#hybern x reader

[futurehunt]

Should I keep working on my Knight!Azris one shot (idea submitted by lovely follower 🤭) or should I get started on the King of Hybern x reader smutty one-shot I just got inspired to create?

[nebarious]

Hybern: *points at y/n* We have your lover

Rhys: *looks at y/n* You have a lover?

Y/N: I wish

Hybern: Then who is the one who can't stop talking about how beautiful you are ? Or how melodic your laugh is or whenever he enters a room he always looks for you first because, according to him, your presence alone brings him peace and how that damn smile can make him feel this whole zoo in his stomach and he can't help but imagine how it feels like to kiss those lips and don't get him started with those eyes

Hybern: We had enough, so we didn't let him get started with those eyes

Cassian: Oh my god, they have Azriel!

Y/N: *looks at rhys* Now, if you get him back, I'll have a lover

Feyre: So none of you is concerned that hybern literally has azriel?

Cassian: Knowing him, he let them catch him so he can make someone confess his love for y/n cause he's too scared to do it himself

Hybern: He used us as wingman?

Rhys: Yeah. Just finish talking to him he is on his way home

[shadowdarlings]

Blood Will Rain

Azriel x Reader

Synopsis : During the war with Hybern when all seems lost a surprising new/old face makes an appearance to turn the tide in Prythian’s favor. None other than Rhysand’s long lost sister who was believed to be dead. This revelation is shocking for the entire IC but none more than Azriel himself.

Pairings : AzrielxReader , ReaderxInnerCircle!Platonic , ReaderxRhysand!Siblings

A/N: part one? this is my very first fic EVER so let me know what you guys think! not very canon but i can’t get it out of my head.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Blood was everywhere. It soaked the muddy ground of the battlefield and clung to the air like a sickness. Azriel felt as though every heavy breath he heaved in was coating his throat in the thickness of blood. He couldn’t keep track of how many of Hybern’s soldiers he had cut down with his siphons and blade, but it didn’t matter. They were losing, and he knew it. Yet he never faltered as he continued his brutal slaughter of any enemy he could set eyes on. Azriel caught a glimpse of his brother Cassian not 30 feet away slicing and brutalizing with the same vigor as himself. It still didn’t matter, they were losing. Sweat, mud, and filth coated his entire being. The battle had been raging on for hours, yet how many he did not know. The sounds of screaming, bone crunching, and organs being cut from their rightful place had long since drowned in his ears. All he could hear now was a dull buzzing and the occasional order from Rhysand in his mind’s eye. Exhaustion had not yet set in as adrenaline fueled him through most of the battle, but he could tell that Prythian’s forces were starting to slow down. He was not the only one that could knew they were losing. They had exhausted every resource, every viable power play had been made and they held no more cards in their hands. All that was left to do was fight until they couldn’t anymore, or die trying. He didn’t mind the thought as it crossed and then floated away. He would gladly give his life in the name of freedom and peace for humans and fae. The horrified faces of his comrades haunted him, but he knew they felt the same. So the battle would rage on until their very last breath.

In the distance a high pitched shrieking noise shook the buzzing from his ears. It sounded like a scream, but not quite. Azriel cut down the solider in front of him before leaping into the sky to get a better view. The noise was not coming from the distance, it was coming from the sky… and fast. Pummeling straight towards the center of Hybern’s forces a single winged creature plunged into the slick mud and hit with an impact that shook the ground for miles around. The blast radius flung the surrounding soldiers into the air and backwards, and then the creature stood. Azriel’s heart skipped a beat at the sight, yet he was too far away to identify this new player. It raised its hands and with it a large section of Hybern with it. The screaming coming from the floating bodies was a horrific symphony, and then… silent. All at once at least 30 soldiers turned from solid to liquid. Their insides and outsides turned to a red mist that rained down in a thick syrup. Again the creature raised its arms and brought down a storm of blood upon the battlefield. Five more times this happened, all within a span of a minute. Hybern’s legion was being turned into liquid dust at a rate that could give Prythian the upper hand.

Azriel tore his eyes from the creature and scanned the field for his family. His gaze landed on Rhysand who appeared frozen, eyes locked onto the carnage the winged creature was unleashing onto their enemy. They needed to regroup. Azriel soared with vigor towards Rhys and landed directly in front of him, yet his High Lord did not acknowledge him. “Rhysand!” he shouted over the screams and clashing of steel. Rhysand had paled and seemed as if he was going to be sick. Azriel gripped him by the shoulders and shook him yelling his name once more. Finally Rhys looked in his direction, his eyes glassy with tears that threatened to spill over. “It’s her,” he said, “It can’t be..” his midnight voice cracked. Although every cell in Azriel’s body screamed at him to ask who Rhys was talking about he knew that strategy must come before curiosity. Seconds later, Cassian landed with wild eyes and a heaving chest. “I don’t know what in the ever living fuck is going on, but we need to take advantage of this,” he said with ragged breaths. Azriel turned towards his other brother and the two of them began reconstructing a battle strategy that would surely beat Hybern down so they could subdue the King and lay this conflict to rest. Rhysand seemed disengaged but gave his approval nonetheless. So, with the last drops of their immortal energy, they launched a final attack bringing their enemy to bended knee.

It was Nesta that cleaved the King’s head from his shoulders, and the High Lords of Prythian that brought back Azriel’s brother from the grasps of death. Amidst the chaos of it all Azriel felt a lingering pull in his chest and was reminded of the creature that rained down on Hybern. Then almost as if on cue a long forgotten but familiar scent overwhelmed his senses. Rhysand paled once more and Azriel’s head snapped to look behind him. The sight he took in was utterly and entirely unbelievable. Instantly he fell to his knees before you. Rhys almost toppled over himself. You were drenched in blood, some of it already drying and crusting on your skin. The entire Inner Circle beheld you as if the could not register what they were seeing. For it was not a creature that came to their rescue, it was you.

“Sister,” Rhysand choked out, “wh- how? what is this?” Then with a flash of speed he had you pinned to a nearby tree, his claws at your throat and his teeth flaring in a snarl. “What is this,” he now demanded, thinking this was some final cruel joke meant to completely break him. Azriel stood just as fast, placing a warning hand on his brother’s shoulder. Cassian and Mor wore faces of complete shock. You summoned any air you could through the grip of your brother’s talons, “It’s me,” you choked out. You met his violet eyes with a set of your own and willed him to understand that it was truly you he was squeezing the life out of. It was Azriel that spoke next. “Rhys,” he said in a dangerously careful tone, “you’re hurting her.” He sincerely doubted the validity of that statement based upon what he had seen just an hour ago on the battlefield but he thought it might shake his brother from doing anything rash. Rhys slowly loosened his grip on your neck and took a stumbling step back.

“I’ll explain everything,” you said, “I promise.” Azriel took only a slight step behind you, his hand resting on truth teller’s hilt. He gestured for you to sit on the small boulder to your right. You followed his silent instruction, looking at him briefly and noticed something in those hazel eyes that you could not yet identify. Sucking in a deep breath, you launched into the story of your whereabouts for the last 500 years. You explained that when Tamlin and his father came to slaughter yourself and your mother there was a last minute alteration to their plan. They had decided instead to detain you and gift you to the King of Hybern as a gesture of good faith in their alliance. Ever since then you had been the King’s personal pet. He had done countless cruel things throughout the years, torturing and experimenting on you. When the King came into possession of the cauldron he was curious not only what it could do to humans, but High Fae as well. You were his first and only test subject as the cauldron deemed fit to gift you with extraordinary power. Power that rivaled Ameren before she had turned into fae herself. He found that it was growing increasingly difficult to keep you under lock and chain, and when the time for war came you knew it was your chance for freedom. The castle had been lightly guarded as most of Hybern’s soldiers had been called to action and your escape had been carefully calculated for centuries. The moment you tasted fresh air again you soared for your long lost family. Pent up rage from 500 years of captivity along with the surge of power gifted from the cauldron is what you unleashed upon Hybern’s massive legion, ultimately turning the tide of the war.

There was a weighted silence after you finished your story. Everyone’s eyes were pasted on you in a horrified realization. 500 years. You had been trapped for 500 years. The guilt of not knowing, not saving you, rested heavily upon each member of the Inner Circle. The crushing quiet was killing you, but it was interrupted by a deathly grumble from behind you. “You saved us,” Azriel spoke, “You saved us when we did not save you. After all this time.” You pivoted your torso to look up at the shadowsinger. His eyes were clouded with the same guilt written on the rest of the faces in front of you.

“Always,” you stated plainly.

[small-z24]

One-Shot: Shadows of Secrets

Summary: 

Y/N Archeron, gifted with invisibility, secretly listens in on the Night Court’s plans against Hybern to prove her worth. When she goes missing during the battle, Azriel must find her amid the chaos, leading to a moment of vulnerability and a deepening bond between them.

Word Count: 2306

Warnings: None 

The shadows were her refuge. Y/N Archeron, the youngest of the Archeron sisters, had been given the gift—or curse—of invisibility when she emerged from the Cauldron. While her sisters had received powers that they wore like armor, Y/N’s ability was more elusive, more secretive. She could vanish from sight, slip through the cracks, and listen to secrets meant to be kept hidden.

Growing up, Y/N often felt like the forgotten sister. Feyre, Nesta, and Elain were always busy, strong, and capable, while Y/N, being the youngest, was often overlooked. She had been too young to contribute meaningfully to the family’s struggles, and that feeling of uselessness had stayed with her. But tonight, she was determined to change that. The Night Court was planning their next move against Hybern, and she needed to know how she could help. This was her chance to prove herself.

Slipping into the war room undetected, she positioned herself in a corner, her body fading from view. The room was dimly lit, a large map spread across the table in the center. Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel stood around it, their expressions grim as they discussed strategies and battle plans.

“We need to strike quickly and decisively,” Rhysand was saying, his voice filled with authority. “Hybern’s forces are on the move, and we can’t afford any mistakes.”

Cassian nodded, his arms crossed over his chest. “Our spies have confirmed their movements. We have a narrow window to catch them off guard.”

Azriel, silent and brooding, stood slightly apart from the others, his shadows whispering around him. As Y/N watched, she felt a strange connection to those shadows, as if they were aware of her presence.

Azriel’s eyes narrowed slightly, his head tilting as he listened to the murmurs of his shadows. He knew someone was there, but he said nothing, continuing to discuss plans with Rhysand and Cassian. The meeting dragged on, with detailed discussions and strategic planning. Y/N strained to catch every word, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and fear.

Finally, Rhysand and Cassian concluded the meeting, their expressions resolute. “We’ll meet again tomorrow to finalize the details,” Rhysand said, rolling up the map. “Get some rest.”

As the others left the room, Azriel lingered, his shadows swirling more restlessly around him. Y/N remained invisible, hoping to slip out unnoticed. But as the door closed behind Rhysand and Cassian, Azriel spoke, his voice cold and commanding.

“Show yourself.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She hesitated, but the shadows around her seemed to tighten, pulling her toward visibility. Slowly, she let her invisibility fade, revealing herself in the corner of the room.

Azriel’s eyes narrowed as he took in her appearance. “What are you doing here, Y/N?”

She straightened, meeting his gaze with determination. “I wanted to help. I’ve been listening, learning. I want to fight with you against Hybern.”

Azriel’s expression hardened. “Spying on us isn’t the way to do that.”

“I wasn’t spying,” Y/N protested, her voice rising. “I was trying to understand how I can help.”

Azriel took a step closer, his shadows swirling around her menacingly. “You could have been caught. You could have been killed. Do you understand how reckless that was?”

Y/N stood her ground, refusing to be intimidated. “I know the risks, Azriel. I’m not a child. I can handle myself.”

Azriel’s gaze softened slightly, but his voice remained stern. “You should have come to us directly. Spying, even with good intentions, undermines trust.”

Y/N’s shoulders sagged slightly. “I didn’t want my sisters to know. They have enough to worry about.”

Azriel’s expression softened further, the shadows around him calming. “We all have our burdens, Y/N. But secrets like this can get you killed. You’re part of this court, and that means you don’t have to do this alone.”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes filled with determination. “I want to prove myself, Azriel. I want to show that I can be useful, that I can fight.”

Azriel nodded slowly, his eyes reflecting a mix of respect and concern. “Then we’ll train you, get you ready for what’s to come. But no more secrets.”

Y/N nodded, a sense of relief washing over her. “No more secrets.”

Azriel stepped back, his expression thoughtful. “You have potential, Y/N. But you need to trust us. Trust me.”

“I do trust you,” Y/N said softly, meeting his gaze. “And I’ll prove it.”

As the night wore on, Y/N felt a strange sense of belonging. She was no longer the invisible sister, hiding in the shadows. She was part of the Night Court now, ready to fight alongside them.

And as Azriel’s shadows curled around her, whispering their secrets, she knew that she had found her place. In the heart of the battle, in the midst of the danger, she would stand with them. She would fight for her family, for her home, and for the shadows that had claimed her as their own.

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of training and preparation. Azriel took Y/N under his wing, teaching her the art of stealth and shadow manipulation. Their sessions were intense but rewarding, and Y/N quickly found herself improving. She learned how to move silently, how to blend into her surroundings, and how to use her invisibility to her advantage.

Azriel’s shadows became a constant presence, swirling around them as they trained. They seemed to take a liking to Y/N, often lingering near her even after their sessions ended. She found herself growing fond of the shadows, speaking to them in the same way Azriel did. They responded to her, their whispers soft and affectionate.

One evening, as they finished a particularly grueling training session, Azriel noticed the way his shadows were behaving around Y/N. They twined around her like playful tendrils, almost like puppies seeking attention. He watched with a mix of amusement and curiosity as Y/N spoke to them, her voice soft and soothing.

“You’ve got a way with them,” Azriel remarked, his eyes twinkling with admiration.

