sun. 

He bowed deeply, a subtle smile on his face. Azriel went rigid, seeing you lean forward out of the corner of his eye with a blush coating your cheeks. 

Mor closed her eyes and groaned. Fuuuuuuuck. That’s what she’d forgotten about. Or rather whom she’d forgotten about. 

Naemon - the golden boy who’d begun to court you seven months back. You’d dropped his name only a handful of times in your letters to Mor. Not enough times to convince Mor you were actually taken with him, but enough times for her to remember the bastard’s name. 

“Y/n,” His voice was silky smooth and kind, “May I have the first dance with you?” He asked politely. 

Your breath caught in your throat and you risked a glance over at Azriel. He looked… bored and unaffected. He reached for his glass, looking more interested in the faerie wine than the male who’d just asked for your hand. It was stupid of you to think he would care for you  as anything more than a friend, and even more foolish of you to think he might be jealous. 

You pushed away from the table and floated down the dais, taking the strong and sturdy hand Naemon offered you. The first song was too spirited and quick to reveal any true feelings. It was a blur of silks and lean arms as you wove through the sea of dancers and were gently tossed from partner to partner. But the second song was slower, more intimate. Naemon flashed a look of gratitude to the singer, who winked in return, before scooping one arm around your waist, hand flat on the small of your back. You rested one hand on his shoulder, feeling the rolling of muscle beneath his crisp linen tunic, and held his free hand. 

Naemon was a kind and gentle male. After the death of his parents, he’d all but raised his younger sister Namia on his own, relying on the money he earned in the Peregryn legion to make ends meet. It was his care for his sister that had first drawn him to you - any misgivings he’d had melting away as you grew close to Namia from among the other healers. You’d supported her throughout her pregnancy, become her friend, and served as a balm to his anxieties whenever his duties took him away for long stretches of time. 

You looked down bashfully, apologizing for missing one of the dance steps and crushing his toe, “I’m better at the quicksteps.” You explained. 

Naemon smiled brilliantly, and you couldn’t stop the faint flutter in your chest, “I can’t blame you. The slow ones can get boring. Leaves too much time for overthinking.” 

“Exactly.” Too much time for overthinking about a certain Shadowsinger.

 You’d never given Naemon any false pretenses about your feelings, always reminding him and Namia that your position in Dawn was temporary. But still… It felt nice to be courted by someone as open as him. With Naemon you never had to guess whether he wanted you or not - you knew he did. The flowers he often left in the healer’s temple, or the offers to take you out to dinner or to dances like this one proved it. 

A curl of guilt coiled in your stomach. Maybe now was a good time to bow out and return to your seat. Surely the slow waltz would be finishing soon. The-

“You’re overthinking again.” Naemon said, his full lips brushing against the sharp curve of your ear and heating the gold cuffs you wore. “I don’t want you to worry about anything, Y/n. If you’re enjoying yourself - if you like dancing with me - keep doing it.”

“Naemon-” You began apologetically.

He shook his head, “Don’t worry about me, Y/n.” He said honestly, “I just want to dance with you tonight. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

You stared into his eyes, finding nothing but truth in them. A portion of your nerves melted away and you found that when the cello began to hum out a simple tune, you were still holding onto him and letting him move you through the next movements. 

Azriel was barely holding on by a thread. Wine glass now empty and clenched dangerously between shadow covered hands. Rhys shot him a look, and when his attempts to breach his brother’s mental shields were met with resistance, he turned to Mor. 

What’s wrong with him? His eyes flashed the question.

He’s being an ass who can’t come to terms with his emotions. Mor grumbled back, sinking into her seat with a fling of yellow-gold waves. 

Rhys’s eyes went from confused to wide open as he shot a look to you across the dance floor. Fuck.

Feyre followed her mate’s attention with a look of concern, and then traced Azriel’s steely gaze to the dance floor where you were smiling reservedly up at Naemon. You two made a handsome couple, weaving a clear path through the other dancers as they parted for his magnificent feathered wings. 

Azriel stiffened. He’d never been particularly proud of his Illyrian heritage, but his wings… his wings were one of the few true beauties he possessed. But in comparison to the golden-boy warrior that smiled at you and brushed back a loose strand of hair with his soft hands, Azriel found himself lacking… once again. 