Y/N smiled, gently patting one of the shadows. “They’re easier to talk to than most people. They listen.”

Azriel chuckled, shaking his head. “They do seem to have taken a liking to you. It’s not something they do often.”

As they walked back to the House of Wind, the bond between them grew stronger. They shared stories, laughter, and moments of quiet understanding. Y/N began to see a different side of Azriel—one that was gentle, kind, and fiercely protective. And Azriel found himself opening up to Y/N in ways he hadn’t with anyone else.

One day, Feyre found Azriel alone in the library, his shadows dancing around him as he read a report. She approached him quietly, her expression serious.

“Azriel, can we talk?” Feyre asked, her voice soft but firm.

Azriel looked up, nodding. “Of course, Feyre. What’s on your mind?”

Feyre took a seat across from him, her eyes searching his. “It’s about Y/N. I’ve noticed how close you two have become. And I’ve seen the way your shadows follow her.”

Azriel’s gaze softened. “She’s special, Feyre. She has a gift with the shadows, and she’s become quite skilled. But more than that, she’s determined to prove herself.”

Feyre nodded, her expression thoughtful. “I’ve seen that. But she’s still my sister, Azriel. I worry about her, especially with the danger we’re facing.”

Azriel leaned forward, his voice earnest. “I understand your concern, Feyre. And I promise you, I’ll keep her safe. I care about her deeply. I won’t let anything happen to her.”

Feyre’s eyes softened, and she reached out to squeeze his hand. “I know you will. Just... be careful. She’s been through so much already.”

Azriel nodded, a determined look in his eyes. “I will. You have my word.”

As the days passed, Y/N continued to train with Azriel, their bond growing stronger with each passing moment. The shadows seemed to sense their connection, often wrapping around Y/N protectively. She could communicate with them effortlessly, and they responded to her with a loyalty that mirrored their bond with Azriel.

One evening, as they stood on the balcony overlooking Velaris, Y/N turned to Azriel, her eyes filled with gratitude. “Thank you, Azriel. For everything. I’ve never felt more capable, more... needed.”

Azriel smiled, his shadows swirling around them both. “You’ve always been capable, Y/N. You just needed the right opportunity to show it. And you’re more than needed—you’re invaluable.”

Y/N’s heart swelled with emotion, and she reached out to take his hand. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Azriel’s gaze softened, and he squeezed her hand gently. “We’re a team, Y/N. And I’m proud to have you by my side.”

As they stood there, the bond between them stronger than ever, Y/N knew that she had found her place. In the heart of the battle, in the midst of the danger, she would stand with Azriel and the Night Court. She would fight for her family, for her home, and for the shadows that had claimed her as their own.

And as the stars twinkled above, she felt a sense of peace and purpose. With Azriel by her side, she knew they could face anything—together.

The day of the battle with Hybern had arrived. The air was thick with tension as the Night Court prepared for the confrontation. Feyre had insisted that Y/N stay behind with Elain, away from the front lines. Despite Y/N’s protests, Feyre’s concern for her youngest sister’s safety had won out.

As the armies clashed and the battle raged, Feyre's thoughts kept drifting back to Y/N. She trusted her sister's abilities, but the fear of losing her gnawed at her. When the battle finally ended, the field was littered with the bodies of fallen soldiers. As Feyre surveyed the battlefield, a sense of dread settled in her stomach.

“Where’s Y/N?” Feyre called out, her voice tinged with worry. She scanned the area, her heart pounding.

Elain, standing nearby, looked around with wide eyes. “She was with me... but then she disappeared. I thought she was just hiding.”

Panic surged through Feyre, and she immediately turned to Azriel, who was tending to some of the wounded. “Azriel, Y/N is missing. We need to find her.”

Azriel’s eyes widened, and without a word, his shadows sprang into action, darting out in all directions to search for her. His heart raced with worry, but he forced himself to stay calm, knowing that he needed to find her quickly.

“Where is she?” Azriel muttered to himself, his shadows stretching out further. “Find her. Find Y/N.”

The shadows darted through the forest, guided by their connection to Y/N. They led Azriel to a secluded spot, deep within the woods. As he approached, he saw the aftermath of a fierce battle. Hybern soldiers lay scattered, their lifeless bodies a testament to a brutal fight.

In the center of the carnage, Y/N sat on the ground, her knees drawn to her chest. Her breathing was rapid, her eyes wide with panic. Azriel’s heart clenched at the sight of her distress.

“Y/N,” he called softly, approaching her with caution. “It’s me, Azriel. You’re safe now.”

Y/N’s eyes flicked up to him, her face pale and her hands trembling. “Azriel, I... I didn’t mean to...”

Azriel knelt beside her, his shadows wrapping around them both in a protective cocoon. “It’s okay, Y/N. You did what you had to do.”

She shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I killed them, Azriel. I killed so many.”

Azriel gently took her hands in his, his touch grounding her. “You were defending yourself. Defending us. It’s normal to feel overwhelmed.”

Y/N’s breathing hitched, and she clung to him as if he were her lifeline. “I was so scared. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Azriel’s heart ached for her, and he pulled her into a tight embrace. “You’re safe now. I’m here. Just breathe with me.”

He guided her through slow, deep breaths, his voice soothing and steady. Gradually, her breathing began to calm, the panic in her eyes fading. She rested her head against his chest, finding comfort in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I couldn’t stay behind,” Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible. “I needed to help.”

Azriel stroked her hair, his touch gentle and reassuring. “I know, Y/N. And you did help. You’re incredibly brave.”

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of guilt and gratitude. “I just wanted to prove that I could make a difference.”

Azriel’s gaze softened, and he cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing away her tears. “You’ve proven that and more. But you don’t have to do it alone. We’re in this together.”

Y/N nodded, her grip on him tightening. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

Azriel shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. “Just promise me you’ll let us know next time. We need you safe, Y/N.”

She managed a small smile in return. “I promise.”

As they sat there in the quiet forest, surrounded by the aftermath of battle, Azriel held Y/N close, his shadows enveloping them both. He knew that the road ahead would be difficult, but with Y/N by his side, he felt ready to face any challenge.

And as the first rays of dawn broke through the trees, they rose together, hand in hand, ready to return to their family and continue the fight for their home. In each other, they had found strength, trust, and a bond that would carry them through whatever lay ahead.

[munsons-hellfire]

You're Losing Me 1 | Rhysand

SUMMARY: You married Rhysand for an escape from the Court of Nightmares. You loved him, but he wasn't Azriel. He wasn't your mate. And now Rhys and Azriel are losing you to the aftermath of Under the Mountain.

PAIRINGS: Rhysand x Reader, Azriel x Reader, Rhysand x Feyre Archeron

CONTENT WARNING: Heartbreak, fated mates, MFW, no smut, angst, fluff mentions of abuse, mentions of blood

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This one shot is based around You're Losing Me (From The Vault) by Taylor Swift. This will be a multi-part series that will kind of follow the books but will be altered a little. And yes it starts out with Rhys as the love interest but by the second part it'll be more focused on Azriel. If you'd like to be tagged in the rest of this multi-part series let me know in the comments and I'll add you to the tag list.

WORD COUNT: 2.5K

You were trapped Under the Mountain with your husband. He needed a partner, you needed a reason to leave your family behind in the Court of Nightmares. He was that escape for you, and you were that savior for him. It was only ever a marriage based upon a deal. But over the years you’d both fallen in love with each other. That’s what you had told yourself anyway. You knew that he told himself that too. Rhysand wasn’t Azriel… he wasn’t your mate.

Just before you and Rhysand had left for the party, you had felt the bond snap between you and Azriel. Though you hadn’t been sure if he had felt it. You’d never got the chance to ask anyway. You and Rhys were trapped Under the Mountain for 49 years, with no way for you to feel the bond between you and Azriel. It truly broke something inside you and you had felt it. You knew how you had gotten to this moment in time.

A human had saved you all, but you had suffered choosing to protect her from the wrath of Amarantha. She didn’t take too kindly to that. You were separated from the others not even knowing what had happened with the trials. You lied on the cold floor under the mountain still. Blood was leaking from your body, from the deep cuts that littered your body.

“A punishment for intervening with the human.” She’d said to you before they had dragged you away from Rhys. Panic had run through your body but it truly wasn’t enough to save you. The sobs had long since stopped coming out of your mouth. You felt so hollow lying there on the floor. The cold air rushed against the open cuts on your back. After the guards had left your room you’d heard commotion.

But you made no move to get up off the floor, too much pain ran through your body to allow you to pick yourself up from the floor. You felt calloused hands touch the side of your arm. Slowly you opened your eyes and looked up to see your husband staring back at you. A sad expression crossed Rhysand’s face as he kneeled down to look at you.

“My love.” He whispered, tears threatening to escape from his eyes.

“I don’t want you to see me like this.” You said softly, closing your eyes and pulling your head away from Rhys.

“I need to get you home.” Your eyes opened up and you stared up at him.

“What are you talking about?”

“She’s dead, we’re free. I need to get you to Madja.” You felt shock course through your body.

You would finally be heading home to your mate, seeing him for the first time in 49 years. “How?” It was a simple question and all you could get out.

“Feyre, she saved us all.” When your eyes found Rhysand’s violet eyes, you saw that look. You knew all too well what that look meant.

“She’s your mate isn’t she?” You asked. Rhys only nodded. “Az…” You paused, watching Rhys stare at you with a raised brow. But he seemed to understand what you were trying to say.

“You’ll see him soon enough.” Rhys gripped your hand and the two of you winnowed back to your home.

☾

Darkness is the only thing you saw before you woke up. The pain to your back was unbearable and you ended up passing out in Rhys arms. Azriel sat in the bed holding onto your hand, you rested on your stomach and the wounds on your back were starting to heal. He still wasn’t processing the fact that his brother and his mate were back home. It was so unreal to him. His shadows gilded around your body, careful to not touch your back.

They were beyond happy to have you back. You were home. Azriel wasn’t going to let anything happen to you, not ever again. He looked up when he saw Rhys standing at the door, he gave a small nod and adjusted his wings, pulling them in tightly as he stepped off the bed and walked over to Rhys.

“How’s Y/N?” Rhys asked, violet eyes on his wife. Though he knew that there might be a divorce in the future. You and Rhys would want different things now. He knew it even if you weren’t awake to express that. Rhys still cared for you deeply and would still allow you a home. Besides he knew that Azriel would kick his ass if he let you go back to the Court of Nightmares.

“Holding on.” Azriel kept his hazel eyes on you not wanting to look away for a second. He was so afraid that he’d lose you again. Not being able to hold you, comfort you, be there for you when you were struggling it was killing him.

“You know she doesn’t blame you for what happened to us.” Rhys said, picking up on what he was thinking just by the way he’d been staring at you.

“I should’ve gone with the both of you to the damned party.” Azriel’s tone was clipped, his jaw tight. He crossed his hands over his chest while his shadows moved around his body. Only a few remained near you.

“I gave you an order to stay here. Y/N, told you to listen to it. We didn’t need you there, we needed you here with everyone else to watch over Velaris. Y/N had told me that Amarantha might try to do something, she had told me that it was best that we go and make sure you all stay back here.”

“How did she know?” Azriel placed his hazel eyes on his brother.

“I don’t know, gut feeling I suppose. I’ve been wanting to see if Y/N might have some type of power.”

“Could that be possible?”

“It could be. We found out that she’s Hybern’s child. Amarantha told us. Apparently her mother escaped to the Court of Nightmares but gave her up before disappearing. No one had seen or heard from her that Y/N was left with that despicable family.”

“If you two get a divorce will she be sent back to the Court of Nightmares?” Rhys could hear the panic and worry in his brother’s voice. Finally Rhys turned to place his full on Azriel.

“We will get a divorce because I’m not you, she wants to be with you and to be honest she’s not Feyre. We had discussed this when we got married in the beginning. That should one or both of us find our mate and we want to accept it the other would allow a divorce. I’m letting her go, I still care for her deeply but she is not mine to love, not anymore.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Azriel said sternly.

“I won’t send her back, Az. You should already know that. Y/N is your mate and your hers. She’s also a valued member of the Inner Circle. I do not plan on tossing her aside because I’ve found myself. I made a bargain to keep her protected from that family and I will continue to do that.” Rhys paused, he placed his violet eyes on you. You had heard the last stretch of their conversation. Rhys had told Azriel that you belonged to Hybern, that you were his offspring and yet he was still here. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

Rhys disappeared before Azriel could say anything further. You adjusted your body slightly to get more comfortable on the bed. Azriel was quick to move to your bed. You felt a few of his shadows swarm your body, they were being mindful of the cuts.

“Can you help me up?” You asked, as you were eager to get out of the bed and walk around. Azriel only nodded, he was silent and you started to think it was because of who your true father was. Azriel held onto your hands as he helped you walk around your room.

“How are you feeling?” He asked softly, his gaze on you. You had to look up at him, he was so much taller than you were.

“I’m fine.” You replied, it was a lie though. You were in a nightmare of your own making. Things were happening, you could feel it. Something was happening, a war was coming and you didn’t know how to tell them.

☾

Three weeks had passed, Rhysand, Azriel and Madja thought that they were getting better. And you were getting better, at least your back was. But you were declinding, your mind wasn’t the way it was before Amarantha had happened. And with all the trauma you’d received at the hands of your adoptive mother and adoptive father, followed by Amarantha. It was a struggle for you.

Cassian sat in your room with you, the door was open and the windows were open too. A breeze flew in while a shadow hovered around you. Azriel was out on a mission, he didn’t want to go by Rhys needed him to go on this mission so he’d ask Cass to sit with you and watch over you while he was gone. You laid on your bed, not facing the light coming from the sun outside. It was too bright in here for your liking.