Naemon was a gentle breeze where Azriel was blistering wind. He was a wide open door, every look he gave you filled with clear affection. Azriel was a dozen locked boxes, each one nestled within the other with all the keys rusted and thrown away. Naemon looked reserved and in control. Azriel felt completely out of it, and it took every inch of willpower to keep the mating bond from driving him mad enough to launch across the dancefloor and bruise Naemon’s high, perfect cheekbones.

But then the dance ended and Naemon parted from you long enough to reach behind his back and pluck a feather from his wing. A few shocked gasps scattered throughout the room. Even Thesan and Herades looked on with raised eyebrows, leaning close enough to touch. 

The feather was a beauty - the length of Naemon’s forearm and such a pure white it glimmered like moonlight. You froze, staring down at the treasure he offered you with bated breath. 

Peregryns were fiercely protective of their wings and rightfully so. To be allowed near them alone was a great honor. To touch them was an intimate act reserved for family members and lovers. To be offered a feather?! In some circles it was akin to being gifted a thousand roses. In other circles it was tantamount to a marriage proposal.

Both offers were completely overwhelming to you.

“Naemon-” You began carefully, backing away, “I-I can’t.” 

He smiled softly, eyes flashing briefly up to the dias where the Shadowsinger had gotten up to his feet, something like desperation and longing buried deep beneath the layers of his hazel eyes. 

“Don’t worry about me, Y/n.” Naemon said resignedly, “But please, take this,” He begged, spreading open your fingers before curling them again around the feather, “For everything you’ve done for my family.” 

And because I love you, even if you don’t love me back - were the words he didn’t say aloud.

“Naemon-” A shadow fell over your feet, curling around your ankles and skirts and tugging you away like a child seeking attention.

Naemon, for all his relative youth and gentle disposition, didn’t seem surprised or affected by the Shadowsinger’s presence. Azriel hovered close behind you, eyes blown open and desperate. 

Please don’t. He silently begged. Please don’t say yes to him.

He almost melted with relief when Naemon only dipped his head in acknowledgement and kissed the palm of your hands. Even that innocent touch made Azriel’s stomach turn. 

You turned when Naemon finally disappeared into the crowd. “Azriel, I-”

You had half a mind to hide the feather behind your back, but you couldn’t do such a cruel thing to Naemon. And it wasn’t like Azriel hadn’t watched the whole thing unfold in front of him. You clasped the feather in your hands, careful not to ruffle the delicate barbs.

Azriel was no longer bored and unaffected. In fact he seemed unnaturally flustered and nervous. 

He swallowed thickly, mindful of the curious stares you were attracting. Not only had you just been proposed to, but now you were being approached by a male from your past after an ambiguous response - you’d accepted the feather, but Naemon had left alone. The court gossips would have a field day, if they weren’t already.

“Y/n,” He said, his voice thin and quiet. A mere whisper among the riff raff that was steadily building up again in a crescendo, “Can we please talk?” His wings fluttered nervously, and he shot a dangerous look at a male who came too close to you, “In private? Please?”

Your heart fluttered in your chest. You’d barely recovered from Naemon’s dramatic display and you were scared about what Azriel might offer next. 

Still you mumbled, “Oh-um… yes.” 

The words were barely out of your mouth before Azriel’s hand was on your wrist, delicately leading you through the crowd towards the archway and into the hallway beyond. Fae mingled about in their finery, happy to escape the music and the sweep of dancers. 

Azriel scowled. This was hardly any more private. 

“My quarters are further down this hall,” You offered, pointing down a sky bridge that connected the public wings of the palace to the private ones. Azriel exhaled in relief, nodding and following you as you cut through unfamiliar halls draped in rich reds, golds, and turquoises. 

You stopped at a door of solid oak, hand painted to look like it had been lifted from the pages of a storybook. Resplendent gold filigree traced the footsteps of maidens running along hills dense with colorful flora. Water trickled down from the mountain tops, so realistic that Azriel was amazed to find the handwoven carpets in your room were dry. 

You peered down the hall before closing the door with a gentle whisper. Only the songbirds nesting in the high crevices bore witness to your activities. 

You hesitated and then tucked the feather into one of the empty jewelry boxes on the vanity. Out of sight, but not out of mind. 

Azriel stood motionless by the door, watching as you closed the box and slid it back against the mirror.

“Did you say yes?” He whispered, hating the way his voice caught in his throat, “Do you love him?”