You pulled the covers over your head ignoring Cassian when you knew he was staring at you. It pained him to see you like this. To see you suffering in silence and not sharing it with anyone. You hadn’t even talked to Rhys and Az about what was bothering you. But the truth was simple, you didn’t know how to tell them, to talk about the things that Amarantha forced you to do. It was far worse than the punishment you’d gotten for trying to intervene to save Feyre.

She’d discovered your powers, knew what you could do. And she used that to her advantage. Every time she manipulated you, made you believe that she’d find your mate and you’d watch him die. That’s when you learned from Amarantha that you were able to sense bad things. You knew that you could sense good things, but the majority of the time it was a handful of bad things that followed you around. You weren’t a seer.

That much was clear, while you could predict things before they could happen you couldn’t see them. Only feel them with every inch of your body, mind, and soul. You had yet to explain this to Rhysand. You knew he was itching to know what abilities you had. He was trying to see if you’d be a threat to him. You felt the room get darker, and suddenly you could hear voices all around you. One voice belonged to Cassian, the other belonged to your now ex-husband.

The divorce was quick and easy. You hadn’t been ready to accept the mating bond yet and Azriel was okay with that, he was okay with waiting even though that’s not what he felt on the inside. The sheets were ripped from your body and you groaned reaching for a pillow to pull over your head.

“No, you’ve been moping around for three weeks Y/N. You need to get up out of this bed now, and we need to discuss your powers.” His voice boomed around in your room, the pillow was then yanked from your hands. Your hair was wild and you were now glaring at the High Lord.

“Why? So you can throw me out the second I seem like I’m going to be a threat to your court.” You tried to hold yourself together, you stood on your bed on your knees glaring at Rhys, and Cassian who was still in the room. His face seemed to soften at the confession that left your lips.

“I will never throw you out of my court, you may not be my wife anymore. But you are and always will be one of my best friends. I made a promise to keep you safe and no matter what I will keep that. But this moping around needs to stop, you’re hurting Azriel.”

You were hurt, those words “you’re hurting Azriel,” they swarmed your mind. The words seemed to send you into a panic, you collapsed to the bed. Your eyes were staring up at the ceiling. Rhy's eyes came into view but you couldn’t move. It was happening again and you knew it. This is what Amarantha said you’d do when they started. You’d go deathly still as fragments of images and words appeared in your mind.

You’d always done your best to hide this from your family (well adoptive family), but when they saw it they knew it was grounds for punishment. And everytime it happened afterward you’d be sent to your room where you’d be locked in there for a week sometimes longer. When you made it to Velaris you’d gotten good at hiding it so they didn’t know about your power. Because you and Rhys didn’t sleep with each other or in the same room he never saw it.

It wasn’t until Amarantha that things got worse. She’d managed to unlock something inside you and turn this into a far more powerful being. You refused to call yourself a seer because you couldn’t see full on visions. When you finally got your vision back you saw Rhys and now Cass. They were both staring down at you worry etched across both their faces.

“What was that, Y/N?” Rhys questioned, as he and Cass lifted you up into a sitting position.

“I don’t remember much about my mother aside from the constant visions she had. They weren’t visions though, more like clipped images and words. And you know Hybern is my father, then that tells you all you need to know about who I’m supposed to be.” You said, pushing your hand up to your forehead to rub the pain away.

“And who are you supposed to be?” This time a new voice entered the conversation. You looked up to see your mate staring at you. A few of his shadows gathered around the other shadow that had stayed with you while Azriel was out on his mission. You stood from the bed and ran over to your mate collapsing into his chest as he wrapped his arms around your waist and his shadows swarmed the two of you.

“My mother gave me up for one reason only. I didn’t understand why and it never made sense, not until Amarantha told me. She was told to hand me over to my father if she ever caught me but she went against his order because she wanted me for herself. She used to tell me that I’d be a very powerful seer one day. I guess because I could see images and words that it would one day be useful especially if I fell into the full ability of my power.”

“So what does that mean then?” Cassian proceeded to question.

“In the wrong hands I could one day help destroy the world.”

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Datura Pt 13

Content Warnings: Torture, Canon Typical Violence, Cursing

Author's Note: This is short and straight up angst I'm so sorry, but I promise the next chapter will be longer.

Masterlist/ Previous Chapter

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You can’t reach him.

It’s all you can think about; the cold, quiet emptiness in your head, in your chest, it’s all encompassing. You’re too far out of reach to warn him. Hybern is here and no one will have any idea, least of all your mate.

You thrash against the hands that hold you--Hybern had winnowed you out of the Mountain and right into the waiting arms of his soldiers, four of which now drag you inside a temple on the outskirts of Spring’s borders, the old building badly burnt, as if someone had recently set it on fire--throwing your weight around as best you can until you hit the floor. Amarantha is not around to punish you, you let your claws slip out of your nail beds so you can gouge them into the worn stones of the Temple floor, trying to slow your progress. There is no manipulating, no smooth talking your way out of whatever Hybern has planned for you, your only chance is to run. 

“Bring her here,” Hybern orders. He sounds like an irritated father dealing with a toddler’s temper tantrum, his booming voice echoing off the domed ceiling. 

There’s only one Priestess about, her blonde hair slipping out from underneath her soft blue hood, a circlet atop her pale face. She frowns when she sees you, as if you are the worst thing in the Temple, even though its battered walls are full of soldiers bearing Hybern’s sigil. 

“No manners on this one, I see,” the priestess says.

Hybern frowns as he strokes a hand over his bearded chin. “Too much spirit in all the wrong places.”

“Get your fucking hands off me!” You scream as one of the soldiers snags your ankle and drags you across the rough stones. It’s only then that you get a glimpse of an altar, old as time, the stones covered in dripping candle wax. Atop the cracked, ageless stones, a giant, black cauldron sits, green mist slipping from the top.

You freeze, claws still digging into the floor, momentarily keeping you in place. Not any cauldron, the Cauldron. Just like your dreams. As if it’s sentient, as if it can sense your unease, a voice from within the bottomless chamber whispers, “Come, come Daughter of the Void, come and see what I have in store for you.”

A shiver crawls its way up your spine and you throw yourself away from it as best you can. No one else seems to notice the voice, perhaps it is a message for you and you alone. 

You poke at the bond again, making one last ditch attempt to reach your mate, but there is only cold, emptiness between the two of you. Despite all his promises, he’s too far away to save you.

“Stop this!” Hybern booms.

“Fuck you!” You shout back as you manage to free your ankle from a soldier’s grip and land a kick square in his nose. Blood splatters across your exposed leg as you twist, arms screaming in protest as you bring your knee into the next one’s groin. 

Despite your best efforts, all Hybern has to do is reach out, and some great, invisible hand yanks you across the floor until you slam into the altar. When you try to stand, that hand holds you down with enough force to make the air leave your lungs in a terrible wheeze.

“Enough, daughter.”

“I’m not your daughter!” You snarl. 

The priestess eyes you curiously, her pale blue eyes on your chest, where Rhys’s jacket no longer covers you, the too big sleeves sliding off your shoulders. She frowns as she steps closer. “Why is your chest glamored?”

Hybern’s power will not release you, even as he steps closer to get a better look.

The slide across the floor tore up the back of your thighs, your skin raw as you fight in vain to move away. 

Shit shit shit.

Hybern crouches in front of you, and it’s only now you notice how armed his soldiers are behind him, swords in hand, ready to run you through if they think their king is in danger. 

“Drop the glamor.”

“Eat shit!” You can’t move your hands, can’t kick out with your legs, and he’s not close enough to use your teeth, but that doesn’t stop you from spitting directly in his face.

In retaliation, that great power pinning you to the floor lifts you up, just to slam you back down, your head clacking against the altar so hard spots swim across your vision.

“Last chance to spare yourself,” Hybern warns.

You grit your teeth and snarl as many curses as you can think of and you're rewarded with an even more forceful drop, once, twice, and a third. You think you might have bitten your tongue, the coppery tang of blood heavy in your mouth, but the room spins so much you can’t be sure. But still, the glamor remains in place. You can hold it, you know you can, Rhys had prepared you more than you’d realized at the time. You hold onto that. Maybe Rhys cannot be here to physically save you, but all he’s taught you still remains at your disposal. 

That power holding you lifts enough for you to finally, mercifully, take a full breath, only for it to shift into something else. What was once a crushing weight quickly morphs into a blasting wind, whipping back and forth over your exposed skin so hard and fast it tears the collar off your jacket. Hybern’s soldiers crouch back, holding onto the walls for support as that wind wraps itself around you like a serpent. Like phantom hands, the wind tears at the magic you’ve bound around yourself, as harsh and sharp as the twins attempt to get into your mind. It takes all your energy to keep the glamor up, to fight against it. You have no real knowledge how to throw out your own power as anything more than a shield, but you do know how to take. You let those phantom hands reach for you, your eyes falling shut, your attempts at pushing it away forgotten. You draw a breath, steadying yourself, willing yourself to open up to the fall. 

“Come, come to me, Little Thief,” the Cauldron calls as your powers swim to the surface. “Come show me what you can steal.”

You are not helpless, you are not a mouse as Amarantha so likes to call you, you are a goddess caged in flesh, a storm housed within a body. This power can be yours as easily as it can be his. The thrashing of the wind stills for a moment, you can feel the ebb of it beneath your skin as it syncs to your heartbeat. You grab a tendril of it in your fingers, bending it to your will, and for a moment, for a moment all that terrible power belongs to you. 

“Do you think me so feeble, daughter?” Hybern snarls and all of a sudden that power tears itself from your grip and lashes against you in earnest. 

Your body jerks in its grip, the beating of it verging on pain now, your skin stinging. No matter how hard you try to grab it, it continues to slip through your fingers, leaving your only option to try and keep the glamor up at all costs. For maybe a minute or two you manage to fight it, pushing the wind away from the ink on your skin, but in the end, there is just too much of it. When the wind lets up and you hit the floor, the glamor is gone, and both your bargain marks are on full display.

“Night Court,” the priestess hisses.

Your heart drops into your stomach as Hybern studies the markings, his disdain palpable. Maybe you’re not so good at this after all.

“What deal did you make with that whore?” He hisses.

Your fangs slip out as your lips pull back in a snarl, “Stop calling him that!”

The priestess laughs, the sound shrill and irreverent in a space like this. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for the bastard?”

“Ianthe,” Hybern warns and the priestess clamps her mouth shut. “Tell me what you’ve done, so I can undo it.”

Undo it. The words clang through you like an alarm bell and you push yourself upright, body screaming in protest until you’re flush against the altar. He can’t be serious. It could kill you! Worse, it could kill Rhys.

You instinctively clutch a hand over the flower inked into your chest. 

“What did you bargain?” Hybern demands.

There are no thoughts in your head, no clever lies to save you, there is only the bubbling panic that something terrible is about to happen and you’re powerless to stop it, no matter what you’re made of. 

“Please, don’t,” you whimper. 

“What did you bargain?” Hybern shouts.

The Cauldron continues to whisper and hiss above your head, the strange mist turning the room eerie shades. Everything looks a little distorted and hazy.

“I vowed to kill Amarantha,” you stutter. Maybe the truth will save you, he did say he wanted her dead. “In exchange for some help and training.” No need to mention the moving into the Night Court with its High Lord thing.

“And?”

Together. A promise that there would be an after to look forward to, a future with no Amarantha, no Mountain, no pain. Tears prick the corners of your eyes. It’s not supposed to be like this! You never should have gotten out of bed, maybe if you had stayed in Rhys’s room, Hybern wouldn’t have found you at all. You’d still be with your mate, still working towards your freedom. It would be a cage, but you’d be together, as you promised. But now the ink on your palm is strangely cold, compared to the warmth that should be there. 

“That’s all,” you lie and your reward is a backhanded slap across the face.

You grit your teeth; Amarantha has done worse to you, you can endure this.

“In the end, it doesn’t matter,” Hybern says, fixing the rumpled sleeves of his shirt. “If it kills Rhysand, I’m doing you a favor.”

“No!” It’s all you manage to get out before a stab of pain flairs beneath your skin. It’s subtle for a brief second, Hybern’s powers testing the strength of the marks, before it turns violent. Almost immediately, it begins to feel as if your palm and chest are tearing itself apart, splitting open. Black dots swirl across your vision, as the pain becomes white hot. At some point you begin screaming, for yourself, for the pain, for your mate.

“Stop! Please! NO!” The words jumble out of you in a rush. This can’t be happening! Dark mist seeps from your skin, claws and fangs tearing free from your hold on them as your body tries to fight him for you. The Temple rumbles and the Priestess starts muttering a prayer that makes the Cauldron bubble and hiss.

The room spins. Your body jerks, limbs twitching uncontrollably. “Stop!”

He’s going to kill you. All for his stupid war.

“Please,” you’re dimly aware that your claws are scratching at the flower on your chest, as if you can hold it in place, keep the bond from slipping through your fingers. Your tears burn as they slide down your cheeks. What will happen to your mating bond if he breaks this? The two are so tangled together, will it kill the both of you? “Please, stop!”

But Hybern pays your pleas no mind, powers holding you down as the pain becomes so unbearable you heave. Nothing Amarantha has done to you compares to this. This makes her look like a saint. 

With one final, mind numbing crack, both bonds snap, the ink fading from your skin as you collapse against the floor. It’s cold, the rough stone biting into limbs that no longer feel connected to your body. The rise and fall of your chest feels like something has been carved from your body.

“I’m doing this for your own good, Y/N,” Hybern says.

You’ve ended up on your back, teary eyes staring through a hole in the ceiling, where the first glitter of stars shine through. “Rhys,” you whimper.

“It would only slow you down.” Hands slide under your shoulders and knees, calluses scraping against the open wounds the stones have made against your thighs. You don’t have the presence of mind to squirm, to fight, limbs still feeling like they’ve come disconnected from your body. “This is the only way for you to be free.”

Free. It’s such an empty word. You’re never really going to be free.

“Come, come, come,” beckons the Cauldron as it comes into view. 

Hybern holds you over the rim, dark eyes impassive. “You will thank me for this one day.” And then he drops you in.

------

You’re drowning. Icy water tearing through your throat, pushing down your nose. Your arms won’t work, won’t let you flail back to the surface; legs unable to find a bottom. For something so outwardly small, there should be a bottom, but nothing ever rises to meet you. There are no walls to claw at, no bottom to push off of, there is only the icy water shoving its way inside your very being until it swallows you whole.

------

The world feels different when you come to, surrounded by a puddle of icy water on the floor like the Cauldron had been tipped over to dump your body out. You might be tempted to ask if you were dead, were it not for the pair of boots tapping against the stones in front of your head impatiently. Hard to imagine Hybern would be waiting for you in the afterlife. 

It hurts to breathe, like there are shards of ice in your lungs and throat as you cough up some inky, black water onto the King’s boots. He doesn’t flinch away, even as you hurl your guts out.

“Are you done?” He asks.

You glance up at him through the wet strands of your hair that cling to your face. “Fuck you!” Your voice is different, a booming echo that sounds like it’s being screamed inside a cavern. The walls shake when you speak. Stranger still, it is not a single set of fangs you feel scrape past your lips when you snarl, but a whole set of jagged teeth. When you raise your hands to poke at them, your skin is once again an empty, black void, contained within the shape of your body. Your claws are shrouded in a black mist that drifts from your depthless skin.

“What did you do to me?”

Hybern crouches as and grabs the chain that still dangles from your throat, but when he gives it a pull, it feels as if it has become attached to your skin! There is no room between the collar and your throat, as if it had fused to your body, the tug the same tingling sensation you’d get if someone had pulled on your hair. 

“You should show me your thanks,” he snarls. “I’ve freed you from the restrictions your uncle put on you as a child.”

You wince as he yanks you to your feet, limbs a little longer now than they used to be. Everything feels sharper. The pounding of the soldiers’ hearts are a drum beat in your ears. Their every breath feels like a scream. Your eyes burn under the faint candlelight, as if they’re not made to be in anything other than pure darkness. 

“And now,” he snarls, pulling you close. “You’ll do as I say.”

You have every intention to get your hands on his chest and shove him, to fight back against the harsh hold he keeps on you, but you can’t. Your body stills, mid snarl, like it’s frozen.

Hybern grins as he watches your confusion, callused hand reaching out to brush your cheek. “Do you understand why those bargains couldn’t be there now?”

“What did you do?” You hiss.

He tugs the collar, earning another hiss of pain. “Ianthe used some spells for me, while you were under. Since I touched you last, the collar fused my will to you. If those bonds were still forged, well, you might have only answered to Rhysand.”

Your mind spins, body trembling. What has he done?

“I think you need a demonstration,” he says, turning to glance at his men, then back at you. “Kill them.”

Warmth emanates from the collar in a steady thrum, prompting you forward, whispering like the Cauldron had before you had been dumped in. No matter how hard you try to escape it, the collar only allows you to move in the way you’re ordered too. Despite all your protests, your claw tipped hand raises from your side, dark mist dripping from your fingers. 

No. No. No! This is a bad dream. 

And yet, you can’t even force your eyes shut, to look away from the carnage your body creates when that black mist gets directed at the line of terrified soldiers pressed against the wall. One moment there’s twenty men gaping at you, the next, there’s nothing but a fine mist of blood splattered against the Temple’s wall.

Nausea rolls in your gut, but you can’t even bend over to vomit.

“Was that so hard?” 

This can’t be real. It can’t. You need to wake up.

Hybern tugs on your collar, demanding you look at him. “Was that so hard, daughter?”

You open your mouth to protest, but that same warm thrum from the collar stops the words in your throat. No matter how hard you try, you can’t raise your hands to try and pull it off your skin; if there’s a way to fight it, your body refuses to let you try and find it. When the collar, imbued with whatever spells they’d put into it while you were inside the Cauldron, doesn’t will it, your body will not push back against it. You can’t even cry as you want, all the emotions trapped within your body as if you’re inside your own walking tomb.

And Hybern, the man who’s supposed to be your father, laughs when you don’t answer. Laughs that he’s stolen your agency, your powers, you’re life for his own agendas.

“The Cauldron will need time to recharge before we get to the Wall,” Ianthe muses.

“We won’t need it to get through the Wall,” he returns. “Y/N will do all the work for us.”

She frowns as she takes you in. “What of Amarantha?”

Hybern tucks a strand of hair behind your ear as he leans in, breath hot and unpleasant against your, now sensitive, skin. “For fighting me,” he hisses, “you’re going to go back Under the Mountain and kill all of them.”

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[honeybeefae]

Hello! Can you please write a story where Helion finds his mate on the battlefield? Thank you! ( I love your stories!❤❤❤)

OF COURSE! This was so, SOOOO beautiful to write and I really, really hope you like it! <3

A Fated War (Helion x Reader)

Summary// The battlefield was nothing but bodies littered on the ground, the sky an angry red as Hybern and Pyrthian soldiers fought for their lives. Helion had already been in one war and hoped he would never have to endure it again. Nothing good ever came from war…until he saw you.

(Anon request about Helion finding his mate on the battlefield and with it being the summer solstice you know I had to deliver! I hope you guys enjoy!)

WARNINGS: Blood, death, violence, reader is kidnapped, but other than that we get some fluff

Helion could taste copper on his tongue as he slashed through yet another Hybern soldier, his once clean armor now streaked with mud and bodily fluids of those who had tried to kill him. The sun was now low in the sky but the fighting was continuing on, cries of both pain and triumph rattling his skull.

He had lost track of his friends and other High Lords long ago, too hell-bent on stopping the King and his mindless men from invading their lands. His muscles were aching as he once again landed another hit, sweat dripping down his forehead as he risked a look around.

The good news was that he could see that their side still had much more people than Hybern’s. He took note of the different colors of flags flying in the blood-red sky, how humans and fae fought together, and he felt a small glimmer of hope rise in his chest.

It was still early in the war but he knew they could win, that they would win. 

As he heard footsteps approach from behind he turned around, raising his sword high in the sky, before a loud horn rang out three times. The Hybern soldier stopped in his tracks, still several feet away from him, and locked eyes with the High Lord of Day.

“Your master is calling.” Helion snarled, his onyx hair sticking to his forehead. “I would run along before I rethink the decision to spare you.”

The unnamed man frowned, wanting to say something, before turning on his heel and winnowing away. Helion lowered his weapon and breathed, grateful that the bloodshed was over for the night. He as well as the others started to trek back to their respective camps for the night, knowing they would have to repeat this all over in the morning.

It was a quiet walk back to his tent but before he could fully entire the camp he heard a voice cry out in the woods beside them, his head turning before he could stop it.

“No, stop!” The voice screamed, a sharp shriek following immediately. “Help, please! Anybody!”

His feet changed direction in seconds, the sandals on his feet digging into the soft earth as he gripped his weapon tightly. It was almost dusk and he was losing visibility so he had to be quick, skidding to a stop to listen again.

“Help!”

To the left.

“No one is coming for you, girl.” A deeper voice taunted, Helion’s speed increasing as his face tightened in anger. “Scream all you want…you’re nothing to these people.”

“Please don’t hurt me…” The soft voice pleaded, voice wabbling, as he grew nearer. Helion’s eyes darted around for any sign of life before he caught the glint of a blade, his eyes focusing on a tall man standing above someone kneeling. He could almost smell their fear, and the man’s sadistic pleasure, as he slowed his steps.

The voice made something in him stir, a certain kind of protectiveness that was foreign. He moved quietly behind a tree and peered out, now able to see much more clearly. 

“Keep screaming for me.” The man smirked, his leather armor filling in another puzzle piece for Helion. He was a Hybern soldier. “I want you to know just how helpless you are. Leave you here for your camp to find, not that anyone would bother looking in the first place.”

A soft sob came from the person kneeling, who he assumed was a girl given her clothes and smell. She was dressed in healer’s robes and Helion could just barely make out the color of the Dawn Court’s sigil on the back. 

Before the Hybern soldier could even raise his blade Helion cleared his throat, stepping out of the darkness and into the last rays of the sun. Both of them turned to him, one seeing salvation while the other saw damnation. 

“Helion…” The man gasped, stepping back in fear. His knife clattered to the ground as his eyes grew wide. 

“I see my reputation proceeds me.” Helion smiled though it did not reach his eyes. “And I see yours does as well.”

“Please, spare me. I didn’t mean-” 

“Didn’t mean to tie up this woman? Didn’t mean to beat her? Or threaten her life?” He asked, stepping in front of the shaken girl. “I know your kind, your type. I could smell your pleasure all the way from my camp.”

“She’s a nothing, a nobody, I just thought-” But before he could finish his sentence Helion had stepped forward and ended his life with a single blow, his heart thrumming in satisfaction as the man dropped to the floor. 

He stared at the soldier for a moment, making sure he was dead, before turning to the girl. She had her head lowered, her entire body shaking as he crouched down and undid her binds. She brought her wrists to her chest and rubbed them, slowly standing with the High Lord.

“Thank you, Lord Helion.” She murmured, keeping her eyes downcast. “I owe you my life.”

“A name is all I would like.” He said softly, her scent the most lovely thing he had encountered in a long, long time. That strange urge to protect surged forward violently, his mind screaming for him to scoop her up and carry him back to his tent. “If you’re okay with that.”

She chewed on her lip for a minute while debating. He stood still, waiting patiently before she took a deep breath and held out her hand for him to take. Her head raised, beautiful eyes boring into his amber ones as she smiled softly and said,

“Y/N. My name is Y/N.”

The very breath in his lungs seemed to vanish as he touched her hand, sparks of daylight running up his arm and directly into his heart as your own eyes widened. His fingers tightened around your own before you could pull away in shock, inadvertently pulling you as well until your chest bumped against his own.

“I-You’re-” She fumbled, mouth agape, as Helion just blinked in amazement.

“My mate.” He whispered. “You’re my mate, my life.”

Helion watched a million emotions go across her face, her eyes scanning his own as if they were searching for an explanation. He would be too if he didn’t feel as high as he did now, his very soul soaring above the clouds as he bent down and pressed his forehead against her own.

And although she had every right to pull away, to want some distance to try and process, she couldn’t stop from closing her eyes and relishing in his touch, his scent, his bond with her. The forest turned a brilliant shade of pink and purple for the last few seconds of daylight, casting their bodies in an ethereal glow as the war created something heavenly.  

[mommyofkittens]

A Court of Fallen Heroes: Chapter 7 - A Tale of Time

           " Thousands of years ago, before there was Prythian with its faes or the humans with their concept of time, even before the original death creatures who haunted our legends ever existed. Before the veil between the worlds fell in place and the universes started to build on top of each other, there were only two brothers, two geminis, two separate faces of the same coin, two sharp ends of the same blade. They were made by a Higher Power, an androginous specter of dust floating alone into the void, overlooking his kingdom of nothing. They were treated as his children. The two of them played together, ate at the same table, wore clothes made by the same hand, but they grew bored of the emptyness surrounding them. Always icy and friendless. So they asked their parent figure to make new beings around them.

          Because this High Deity loved his children so much, he indulged them and made several other creatures. But before he began his creation, he asked each one of them what kind of friends they'd like to have around them. That's when he realised the dramatic difference between his kids and the terrible mistake he'd made.

          The boy was the first one to be molded out of clay, but because his parent was in a negative state of mind, stroke by sadness, loneliness and surrounded by darkness, the child came out... hollow. His skin was olive and his hair and eyes were made with the most abysal black, so black that sometimes smoke seemed to dance around them. His beauty was ravishing, poisoning, unforgettable, like a dark temptation creeping inside your mind. That's one of the reasons he had many wives after he grew older. But his personality was sour, his gaze was ominous and his mouth was mean. A hyena in disguise.

          Because he missed his son's love and warmth, he sculpted out of marble a daughter. His pride. His power. She came out at the opposite end of her brother. The Deity just came out of his depression, so the girl was carved with love, hapiness and light. She was as beautiful as her brother, but she held a golden crown of blonde locks around her heart-shaped face and her eyes were full of patience and kindness. A smile was always decorating her full mouth. The Joy of the Void, her parent used to call her.

          No doubt who was the favorite child.

          To the Deity's luck, he made them powerless. Immortal, but no magic to pass through their veins. So, when they asked to have their own pantheons, their preferences came through.

          The son wanted a black castle, shielded by obsidian mountains and surrounded by bottomless rivers, so no one could disturb him. He wanted the power to make his own servants and people, shaped to match his wicked soul. So his parent, aware of his mistake and willing to make things right, gave him a tiny bit of magic.

          Big fucking mistake. Those were the first deities ever created to rule over the underworld, Hel, as the boy liked to call his new home.

          The daughter didn't need any magic to change things in her favour, but wanted her parent close as she made her choices. She learned the art of spellcraft throught plants and books and incantations from the Deity's whispers. She learned how to properly draw a sigil and how to infuse it with her intentions. She showed her friends what she learned and teached them how to use this magic for good.

          Those were the first Gods to rule over the kingdom in the sky, Elysium.

          But one particular night, after the son grew power hungry, he asked to have a meeting with his sister and told her his plans: to murder the Higher Deity, their parent and steal his power for themselves.

          The woman was shocked and denied giving him any support on his idea, trying to convince him it was the wrong path to choose. She even wanted to show him how to gain his own power through his own work, through their own beings. They were a direct bloodline to this Primordial Deity, the magic was in them, they just needed to know how to access it.

          Good thing she didn't get to.

          They argued and fought each other and by mistake, with the minuscule power his Father gave him, the man blinded his sister.