You turned around quickly, the length of ribbon in your hair rippling through the air to land on your collarbone. Azriel was upon you in an instant close enough for you to feel his shallow breathing, but all he did was trace the blue ribbon with his fingers and then push it back over your shoulder.

“I don’t-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You stuttered and your face burned with feeling. Azriel had asked you for privacy so he could ask you about Naemon? 

Azriel clenched his fists once. Twice. “The male you were dancing with. The feather-”

You blushed deeply, turning your face away to hide your embarrassment. You had hoped he didn’t know about that Peregryn custom.

He gently gripped your chin with his thumb and forefinger, pulling your gaze back to him. You blinked in surprise. For once Azriel looked… scared.

“Did you say yes to him? Please. Tell me.” 

If you had said yes he might just shrivel up into nothing on the spot. Why had he waited so long to tell you his feelings? Why had he waited so long to tell you about the bond? But if he did it now it would just be terrible timing all around. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You shook your head and Azriel’s wings dropped in relief, eyes closing as he murmured a quiet thanks to the Mother beneath his breath.

“He-it wasn’t even a real proposal. He gave it to me as thanks for helping his sister. That’s all.” 

He gave you a pointed look like he knew you were lying. There was no questioning Naemon’s feelings for you. No questioning at all.

“You never answered my second question.” 

You crumpled under his gaze. Gods, he looked beautiful tonight. Torturously so. It wasn’t fair. Naemon had loved you openly, never given you cause to doubt his intentions nor made you feel guilty for not returning his feelings. And yet here you were, still pining after the male who’d never seen you as more than a friend. A male whose intentions were never clear. A male who always made you question how well you knew him, and whether those small touches and reserved smiles and affectionate letters were just a polite kindness or something more. 

“No.” It felt wrong of you to admit it so callously, even if it was the truth, “No I don’t love him.”

Azriel looked ready to kiss the ground and something about that set a fire within you. Leave it to Azriel to ignore any romantic advances from you, to chase after other females left and right for literal centuries, and then get upset the moment another male found you appealing. 

You huffed, pushing him away harshly and crossing your arms over your chest, “It’s none of your business anyhow. I’m allowed to have my lovers and my almost lovers. And if you truly thought Naemon was proposing to me, I don’t know why you’d want to fucking interrupt it!”

Azriel flinched at the coldness in your voice, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it, Az?” You exclaimed, clearly irritated now, “Gods, you never just say what you mean.”

Azriel tried again, grasping at straws. “I would never judge you for your choices, even if you said yes to him or-I just-fuck.” 

On any other day you’d be laughing. Azriel was a male of few words, but the words he did say were always perfect and calculated. Nothing about this was calculated or thought out.

“I… you’re my best friend, Y/n. And I haven’t seen you in over a year. I just…” He cringed. Hard. Cauldron boil him. He was doing this terribly, “I was scared.” He finally admitted, and rather pathetically.

“Scared?” You dropped your arms. That wasn’t the answer you’d been expecting, “Scared of what? You’re hardly ever afraid of anything.”

He shrank away, hands clasped tightly behind his back, “That you’d leave me-us. That you’d find a reason to stay here instead of returning to Velaris. And when I saw you dancing with him tonight - the way he was looking at you and the way you were looking at him - I thought… I thought Naemon would be that reason.” 

Now you were confused and even more irate than before.

You stalked up to him, jabbing his chest with an accusatory finger, “You were the one who encouraged me to do this. You were the one constantly writing to me about the importance of making friends and “putting myself out there.” You were the one who practically shoved me out the door when I left-”

“Because I thought you wanted this!” 

“I did! I-I do!” 

“Then what was I supposed to do, Y/n?!” He cried out. His shadows, which had been held back so tightly on a leash throughout the night, exploded outward, coating the bright colors of your bedspread and the rugs and the curtains in inky black. They swirled there, as agitated and timid as their master. 

“What was I supposed to do?” He whispered again. He sounded tired. Defeated. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t hold you back from what you wanted. From the happiness and opportunities you deserve.”

“You could’ve at least said something! You could’ve at least told me that you were upset with me leaving. That you were going to miss me and that you-you-” 

That you love me and that you wanted me to stay. You shoved the thought out of your mind, slamming the door and turning the lock. Useless, lovestruck pipedreams would do you no good now. 