          With their brotherly relationship wasted, they both went to their palaces.

          The woman tried to regain her vision with her spells. The other deities tried to help her, but that was raw magic, her Father's magic. It couldn't be broken. Knowing what her brother wanted to do next and knowing there was no way she could stop him, she created a protection spell for her father and drew the mark under his bed.

          She never had the chance to alert him of what his son wanted to do. As he came back from his latest creation, a poisoned arrow, imprinted with that tiny specle of power he gave his son, pierced his heart.

          With a last beat, his heart exploded, shattering into an infinite of pieces who grew and created universes.

          He knew what his son's plans were. He had eyes and ears everywhere, so before the man came and collected his powers, he transfered as much as he could into his crying daughter, then urged her to hide. Before she left, he handled her his latent creation: humankind.

          After this, the battle over this artwork started. The dark forces wanted manking as their slaves, another conquest to his territory, while the daughter tried to save and protect them.

          They fought long and bloody battles, they created several armies with different powers, they crushed the ballance in the human world. Until the daughter sigilled the dark forces below, in their dark terittory, using her own blood. Everything with a cost: she sealed herself as well, in the skyes. This was the only way the humans were never to be touched by their evil power.

          To thank her, the people called her " The Mother of us all ", the protector of their kind, " The Joy of the Void " , " The Banisher of Ghosts " .

          But years passed, the veil started to crumple and with a mistake, Prythian came to life. The Cauldron was spilled and with its spilling, negative energy floated like mist inside the world and people and faes began to be corrupted by the dark forces. Peace was gone. As humans were slaughtered and brought to slavery, they gave the King of the Hel a name, " The Destroyer of Peace ", " The Butcher of Life " , but only one remained sealed into our minds, burned with fear inside our very core. " The Devourer of Worlds ".

          Because her powers couldn't have a direct effect on our race, she tried to help them and gave them the knowledge of The Wall and how to be created and a promise. She prayed for them and that prayer was sent. You are that prayer, Cyan, " Prayer of the Lost " , " The Vespertus " , the tale of salvation, the sword of revenge.

          She promised that she'll send her first daughter to bring peace to our world. To kill the evil. To restore balance. A Vespertus, a Mother's Sacrifice for her mistakes.

          So she sent several families to wait for your coming. A burning star across the skyes. But The Devourer found out and sent creatures to kill them. We are one of those families, Cyan, one of The Benefactors. We've been waiting for you for thousands of years. Many like you came through the dessert where I found you, but none of them were you: The prayer.

          This is why Shum kept saying all of those hateful things. He lost his hope. I'm afraid the darkness might got to his head, but he made peace with you.

          You are our hope, girl. And I am here to guide you to the next point. We need to find you your next guardians. "

          Standing there, listening to their story, I felt overwhelmed with contempt. I wasn't used to the idea of being the one. My whole life I was a second choice, a side character in someone else's story. I felt displaced and unsure, despite of my dreams of finally being chosen for something great. These people threw a handfull of great compliments: the saviour, the prayer, the first daughter of the Mother. 

          Silently, I denied each and every one of these titles. I wasn't worthy of them. At least not right now when the only thing I did was cry myself to sleep and attempt to kill myself in the process of hopelessly trying to find a way back home.

          Cynthia mentioned that I was some sort of legend long forgotten, deleted even from the oldest of oracles, erased from scriptures and sculptures. " The Benefactors ", as they were called, had gone great lenghts to hide me from prying eyes and evil spirits that might seek me out to kill me. Cynthia also stated that her mental health started to diminish after the Mother herself sent her dreams and premonitions of me. That's how Niven found me in that deserted field. That's why Cynthia never left the safety of the farm.

          The stove didn't produce as much heat as I felt in the air around. Maybe the news turned my hypothalamus all the way up, messing with my thermoregulation. My cheeks were burning so hard that I could feel them with my tongue from the inside. They were probably as red as they were hot.

          A part of my fervent refusal was also the fact that I didn't recall such plotlines in the conflict of the other books. I was aware of the Mother being real, so was the Cauldron and its spilling and the formation of Prythian, but a daughter was never mentioned, The Devourer of Worlds was also new. How much did everything change with my coming?

          Suddenly, that ominous voice that haunts my dreams chants again in the back of my head, his only condition before he pushed me here: ' you'll change the course of events '. Although I tried my best to not interfere with anything in what was going to unfold, maybe my mere landing here was itself an interference. Or maybe the fact that Eris saw me in Thaibar. That's why things had changed so drastically.

          I open my mouth to tell them about that creature, the unsummoned one, but the words feel heavy in my throat, burning like hot coal between my vocal cords. I swallow them, feeling every letter like a bunch of unchewed food forced down my esophagus. I tried again. Every word I thought about was blurry, the vocals kept mixing, like I suffered from dyslexia. My mouth felt smeread with pitch, impossible to get it to open and form the sentence.

          That son of a bitch bewitched me so I couldn't expose him.

          That's why only Nimue's potion had managed to bring up some of my memories.

          After their speech was over, eight pair of eyes followed me with expectation. Not once had I moved my body from that wooden chair. The cotton robe hanged heavily over my shoulders, black as a raven's feathers. I looked like I was taking part in a funeral, not a family gathering. 

          Honestly, I didn't know how to react. If I smiled, it would seemed sadistic and distasteful for the context, I was running out of tears and depression. I used them all in the beginning, while grieving my old life which, apparently, wasn't any better than this. I couldn't even be completely shocked, I would be a hypocrite. I always hoped to be more than a secondary character, even if it suited me quite well to be a healer. I was good at it. After all, that's what I was preparing to do for several years now, in my previous life. I was confident in my abilities and the classes with Nimue only helped me develop further on the practical side.

          But to hear that I, a mortal doctor, can save them from a so-called '' Devourer of Wolds '', well, excuse me if I want the chance to refuse or to rethink my life decisions or if I need a second to properly shit my pants. I wasn't able to put myself in opposition with a damned God, not when he could snap my neck with a flick of his fingers.

          There were two major aspects to consider. First of all, I was human, my life spawn was of maximum seventy years, I had fragile bones, my hearing was not as developed and I was not fast. I bruised easily, I was sensitive and the only weapon I truly owned was my sarcasm, which could also be used against me. The only formidable thing I did was fell from the sky and somehow manage to not fracture my pelvis. Very weird, I must admit, but even this made me question a lot of aspects. Starting with the fact that every time I tried to end my line of life here and hoped to restart back in my other universe, something, someone, seemed to hold my head over the water, forcing me to stay alive. Mockingly enough, every time I tried to swallow Nimue's death poisons, I seemed immune. Other than a terrible stomach ache and dizziness, I felt numb. Every time I tried to slit my veins near the river where I was washing clothes with Cynthia, the knife got blunt on the way, magically. Not even the dagger I stole in my dreams didn't do the job, my skin growing thicker every time I put the cold blade on my wrist.

          However, if I ever cut myself by mistake with something sharp while preparing our dinner, I would bleed. If I ever hit myself by mistake, it hurt like hell and the next day I would have a pretty nasty bruise.

          Secondly, as I mentioned, I was just a doctor. My skills went as far as my mind could process the information in books. I couldn't fight in the front lines in any form. I had to master the art of healing before going further and starting combat lessons. And I needed a master. I didn't know how to use swords, I didn't know anything about close combat, I didn't know how to use a bow and I lacked strategic logic. I didn't feel magic running through my veins, neither electricity pinching my fingertips. I couldn't cast spells like Nimue did with me and Aoife while we ran from the town, I wasn't telepathic or a necromancer. 

          The only time something had reacted to me was between those black diamond mountains, when a bolt of electricity shocked my muscles, charging my core. But that could very easily be from the oasis itself and not from me. That place seemed spiritualy loaded, full of religious symbolism, sacre to the animals that live in that place. I remembered the stag: glorious and tenacious, trying to guide me out. 

          In my previous life, I read tarot cards and loved to use crystals. My intuition was fairly developed and everyone for whom I did a reading for said that my facts about them were true and that what I predicted happened in the next days. Could this classify me as a witch? Doubtfully. Was I a fraud? It depended on how you wanted to look at the matter. I also liked to curse the shit out of people and situations when they pissed me off. 

          The weekend after our ' family ' talk, I remained as silent as a tomb stone. Kallus and the rest didn't push me either, leaving the decision to be made only by myself: would I step in the game or would I choose to step out of it. The only problem here was that eventually, even if I was passive, everything would come after me. Destiny doesn't forgive anyone, after all. If I was pulled here to achieve something, things would start to happen in that favour, forcing me to go with that flow. So this decision makind bullshit was just a facade, a placebo, to make me feel less burdened. I very much knew what the outcome would be.

          I remained locked in my head, turning the situation upside down, thinking at every possible end. I didn't get the courage to ask if I would die in the process. I wanted that, after all. Might as well have a saying in my life, fight a little. I already changed the course of events. 

          I received sympathetic looks from everyone those few days of silence, shy smiles, encouraging touches. Maybe I was getting them before too and only now I was aware of them. It was clear they knew more than they told me. 

          I went outside several nights, when I was sure everyone slept soundly. I had only one companion, Misty, who now was my cat, following me nearly anywhere, admiring me throughout the day exactly as my Icarus used to do. She wasn't a cat that liked physical love. I wasn't a touch starved person either. But I appreciated her omnipresence, the way I felt a little more protected with her near me. Misty made my loneliness more bearable. There was no pity and expectation in her yellow eyes, only patience and adoration. 

          At this point I wasn't even mourning my fate anymore. I needed guidance. Find the guardians, this was the next step on their list. I looked at the moon for a long time, waiting for an advice from her, a call, anything to enlighten my mind. It is easy to imagine that I received nothing, only dead silence. Maybe that was what I needed after all.

          I started my next day with a little more energy. I made notes from the books collected from Nimue during my aprenticeship. I found something interesting: a potion able to make you imperceptible to faes. They couldn't sense your intentions, nor smell you emotions or read your thoughts. You were somehow immune, indetectable. As a spark bloomed inside my chest, I felt like I was going to use this piece of information. I took it as a sign.

          After feeding the animals around the farm, I went to the stables. The mare I healed was waiting for me, hapilly snickering at me. She had grown beautifully, forming an impressive mass of muscles under her now shiny hair. Misty followed me, perching herself on the hay. I rested my head on the mare's muzzle and prayed for the same sign. That's when it truly hit me.

          These people had been waiting for me for so many years to help them. They warmly welcomed me into the privacy of their home, fed me, disguised me, gave me a job, protected me and helped me learn their way of life. I would be selfish to not return the favor. Just the way I did with the horse in front of me. And although I didn't expect anything in return, they didn't either, they left me a chance to decide. 

          I gritted my teeth. I was wasting precious time if I didn't start working for what I came here to do. Instead of wasting my life as I unsuccessfully tried to do several times, might as well put it to good use. Fight and die, if that's what I wanted anyway. Maybe this is the only way to get back home, fulfilling my goal here.

          Aoife had stayed with us. I secretly called Nimue to come and perform the curettage procedure without anyone in the family finding out. I paid. Nimue didn't refuse my money. After that, I announced my decision: I was going to do my best and help them.

          Today was the fourth day we went to that castle, placed in the heart of Hybern's territory. Of course, Nimue refused to send me into the wolf's mouth, but there was no other way to find what we were looking for: the prison. Kallus mentioned that the person we must find is locked up in a cell.

When I asked more about this matter he explained that we were trying to find a woman, a fae, to be more specific, old enough to be present at the creation of Prythian and downfall of several kingdoms. She used to be a part of a long eradicated race of blood thirsty warriors, a beloved and respected leader amongst her kind. But all her titles have no use now that they're all gone and she's the only one standing.

I can't even imagine what lays inside her soul. If she has one anymore, now that she's been locked for hundreds of years in Hybern's prison, subjugated to God knows what treatment they gave her. I bet it wasn't lovely. We don't know what torment she had to endure, physical and mental, if there is still some fight in her left, some will to live on or if the woman is even breathing anymore. All we knew is that she was the next step.

          Nimue instructed us about what behaviours we should have inside the palace, about the dress code and what should or shouldn't be done. She even made a map of the rooms she visited during her service for the King.

          It was the only map of Hybern's castle to ever exist as well.

          Aoife helped Niven and I to sneak inside and choose our work. She stole two pairs of servant clothes and wrote false names inside the ' Working Register of Slaves '. The book held a pretty name. It made my blood boil. Also, we couldn't be seen together, if one of us was ever caught. the other will be put in danger as well. So we separated: I was working as a general maid, cleaning, serving the meals, become a prostitute over night, made into a human chair for fae feet if there was necessary. It was one of the most shamefull jobs I have ever had in my entire life. It wiped out every ounce of my decency and ego. It was... pathetic to say the least. But we had to do what we had to do in order to get our hands on the map.

          Now I started to see why mortals despised this creatures.

          Niven became a chambermaid, cleaning the rooms after orgies, throwing their bed potty, ironing their clothes. It was disgusting as well. Lucky she never ran into one of their sex parties, otherwise she would have been forced to join.

          They were so satisfied to put us in dangerous and embarrassing positions.

          We were also surprised to hear Aoife's wish to join our cause. I wasn't. I felt her need for revenge, I saw that spark inside her eyes die the day she killed her child, how her youth has been stolen from her, how she needed to repay the struggle they put her through. Also, she worked in the kitchen. This way we had a large part of the castle covered.

          After a few days of training with Niven to ride a horse, I started to get the basics. I still wasn't good at it, but I could manage if I ever needed that piece of information. However, she expressly requested that we both go on the same horse, considering I wasn't fully ready to do it on my own. 

          We travelled like this for the next few days: me behind Niven, Kallus on his own stallion and Nimue on her mare. On the bridge that separated the surrounding land from the center of Hybern's castle we were asked to present our entry tickets each time we passed the gates. We were noted on a book covered in leather by our names, our entry and exit data. I was in a state of anguish every time I crossed the stone bridge and looked down at the abyss waiting below. Not to mention the fresh smell of rotting corpses that rises like steam on warmer days. Even if we were separated by a bunch of meters from an imminent death, we could see what happened with the ones that had mean intentions. Mounds of lifeless bodies and bones laid on the ground beneath, shredded by starved animals.

          All around the high stone walls marched entire troups of black knights, following every movement made both inside and outside. Archers, swordsmen and other types of regiments patrolled at well-established intervals of time. No delay. Even down here, guarding the huge, black iron gates there were at least ten of them watching vigilently. Some of them owned an unseen type of dogs, beasts as large as a horse, with cruel eyes and layeres and layeres of sharp fangs. Their fur was so black that not even the light didn't shine on it. They looked like they were dragged from Hell. 

         Good luck with the potion I found. I dosed it carefully, so that some part of our human perfume to still be smelled, so that our fear could still be distinguishable. But out thoughts were impenetrable,

          The obsidian palace, with tall and sharp towers, held a sinister aura around. It was guarded by circular streets and wide town squares with many decorated stalls, rich in vegetable, fruits, silk or velvet. You could find so many things here. Fae kids played loudly outside their homes, adults chatted vigorously, dressed in so much gold, with perfectly tailored clothes. They seemed to have no worry in this world. They walked proudly, with their sharp features held high, pale as paper, as if they owned everything and everyone. 

          I felt a strange emotion every time I passed these places. 

          Behind this perfect portait, if you looked closely, you could see the blood of the mortal servants it was all built on. They were starved in a corner, waiting for the kids playtime to be over so they could take them back inside, they were following a few steps behind the fae couples, with their eyes glued on the ground and their head lowered. They were working their asses off for a few golden coins, sweeping the streets, watering the trees and flowers, wiping the windows of their shops, arranging merchandise on the shelves. 

          It disgusted me every time. Waves and waves of hate fueled my desire to help these people to be free from their slavery. I wanted the faes to suffer as much as the humans. Those creatures came out of their luxurious houses, built in the same gothic style as the castle: gray brick walls, beaten with black, shiny stones. Even the pointed roofs towered menacingly. Everywhere laid a blancket of numbness, of uncertainty and falsity.

          Now I could clearly see why no one liked them in the books. They were thirsty for power, ready to crush and steal any shred of gold, every high position in the court. Despite their dazzling beauty, they had a dirty and poisoned soul.

          Every morning I bit my tongue, refraining from any spiteful comment, averting my eyes from any suffering human that was asking for help. Niven was right to not interfere that day in Thaibar, when that old man was beaten to death by Hybern's knights. I needed to help them in another way.

          Slowly, we parted our ways. Kallus walked towards the small church meant for humans. A barelly allowed luxury. Nimue followed us all the way to the palace, then she nodded her farewell with a glassy fear in her violet eyes. Between the cold and bare walls, covered with tapestries embed with jewels and silver thread, I felt a shiver run down my spine. I looked at Niven briefly, searching for a glimmer of hope or courage in her, but she was as deserted as I was. Her hostility towards the fae race was burning wilder than mine and this rage was sucking the life out of her. The massive chandelier hung like a dusty weapon of justice above our heads, ready to sever them if needed. We didn't even look at each other before leaving the main hall, joining the other servants.

          It was the fourth day of listening behind closed doors, staring intently at paintings and letters, lingering longer when pouring tea, hoping that one of this dumb faes would spill some precious informations. It was in vain, I was looking in the wrong direction. My action were limited anyway. At every corner of the corridors was an armed sentry. They didn't allow you too much, not even to turn your head to stare at a gorgeous necklace on some lady's neck or a splendid tailored dress.

          I knew these hallways as my own palm, looking at Nimue's sketches hours and hours, studying them in case anything bad happens. I knew the print on the carpets that covered the black and white marble, I knew when the corridors splited and how many doors were on each side of the wall. I also knew what type of mosaic was on the ceiling depending on the windows I passed. I was really damn motivated to do my job well.

          I watered flowers, I refrained myseld from spitting in their food, I carried trays and filled glasses with fae wine, I accepted every ' innocent ' indecent touch from the guests who got drunk at the courtyard celebrations and prayed everytime that things would not escalate. You couldn't say no. You kept you mouth shut and took it like a good slut. I was lucky enough to not be their type. But even my luck could run out at any moment.

          We all knew where to find the map of Hybern, but none of us was ready to say it. I had to go in Draegan's chambers. In essence, anyone could go fetch it, but I was the one with a death wish. They had to live, my fate was unknown anyway.

          Altough the most important thing now was finding the prison, something else was on my mind. Where was Eris? I hadn't seen him since I came inside the palace. Neither Draegan was to be found. This made me wonder if they knew something about me, if they saw me on the sky that night, if they were aware of any anomaly. Maybe they were on a hunting trip, just like all masculine fae liked to do in the books or in movies. Or maybe they were discovering new ways to torture humans. The most persistent question was still the same: What business did Eris have with Hybern? Were they trying to sign another treaty? Maybe his father forced him to come here... If the Autumn Court is planning to betray everyone from the inside, the odds are against Prythian and the Mortal Lands. Was I able to get in time to them and tell them about this matter? Would they believe me? It's not like they couldn't test me by getting inside my head.

          I place my cotton veil over my nose and mentally prepare to another risk. Aoife explained to us that the uniform here was very misogynistic. We were not allowed to show our faces, so we wouldn't tempt anyone with our beauty. Our hair must be tied and hidden under a scarf and also, we were covered from our necks to our toes in a black dress, with a red apron attached to our waist. Even our palms were covered with thick, abrasive gloves. Just in case we were clumsy and dropped the silverware on the floor. So toughtful for them.

       I don't look at the servants who pass by me and neither do they. We weren't allowed to make eye contact. I sneak into the servants corridors. In the few days we stayed here, three royal tasters died after it turned out that the food for the guests was poisoned. All of them were humans. Three wasted lives. The kitchen team continued to change and those who had left somehow disappeared without a trace. Everyone knew what happened to them. 

           The palace seemed to be charmed: every peeling painting followed you on the hallway, even the ones with a sunny meadow on it, every hole in the wall was like an ear thirsty for gossip, every creacking floor was a voice accusing you of something you didn't do. The knights who prowled every corner or lined the length of the main hall seemed an empty shell, no body underneath, only an evil spirit. No wonder you could never truly see their eyes: the mirror of the soul. I was afraid to even approach the gloriously exposed armor used by an old fae they worshipped, carved from glittering gold and rubies as red as the blood of fallen enemies. Even if it was empty, I expected it to move at any moment.

          Shielded by the darkness of the servants passages, a wave of courage guided my feet towards what I knew was only doom:  Draegan's north wing. I grab a set of fresh sheets from the laundry room. Although he didn't visit his rooms lately, the bed had to be changed daily. It was the perfect cover.

          Even if I didn't know what was the path to his chambers, I followed the ' N ' carved in the stone walls. The entire North part of the castle was claimed by him after his father's death. I step as quietly as possible on the jagged slabs of the tiny corridors and get a candle on the way. The halls were not as luxurious as the ones Faes used. They had rounded and really low ceilings and in some regions you had to lean forward to pass. The torches were so rare, that most of the way you were spending it in total obscurity. There were no mice yet, but among the dusty stones appeared roots, mold and some herbs that thrived in humidity.

          Someone coughs behind me and I turn, holding the candle like my life depended on it. There goes my crumb of barely gathered courage. I squint my eyes, cursing my bad vision, but I don't see anyone. The last light was more than twenty meters behind. The feeling that I was going to be caught was suffocating. I remember living with the very same sensation in my former relationship, with the fear that my parents would catch me and punish me. I let out a cold breath, still searching the hungry darkness. I turn and quicken my pace, following the carvings. I was alone in this area. Very few servants wanted to clean this wing. Nobody was crazy enough to find a workspace in the lion's den.

          The doors line on both walls, some of them required me to go up a few stairs, others to go down. I listen, biting the dry skin of my lips. Nothing. I don't know if my torch was shaking so bad between my fingers because I was afraid or because the cold chilled my poorly protected soles. I clench the other fist, bracing myself on the ground. I move to another door, located lower than the previous one and listen again. Feminine voices gossiped on the other side. Someone pours tea, another one cuts something on his plate. I stick my cheek closer to the wet door. I couldn't decipher the topic of conversation, they were too careful of the ears in the walls. Clever.

          Fuck me life decision.

          I walk further and stop at another door: someone is clapping, lots of applause actually, pause, a moan, another woman moans louder. '' You liked that, you dirty whore? '' A harsh voice makes me startle and I take a few steps back, '' We should bring a servant. I'd be so horny to watch a human eat you out. '' .

          That's my sign to get the fuck out. On my tiptoes, I run for a distance of a few doors without looking back. The candle was already extinguished from the suddem movement. I forgot that in the North wing Draegan allowed his escorts and his narrow circle to live. The only time luck hits me is when I notice a sign with a crown carved on several doors. I don't even think twice before sticking my head inside.

          ' Well done!... ' I whisper to myself. 

          I look back, noticing the superbly maintained tapestry. The door completely disappeared in the drawing, revealing a gorgeous tree with ruby and quartz flowers, woven on an azure background. All around, a crossed mosaic frames the tree. It was one of the most spectacular things seen in the palace. 

          I spin on my heels, facing the immensity of the room. Abandoned, the bedroom seemed deadly silent, like it was inquiring me of my presence here. There were no splashing sounds in the bathroom, the wide, arched balconies were open, leaving the orange curtains to flow in the cold wind. The huge, wooden carved bed had a canopy over it made of flowy, white veil. Above, there was a carefully painted portait of the last King: shoulder-length black hair framing a pale, rubber like skin, angry, black eyes. He seemed quite young, maybe around his forties. Next to it, almost sketched rather than painted, was a smaller drawing of Draegan: a  faithful image of his father, but with gentler features.

          I leave the sheets aside and take a few steps forwad. This chamber alone was as big as Kallus's entire house. High ceilings with different faces carved in white marble. Several thick wooden stools lay scattered, covered in red velvet.

          I move towards the curved nightstands. Nothing, just a few letters from his mistresses, a ruby ring that I slip inside my bra, a letter knife and a golden comb. I crawl on my knees on the balcony, trying to not make my head visible from the outside yard. I quickly flip through the religious books on the short table. In none of them did he mention any shooting star, not the two brothers: the Devourer or the Mother and neither was the Prayer of the Lost. There were mentioned reforms of the human lands, of the farthest continent, Pryrhian and Hybern. How the oceans were created, on the next page was a chart with several deities and what they brought to the world as gifts. The Benefactors really eradicated any notion of a fallen star. If that was true, in the end.

          In my world, there was this saying: Believe and don't search.

          I move to the bathroom from which I steal a platinum hairpin with jade and agate flowers. I always loved to collect semi-precious crystals, charging them, cleaning them with smoke and fire, then use them in my tarot readings. 

          After I finish, I move to the last door in the room. Here, my luck ran out: it was locked. I turn the brass globe left and right, hoping to hear a click, but I spent my energy in vain.

         '' Shit. " I mutter, cursing in my mother language and refrain myself from hitting the door with my leg.

          The key might as well be with him, around his neck or in his pockets, or maybe he hid it in this room, in this fucking huge room. I put my fingers on my temples and concentrate on the dust particles swirling in the setting sun. A gorgeous orange pours through the thin curtains, bringing an air of melancholy. 

          I turn my back on the scene. A familiar pain settles in my lungs and I breathe through my mouth, forcing the stress out of my system. I focus my attention on the lock, carefully drawing the key in my head, my salvation, made of shiny metal as precious as the items I stole from the room. I visualize the gesture, how Draegan turns the key in the lock, opening the door and revealing the antechamber, an office. I feel filled with peace and hope. I try my best to manifest, everything is going the way I want. I open my eyes and swear again. The door was just as closed as it was a few minutes ago.

          '' I'm losing my mind. ''

          I raise my palms and wipe them on my skirt, then point them on the lock. I keep my muscles contracted, then twist my hands, imagining how waves of magic come out of my fingers and open the door. Nothing happens. 

           Maybe the gloves were the problem. 

          I put them away and try again. I imitate the movements I saw in movies like Marvel and several other series. Nothing. I curse once more, a string of unorthodox words swirling in my mouth. I take another breath in my lungs and raise my hands, close my eyes, feel the warmth on the surface of my skin. I picture the type of power the author used to describe for Rhysand and his brothers. I imagine it working in my favour, not against me, then contort my forearms and let the energy flow. 

          '' For fuck's sake, I'm going to punch someone. ''

          I had no powers. Not even the smallest shred of energy, of magic to come and spark like a firecracker on my fingertips. I didn't feel any ancient whispers cursing through my veins. I actually felt dumb. I came this far, worked up the small amount of courage to reach this wing. Maybe I really wasn't the person these people were looking for. Maybe it was a mistake. I hadn't even asked what happened with the ones before me. Is not like I didn't knew, if they survived, I wouldn't be here. 

          I swear again and hit the door. Goosebumps rose on my skin as I watch the floor. The key, a rusty contorted metal, laying in front of my eyes.

          '' So my powers have a delayed effect or it needed a little kick to start showing? '' I ask myself and grab the cold metal.

          The door opens with a heavy sound, as if it had been closed and opened too many times. I put the gloves back on my fingers and erase any prints from the key. I was finally inside Draegan's office. Or the dead King's office. 

         Three out of four walls were covered with shelves upon shelves of perfectly maintained books. It smelled like leather and ink inside. As much as I hated Draegan, he kept his scripts in impeccable condition: leather spines, exceptional handwork, fresh strings, not eaten by moths. In the middle of the room was a big desk, full of paperwork and a majestic chair, made of black wood covered in red and maroon velvet. On the empty wall was an extinguished fireplace, cleaned of embers, with two elegant red armchairs placed in front of it.