“Instead you just pushed me out the door and it’s been nothing but empty letters from you since.” 

“They weren’t empty.” Azriel said weakly. He’d never been a man of words or poetry, but in that moment he desperately wished he was. “And I did miss you. Y/n, I missed you so much some days it felt like I couldn’t breathe.” 

You deflated, your anger slowly ebbing away like the ocean during low tide. Sometimes you forgot that beneath all those hard-won layers of shadow and muscle, Azriel was still that little boy that had been abandoned in a cellar and taught to believe he was worthless. A waste of time and a waste of space. Nothing more than an inconvenient bastard. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? I thought you were all doing fine. That I’d come back and it would be like nothing had ever changed. I would’ve-I would’ve made time to visit. Or-or come back sooner.”

Azriel chuckled without humour. He had not been “doing fine” without you. He hadn’t been “doing fine” since the moment you’d stepped across the doorway and winnowed out of Velaris.

“You make it sound like I was going away forever.” You added softly.

“It felt like it.” Azriel admitted quietly, “I always worried there was a chance you’d decide you liked things better in Dawn. That you liked the people better. So when I saw you with Naemon I just…” His voice trailed off and he slowly backed up to your bed, sinking down into the pillowy comforter. Even the beds seemed softer and kinder here. Softer and kinder than him.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. 

He felt the bed dip beside him, your knee pressing against his in a burst of warmth. The blue tipped pleats of your dress slowly waved with his shadows as they once again curled around your feet, inching up your dress and closer and closer to your hands. Now that he was looking down he noticed the shoes you were wearing - cobalt blue with matching velvet ribbons tied up your calf. Same as your dress. Same as the ribbon in your hair.

“I wanted to believe you wore those colors for me tonight.” He said quietly, aching for your touch. Your hands were so close to his he could almost imagine that-

You covered his hands with your own, smoothing the rough skin with gentle caresses, “I did.”

It had seemed like such a stupidly hopeful choice at the time - some not-so-subtle declaration of love for all the months you’d spent apart - but when the seamstress had laid out all the dresses, you’d taken one look at the cobalt blue accents and the shoes and snatched them up in a heartbeat. 

Azriel’s eyes were wider, more open, than the moon, shimmering with disbelief and hope, “You did?” He whispered.

“I did. They reminded me of you.” You stopped looking him in the eyes. It felt like too much. Too much emotion. Too much feeling. “I missed you too, you know.” 

Azriel stayed quiet for a long while, sorting out the myriad of feelings roiling in his chest and trying to latch onto a single coherent thought. Finally he murmured, “I guess we could both work on saying things outright.” 

You laughed softly, shaking your head and wiping at the corners of your eyes, “Yes. I guess we could.” 

“We could start now.” Azriel offered hesitantly. His heart hammered away in his chest like a blacksmith at his anvil until he was sure his sternum would crack. 

You raised your eyebrows. Curious.

“The next five minutes. We say everything honestly. No holding back.” 

“I don’t know, Az. I-”

“Please.” He begged, holding onto your hands a little tighter. His shadows had traveled all the way up to your waist now, ghosting over flesh that he didn’t dare touch. He didn’t want to lose you. He’d thought he could handle being apart from you physically - that it would be no different from the decades he’d spent quietly loving you from right by your side - but he’d been horribly wrong. And he didn’t want to risk another, better male than Naemon coming to whisk you away before he had the chance to do things properly. To do things honestly.

His hands were shaking now, gripping your hands like you were the anchor to his ship trapped in raging waters, “I’ll start.” 

“Ok.” You whispered, leaning a little closer.

Azriel swallowed and tried to stop the trembling in his hands and in his voice. In this he managed quite well, falling into a rigid, flat silence.

“I love you. I’ve loved you for years now, actually.” He dared to look at you. Your lips were parted in shock and he wished he could taste them, “Is that…is that ok?” 

“Is that ok?” You repeated dumbly. “Is that ok?” You repeated a little louder, “Are you serious, Azriel?”

“Y-Yes?” He was trembling again, face open and terrified. He was offering you up his heart on a platter and praying to the Mother you wouldn’t crush it beneath those velvet blue shoes. Even if you did, he would find some solace in knowing you were the one to destroy him. He loved you so dearly that it was only within your right to do so. 