          I rush to the office and search through all the drawers: documents about inheritance, letters from allies from another courts and continets I have never heard of, maps of oceans and lands, registers with numbers and series of soldiers in the army, who died, who was injured and who was still alive, able to fight. I look at the amount of people at the end, where they had summed up all the resources: more than half of their force was destroyed and most of the kingdom's treasury was empty. I look deeper, but all I can find are a few notebooks full of sketches and papers stamped with the initials A.F.. It came from Prythian. I couldn't calculate the beautifully outlined dates at the bottom of the page, because I had no idea of the time I fell in.

          This story must've happened over a long period of time given the stacks of sheets stamped with those initials. I twist my mind in all directions, hoping that some clue would appear out of nowhere. I had a vague idea, but the ' F ' initial was making me feel unsure: Amarantha. There's details of her status in the court of Hybern, about her work as a general, about her sister Clythia and her relationship with Jurian. She talks about her suspicions and about the revenge. There is a list of ships and the routes they followed to reach Prythian, what they transported and to whom, the payments form each High Lord. A detailed description of a treaty, how she searched for a mistake inside it to cancel it. Then, at the end, a terrifyingly large number: ' MORTALS '. 

          I wet my lips, feeling a drop of cold sweat falling on my neck. This woman killed almost two thousand slaves. The ones she refused to set free or tried to fight her. 

          Amarantha talks about her strong ties with the Spring Lord, Tamlin's father, and how they shared ' their honest opinions about what to do with the increasing numbers of the lesser creatures and their despise for the human race '.

          My knees start to shake and I have to sit down on the carpet for a few moments to regain my balance. How can you hold such hate towards someone that didn't wrong you?

          On other pages she writes in great details about a recipe stolen from the King and how she used it to take the powers of every High Lord, about how she managed to build her kingdom from Under the Mountain. Rhysand is mentioned as well, how she took him as punishment for his father's actions, the sexual abuse and how she gouged out the eye of the Spring Court emissary. On the last pages, there are payments for a ball and a list of guests. There was also written the fate expecting everyone.

          The woman was totally out of her mind, power hungry, evil and bloodthirsty.

          I close the registers. It's enough for me. There is so much death in this world, so much torture, so many irregularities, too much people with power. And nobody does anything to stop it, to prevent it from happening again. I had a strange feeling that the history was about to repeat itself. Another five hundred years of torture, of human genocide and slavery. 

          Was I here to stop this? How the fuck could I put up with faes, with whole courts and kingdoms?

          My ears rang loudly. With trembling hands I arrange everything the way I found it. I pick up a scroll tied with a velvet ribbon and open it. My head was spinning and my hear was pumping fear in my body with each beat: fear of getting caught, fear of enduring torture, fear of punishment, fear of pain. 

           I hug the paper to my chest. A very detailed map of Hybern. I found it. I close the door behind me in a hurry and push the lock back in the space it felt out of. 

           Hot lava bubbles in my stomach when I hear heavy footsteps approaching. What were the odds for Draegan to come right fucking now?

          I blink. Torture, torture, torture.

         '' Oh... What is it that you're looking for here... human? '' A masculine voice rings from behind me, warm like a hot day of summer.

          I feel my body temperature ranging from hot to cold in the spawn of seconds. I keep my back to the fae, curled up on top of the white sheets that I had to put on the bed. I count in my mind: one second, two, three... five... seven. My breathing doesn't calm down and droplets of sweat fall from my forehead on the ground beneath.

          '' I'm not going to hurt you. '' His tone is cunning, hardening with a few octaves. He comes closer and I can smell fiery embers all around me.

          '' I... I'm changing the sheets, sir. '' My voice sounds like I was strangled, held by my throat by invisible hands.

          '' Where? Inside the office? '' I can feel the words leaving his smiling lips.

          Fuck. Shit. '' No, I was also cleaning the dust. ''

          '' If that's so, you're doing a poor job. There's some of it flying everywhere. '' He notices, a trace of humor laced between his sentence. '' Turn around. ''

          I exhale and do as I am told, but keep my eyes on the ground.

           A few moments pass before he speaks again, '' I remember you. We met in Thaibar, in the market. ''

          Double fuck. I look at his perfectly polished black boots, then at his tailored emerald pants. 

          '' Look at me. ''

          '' I'm not allowed to. '' I excuse myself, trying to find a way out of this conversation.

          '' I allow it. Come on. '' 

          Slowly, I rise my head. Why was everyone so tall around this place? 

          A sense of calmness passes thourgh me as I finally see who I was talking to: Eris Vanserra, proudly staying right in front of me. I might have been a little overwhelmed by his beauty, because I don't hear the next few words that come out of his thin, pink mouth. 

          Now that I was getting a closer look at one of the most controversial characters from the series, I was a little bewitched. Eris had no equivalent in the human world. His face was royal, high cheekbones, strong nose, cold, amber eyes. He was well built as well, tall and rather thin, with  graceful amount of muscles to stretch his gold and green tunic. 

          '' You might be wrong, sir. '' I defend myself, knowing damned well that we made eye contact in Thaibar.

          He laughs, unamused, showing a pair of white teeth. '' I doubt my eyes deceive me so bad. What do you hide there? ''

          I frown and turn my head to see the map on the floor, '' I have no idea. ''

          '' Liar. '' Eris whispers, knowing that he caught me red handed. He inhales and I thank god for the potion, because he can't feel the mixture of emotions driving me crazy right now. '' What are you looking for in King's Draegan chambers? Sex? ''

         I open my mouth, then close it. '' No. I was just about to leave. ''

          '' Without your scroll? '' He give me a cheeky smile, then grabs the paper from the ground. '' A map. Feeling patriotic? ''

          No, just a little chaotic. 

          Eris circles me like a lion would with it's prey. I straighten my back, following the map held by his long fingers. 

          '' I'll give it to you, don't worry. But only if you tell me why do you need it so badly that you put yourself in such danger. ''

         '' I need it. '' I admit. '' Can you please give it back. ''

          '' I thought it wasn't yours. Why do you need it? ''

          '' I changed my mind. '' 

          His smile falters when he hears something I don't. His eyes catch mine and I see something pass behind them. '' Get under the bed. I'll conceal your scent. ''

          '' I need the map. '' I press, coming closer to him.

          '' Fuck the map. '' He rasps, catching my arm in his large palm, then guides me to the bed. '' I'm trying to save you mortal ass. Do as your told and I'll find you and return it after. ''

          My eyes search his whole face for a sign of betrayal, but his features are serious and fairly worried. I know I was going to regret this, but I lay low and push myself under. Eris hides the map inside his jacket and winks at me before the door opens and he regains his composure.

          '' Eris, I'm glad you arrived. '' Draegan steps in and pats the redhead's shoulder in greetings. '' I have news for you: tonight we're dining with one of our old friends: a winged emissary from the Night Court. ''

!! Chapter is not edited. !!

[prythianpages]

Beautiful Stranger | Azriel

Azriel x Reader | Azriel gets injured while on a mission and meets someone he never thought he would. aka you finding an injured Az and the mating bond snapping.

warnings: mentions injuries and blood; other than that, this is light & fluff

word count: 4,342

a/n: I love Halsey's Finally//Beautiful Stranger & when it came on my shuffle while driving, this fic played out in my mind.

Humming quietly to yourself to keep your thoughts occupied, you allow the glow of the moon and fireflies to guide you back to the village. Dawn Court was your home, but after the fall of Spring, you had volunteered to help its fae, creatures, and land heal from the devastation left by Hybern’s attacks.

Though the damage to Spring was immense, its beauty still endured. The air still held a lingering heaviness but the flowers had begun to bloom once more with promise and hope of a better future. Your task today had been to gather healing herbs, yet when you stumbled upon a field of dandelions in full bloom, you couldn’t resist the urge to stop and admire the scenery. It was why you were returning late at night, long past the sunset you had promised to return by.

As you made your way along the path, the gentle breeze grew colder and sharper. It rustled the leaves on the trees and made the branches creak, its eerie sound halting your steps and silencing your humming. A chill of unease prickled your skin and your muscles tensed in alarm. 

Then you saw them. 

Shadows, darker than the night itself, swirling around you.

These were not the shadows you were used to seeing at night. No, these shadows felt alive and with purpose. 

You should’ve turned back. But there was something in the way they moved, fluid and insistent, that made you follow. With every step, they guided you away from the familiar moonlit path and deeper into the forest, pulling you toward the river that ran through the heart of the woods.

A flicker of blue light was coming from just beyond the tree line, catching your eye. Curiosity tugged at you, drawing you closer. The shadows slithered toward the faint glow, vanishing into the darkness by the water’s edge.

When you finally reached the riverbank, your breath hitched at the sight before you.

A male lay sprawled on the shore, half-submerged in the water, his blood mingling with the river’s water. Blinking your eyes, you saw the shadows that led you to him, clinging to his battered form and limp wings. They pulsed in a protective manner. It’s then that you recognized the source of the blue light. It was coming from the gems attached to the leathers he wore. 

Siphons. He must be Illyrian…but what was an Illyrian from the Night Court doing in Spring? Alone?

It didn’t matter. You immediately rushed and knelt beside him, your healer’s instincts snapping into action. Your finger’s pressed against his neck, mind racing with worry and dread as his skin felt cold against yours. He must’ve been out for awhile now. The nerves eased slightly when you felt a pulse. 

Weak but present. 

You slipped your arms beneath him, the shadows aiding you as they wrapped around his arms, helping you turn him over to his side. His dark hair clung to his face, your hand reaching up to brush it back.

Your eyes finally met the face of the fallen warrior and something snapped. 

So piercing and electrifying, it had your heart fluttering from the intensity. All at once, the golden threads of the bond you’d only heard stories about unraveled in your chest. They weaved between your rib cage, pulling you tight toward him. A pull so strong it left you breathless and in shock.

Fate and shadows had brought him to you. Your mate.

But the exhilaration of it all was soon smothered by panic, the golden threads beginning to quiver. His blood, too much of it, stained the riverbank. His body was limp in your arms, his breathing shallow.

You had found your mate and already, you were on the verge of losing him before you could even learn his name.

**

Azriel wakes to the sound of singing, a nice and sweet sound, and he catches faintly to the words. He’s never felt so warm, so relaxed. His senses are dulled by grogginess, his body sluggish, but something feels… different. Lighter, somehow. 

Beside him, his shadows stir, the familiar weight of their presence grounding him. But there's also something else— different from the cool and light caresses of his shadows. Firmer. Warmer. The pressure is foreign but comforting.

As his senses slowly return, the scent of herbs and incense reach him before his eyes flutter open. Where am I? He thinks, finally blinking his eyes to clear his vision.

The first thing he sees is you, the source of the beautiful singing.

Light streams into the room, casting a golden halo around you. It strikes him hard, stealing his breath and sending a shock through his chest. He doesn’t know who you are, what you are. But you’re beautiful, so beautiful that his brows furrow in bewildered awe. There’s no way, he thinks. I don’t belong here…

He wills his dry lips to part, his voice is rough and barely audible. “Am I…dead?”

Your eyes widen and your singing comes to a sudden stop, startled by his sudden words. The warmth he felt vanishes as you pull your hand back, and only then does he realize it had been your touch on his face earlier. Your hand hovers between you, glowing faintly with a bronze light, like the first rays of dawn, before you settle it into your lap.

“No,” you finally answer. “You’re not dead.”

Azriel tears his gaze from your face, even though some part of him protests. His eyes wander around the small room, taking in the sparse furniture, the wooden desk cluttered with jars and vials. The sunlight continues to stream through the single window, the curtain hanging doing little to dull the brightness thanks to the Spring breeze. It blinds him when it catches his eyes and he winces, looking away. 

His attention is inevitably drawn back to you. You’re seated beside him, perched on a small stool that does not look comfortable by the bed. His shadows, the loyal dark tendrils that always remain by his side, are dancing around you. Their movement is playful, loving almost and you don’t seem bothered by it. As if they’ve done this before. 

The sight stirs an unfamiliar flutter in his chest.

The flutter is cut short when one of his wings, too big for the bed he’s in, twitches and knocks into the bedside table. A vial tumbles to the floor, the sound of shattering glass jerking his body forward, and in an instant, the memories come rushing back.

He remembers the mission. Rhysand had sent him to the wall separating the mortal lands from Prythian. He had met with Jurian, the encounter brief, and then he was on his way back—flying over the Spring Court when he was ambushed. His mind aches as he tries to remember more but all he remembers is being struck by poisoned arrows and falling through trees. Multiple trees.

Hot, searing pain stabs through him at the sudden movement and your hands fly to his bandaged chest, gently urging him to sit back. “You’re safe,” you reassure him. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Azriel shouldn’t feel comforted by your words, not when he barely knows you. However, he finds your voice soothing. He listens, allowing himself to slowly lean back against the pillows, despite his mind screaming at him that you’re a stranger. Your hands remain on his chest, glowing again with that soft bronze light, and the sharp pain in his body begins to ebb away, fading into a dull ache. Much more bearable.

His shadows return to him, sighing with relief as they nestle close. Azriel watches you, keen hazel eyes taking in more of your features. The curve of your lips, the softness of your eyes. They draw him in, and he finds himself unable to look away. Had it not been for the pain that shot through him moments ago, he would’ve thought you lied to him about not being dead. Because surely you weren’t from this world to have him in a daze like this…

“Who are you?”

“I’m…,” you hesitate, uncertainty crossing your features. He watches with bated breath, waiting but the words seem to catch in your throat. You swallow, clearing your throat before speaking again. “I’m just a healer.”