Your lips broke in a stuttered smile, opening and closing like you didn’t quite know what to do. “I never thought I’d hear you say that. I’d hoped you might feel that way but I… I was never sure. I…” You cradled his face in your hands, tracing the curve of his jaw and his cheekbones with your fingertips, “I love you too, Azriel. I love you so much.” Your voice cracked, silver gathering in your eyes no matter how fiercely you tried to blink them away, “Gods, Az, you don’t even know.” 

He gripped you close enough enough to bruise, arms locked around your waist and hands laid flat on your back. It was a sweet pain that grew even sweeter when you kissed him, searching for breath like you’d find it in his lungs. Azriel was just as desperate, ravenous even as he tugged at your clothes and flipped you flat on the bed. He wanted your lips again. You tasted like strawberries and cream, and he was starving. 

He climbed on top, slotting himself between your legs as you yanked him close.

“Your hair,” You muttered, “It’s too neat.” The next minute was all teeth from Azriel as you mussed up his hair and he grinned wildly against your lips.

“Five-” He groaned, sinking further into you when you wrapped your legs around his waist, “Five minutes aren’t-” He propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at your flushed face as you gasped for breath and finally untangled your hands from his hair, “Five minutes aren’t up yet.” 

“You’ve been keeping track?” You dropped your head back on the bed with a disgruntled hmph. Had he been counting the whole time he’d been kissing you?

He kissed your chest, then the sensitive skin of your neck. But there wasn’t any expectation in the brush of his lips, just quiet, honest love. 

You raised your head, finding that Azriel once again looked scared. “There’s something else I need to tell you.” He said seriously. “Before… before anything else.” 

You drew yourself onto your elbows, craning your neck for one more kiss, “You can tell me, Az. You can tell me anything.” 

The bond sang in his chest like a songbird in a cage. It wanted to be released. To be acknowledged in words if it couldn’t be acknowledged through feeling at this moment. Because Azriel knew you didn’t feel it yet. You didn’t feel the burning he felt in his chest that made it hard to breathe when you weren’t around. 

What if she doesn’t want this? What if she doesn’t want me? Azriel swallowed thickly, tears springing into his eyes. He wanted so desperately to be worthy of you - to be the kind and gentle lover and mate that you deserved. He’d been born crooked even before he’d been tossed into that cellar, before his half-brothers had set his hands on fire. But… but he was yours completely. He’d offer whatever meager, broken shards of himself that he could in hopes it might be enough. 

“Az,” You whispered his name lovingly and slid a wayward curl behind his ear so gently he thought he might break apart into a million pieces, “Tell me. Please. Tell me.” 

“You’re my mate.” He confessed. 

The words hung in the air, unaccepted, unrejected, and you went preternaturally still. 

He had no feathers to pluck out and present to you. But he had his shadows. You tipped your head curiously to the side when Azriel knelt on the ground, holding your hand in his. 

“I don’t have any pure white feathers. I don’t even have a ring on me right now-”

“Az, you don’t need to-” You stilled when a shadow flickered down Azriel’s wrist onto yours. It was a small, delicate thing. Willful too. You could tell by the way it traveled confidently down your ring finger, curling there tastefully like a castle spire reaching towards the sky.

It hovered over your skin like mist hanging over wetlands. A proposal in and of itself.

“Yes.” You said before Azriel could open his mouth again. He hesitated, afraid to believe he’d heard you correctly, “Yes.” 

“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” He teased weakly. 

But this time you knew exactly what he meant, even if he didn’t say it out loud. 

The bond burst to life in your chest as the shadow sank into your skin, settling there like a tattoo. Like a promise. 

Azriel stumbled, actually stumbled, clenching at his chest at the wildness growing within him. He chased after you, hurtling down the bond and finding you wide open on the other side. You were anxious and surprised and so so so happy. So happy you felt like you might just die from it, and Azriel felt it all. 

Hello, Y/n. He called out.

Hello, Azriel. You responded. My mate. 

Azriel groaned, slamming his lips and his body against yours. You held steady as you always did, letting him press against you as if you could keep him there forever.

I am yours and you are mine. You gripped his hair again, feeling the silky strands caress your skin. With one smooth motion he pulled out the ribbon and started to undo the buttons of your dress.

Promise?

You grinned. Promise.

___________

Author's note:

Nothing like a declaration of love after a year spent apart to make my heart swoon.

But honestly I would have fallen in love with Naemon... sorry Az...