“And here I thought you were an angel from above.”

A quiet laugh escapes you, and the tension in your posture melts away. The corner of your lips tug up into a faint smile, one that Azriel surprisingly finds himself mirroring. “Sorry to disappoint.”

He doesn’t think. The words spill from him before he can stop them. “I didn’t say I was disappointed.”

The flush that dawns across your cheeks doesn’t go unnoticed. You turn your head, trying to hide the reaction. It’s too late. Azriel already saw it and even if he hadn’t, his shadows are happily gushing over it. Some, the ones not distracted by your beauty, curled around his ear and whispered about the emotion lingering on your face, in your eyes.

There was more you meant to say. Words left unsaid and he wants to know, the curiosity and yearning bordering on desperate. His gaze assesses you again, searching for an answer. For a hint. His shadows continue to whisper. Good, they say reassuringly, sensing no danger or malintent in you. We found her for you!

She saved master's life. Master was out for three days and she stayed by master’s side. She’s–

“What’s your name?” You ask, pulling him from the silent conversation with his shadows.

Azriel is not one to give his name so easily, often going by what he was–a Shadowsinger– rather than who he was. He’s also not one to dwell in places he’s unfamiliar with longer than necessary. But you saved his life and for some strange reason, his shadows had taken an immediate liking to you. They seem to trust you and therefore, so does he.

“Azriel.”

“Azriel,” you repeat and his shadows shudder in response, as though they, too, are captivated by the sound of it on your lips. His stomach flutters in time with their movement.

“What about yours?”

“Y/n.”

“Y/n,” he says, repeating your name the same way you had his. His shadows dance in the air around you both.

**

It’s late morning, as you pick up the empty plate from him, that he feels the familiar sensation of talons scraping against his mind. Azriel?? Rhysand’s voice is urgent, the frantic panic of it making him wince. Your head immediately turns in concern and Azriel brushes it off with a small shake of his head.

I’m alive. Azriel responds, his answer curt as he’s once again distracted by your presence.

Thank The Mother, Rhysand breathes a sigh of relief. Where are you? Are you somewhere safe? Do you need me to–

I’m fine. I was attacked while flying through Spring. 

Who? Rhysand demands.

Given the fact that whoever ambushed me has made no move to find me and finish the job, I’d say no one of importance. Azriel replies, lips curving into a small frown at the thought of being caught off guard and attacked. It rarely happened, his shadows always keeping him one step ahead of anyone and anything. Had they been distracted…?

He turns his head, searching for the shadows in question. Some remained with him, choosing to burrow under the blankets. The others, however, were hovering at your side and helping you clean up from breakfast. One even opens the door for you and he hears you murmur a small thanks as you leave the room.

Azriel had spent most of the afternoon sleeping. He didn’t want to, not liking the idea of being in such a vulnerable state with someone he barely knew. It’s not that he suspected you’d harm him or had bad intentions–you literally saved his life for Cauldron’s sake! It was just a feeling he was not used to. To be able to sleep safe and sound.

When he woke up again, it was a brand new day. He realized the bandages on his chest and arm had been changed. He was slowly gathering his strength back. One of his shadows must’ve given him away because shortly after he woke, you had walked in with a friend. 

“Wow,” the dark haired fae murmured, her steps faltering. Her eyes had widened in wonder, taking in the large expanse of his wings that made the bed look ridiculously small. “The Cauldron truly favors you.”

Azriel’s gaze couldn’t help but narrow. Those words had been directed at you, not him. 

You’d introduced her as Poppy, explaining she was your friend, another healer whose family had taken you in. Poppy had left shortly after setting a steaming bowl of stew on the table right next to the bed. She had been adamant on letting him know her mother had made it and not you, which he found odd.

Azriel was surprised to learn this was your room and you’d given it up for him. He tried to protest, offering to sleep on the couch or floor. Of course, you had refused and he was even more surprised to learn you were more stubborn than he was. 

Where are you in Spring? Rhysand’s presence in his mind pulls him back to the present. He hopes he hadn’t accidentally projected his memory to his friend, wanting to keep it to himself for now. I can send Cassian, if you’re unable to fly. 

No. Azriel responds immediately and he can feel Rhysand’s confusion. I’m alive and safe. I just need more time to recover. 

And without waiting for a response, Azriel brings up his mental shields again, shutting Rhysand out. He can only hope he doesn’t send Feyre knocking on his mind next. Or worse, actually send Cassian to Spring, despite him saying not to.

He should’ve said yes, and accepted the help. The Spring Court was among the least favorite of his courts, in tie with the Autumn Court. He had a strong distaste for the High Lord, who remained wandering through his forests like a beast. 

As you return to the room, Azriel catches sight of a faint glow wrapped around your wrist. He hadn’t seen it before, the glow of your magic outshining the gold ink etched there. A sun, cradled by a crescent moon, and below the moon, a fine lined star glimmers, connecting the two celestial bodies with its ray of starshine. 

“You’re far from home.” Azriel comments, nodding toward the tattoo.

“So are you,” you answer, lips turning up at the slight flush that takes over Azriel. You then glance down at the tattoo on your wrist. The insignia of your Court with the added touch of your healing gift. The tattoo was an honor, a testimony of the oath you had taken after mastering your magic. “I came to Spring to help after the war.”

“Will you go back home after?” He asks, a little too quickly, then clears his throat. His shadows snicker beside him in a knowing manner. “Or will you stay here?”

“I’ll stay here as long as I’m needed.”

He doesn’t understand why but a part of him feels relieved that you’re not attached to this court. 

“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need,” you then add. 

He feels an odd sense of relief, and his shadows give a little wiggle in excitement. He sends them a glare, and they sheepishly return to hiding under the covers. Though one brave shadow lingers by his side long enough to whisper, you'll find out soon Master.

“They’re cute," your voice pulls him from questioning his teasing shadow.

Azriel lets out a snort, the effort making his chest and stomach ache. Cute. His shadows had been called many things—strange, unnerving, even unsettling—but never cute. They typically clung to him, weaving around his form quietly, careful not to disturb anyone. Unless he sent them on a mission of their own or they had a mission of their own.

Occasionally, they’d make an exception for Cassian, creeping up behind him just to tap his shoulder and bask in his exasperation when he turned to find nothing there. They’d even tried their luck with Rhysand once, though he was never fooled. Yet, for reasons Azriel couldn’t fathom, his shadows had taken an immediate liking to you, drifting toward you whenever they could.

The said shadows peek out from under the covers, almost shyly. If they could blush, he’s sure they would be at this moment. They're never going to forget this moment.

“I wouldn’t call them cute,” Azriel replies, ignoring their indignant hisses.

Conversation flows easily between you two from there, Azriel giving into his curiosity to know and learn more about you. Much to his surprise, Azriel indulged you in your questions, telling you about his shadows and things about himself he rarely told others. They were small, trivial things such as his exact favorite shade of blue and his biggest pet peeve. Yet you held onto every word, every detail and it felt strangely comforting.

Two more days passed, Azriel’s body still healing. Slowly but surely. You had been able to recover one of the arrows that had shot him. Not that it mattered. Azriel was now, unfortunately, familiar with the effects of faebane. It hindered his healing and though it was frustrating, there was one upside to it all–the friendship blossoming between you and Azriel.

There’s a knock on the door as you mix Azriel’s concoction for pain. “Yes?” You call out.

Poppy peeks her head in. “I was just checking to see if I had given you enough spearmint for the pain tonic and also to let you know that we’ll be out most of the day. If you wanted to take out your ma—male for a walk or something without being bothered by the little ones.”

You freeze and a sheepish look takes over your features, tainting your cheeks. “Poppy,” you say her name again in what sounds like a warning. “He has a name, you know. And he doesn’t need to be taken on a walk.”

“Oh, right, Azriel,” she says, giving him a cheery wave. “Hello again!”

“Hello,” Azriel replies, shifting in the bed, despite the protests of his muscles. He’s not at all offended by Poppy, her aura too bright and cheery to be bothered. He flashes you a grin that has your grasp on the mixer faltering. “I think a walk would be nice actually.”

“Told you!” Poppy replies. “Anyway, we’ll see you for dinner. Send a butterfly if you need me.”

When the door closes, you let out a small sigh, shaking your head with a small, sheepish smile. “I’m so sorry about her.”

Azriel brushes off your concern, his eyes shining bright when he looks back at you. “How about that walk?”

**

Azriel grunts as he pushes to stand, his wings trembling as he shifts his weight, unused to bearing himself after days of bedrest. He stumbles right into your arms, his usually steady form swaying. You quickly catch him, your arms coming around one of his sides. His shadows dart toward his other side, helping you hold him upright. 

“I’ve got you,” you say softly, your hold surprisingly firm. 

He can't help it. He lets out a low, amused breath. 

“What?” You ask.

“Usually, I’m the one saying that.”

Your lips quirk into a smile, a gleam in your eye, as you help him find his balance. “Well, even the best need someone to lean on sometimes, right?”

Azriel stares at you. Something in his chest tightens–a weird but comforting sensation. It’s similar, if not the same, to what he had felt when he first saw you. Warm and painfully sweet. The feeling reassures him that, though you were strangers mere days ago, you’re someone he can lean on.

“Come on,” you murmur, nodding toward the door. 

Azriel lets you guide him through the house and out onto the porch. You settle there together, cutting the walk very short. You're mindful not to push him too far when he's still recovering. Azriel doesn't mind, the fresh air enough for him. He knows he isn’t at full strength to protect you should anything arise. Even though you most likely know these forests better than himself.

His hands drift to the porch railing as he leans forward for support, fingers curling around the edge. The sunlight glances off his scarred hands, each ridge and mark stark against his skin. He’d kept them hidden beneath the covers and out of your view while bedridden, hiding them instinctively, unable to forget the pitying glances they’d drawn in the past. Though he’s sure you must've seen them when you rescued him.

Now, as he feels your gaze slide toward them, a familiar discomfort tugs at him. He starts to withdraw his hands, wanting to tuck them closer to himself.

But you reach out. Your hand hovers, brushing slightly over his. There’s a slight hesitation—an uncertainty in whether to bridge the space or leave it. In the end, you let your hand rest gently beside his.

Azriel hesitates, unused to this vulnerability, yet unable to move away. He glances up to meet your eyes and his guarded expression softens slightly. “They’re… not easy to look at,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know they’re not.”

“I’m familiar with scars, you know. They don’t make you less of who you are.”

Azriel’s jaw tightens, his gaze dropping where your hands are barely brushing against one another. His throat feels tight, an ache he’s kept buried resurfacing.

“Not to me,” you continue. “I don’t see you any differently because of them.” 

He searches your face and he sees something in your eyes that helps him slowly relax. His gaze returns to your hand, fingers hovering now over his. This time, there’s no hesitation as you gently lay your hand over his, holding it as if the scars didn’t exist at all.

It’s such a simple gesture, yet it speaks volumes. 

His shadows slither down his arm and toward where your hands connect. For the first time, Azriel feels no urge to hide, no shame from the past that has long haunted him.

A silence drifts down between the two of you, settling like a blanket over the conversation. There’s no need to fill it, no awkwardness there. Just a gentle, shared peace, stretching softly around you both. He turns his head, shifting his gaze forward and takes a deep breath. 

He closes his eyes and a breeze rolls in, brushing against his skin and stirring his hair. His shadows begin to whisper excitedly. He basks in the sun’s warmth, and lets the scent of spring fill his senses from the fresh earth to the blooming flowers and the faint sweetness of pollen. It brings forth a tickle in his nose, and before he can stop it, he sneezes. His body groans in response, wings shuddering.

“Bless you,” you say, but he notices the way your mouth quirks as if you’re holding back a laugh.

“What?” he asks, brows furrowing.

“I’m sorry,” you giggle, your free hand rising to stifle it. “It’s just… you have such a fatherly sneeze.”

Azriel raises an eyebrow, a rare, amused smile creeping onto his face. “Fatherly sneeze?” He echoes. He has never heard the expression before yet he somehow understands it. If you thought his sneeze was “fatherly,” he’s curious to see your reaction to one of Cassian’s sneezes. That thought is enough to make him laugh outright.

It's so silly but the sound is so contagious that you laugh too. His shadows began to flutter around you, as if joining in on the laughter. Azriel’s gaze then drifts down, watching the way your lips curve in laughter, how your eyes crinkle at the corners, how effortlessly you draw light into his heart.

And there it is again—that rush of warmth. It’s mixed in with joy, so pure and intense it has to be coming from you. His heart stirs, his pulse quickens, his mind clears, and in a single, life-altering instant, he knows.

“You’re my mate.”

Your smile falters, replaced by a moment of hesitation. Some shadows travel to you, brushing softly against your arms as if in a reassuring manner. He can't help but watch them, realization dawning on him.

“Yeah, I am,” you admit quietly.

“How—when…” His voice catches, unable to form the words.

“I was walking through the forest when your shadows came to me. They led me to you, by the river. You were unconscious and bleeding. And then… the bond snapped for me the moment I saw your face. You were so cold and--and…,” your face tightens, eyes glistening at the memory and Azriel can feel the panic you must’ve felt then. “I’d just found what so many only dream of and you were already slipping away...I thought I’d never get to know your name…”

Azriel feels a pang deep in his chest as he absorbs every word. His chest feels tight again and he swallows thickly. “And when I woke up, why didn’t you tell me?”

Your gaze falls, fingers twisting together. “I wanted you to heal, to feel better. That’s all that mattered.”

“I owe you my life.”

“You don’t owe me anything. I would’ve saved you, mate or not.”

Azriel searches your face, touched beyond words at the sincerity in your tone. It made sense why he felt so drawn to you since the moment he saw you, why his shadows took a sudden liking to you and kept whispering "we found her, we found her!" They had known all this time, been able to sense it before he even could.

Looking back, Poppy being the one to bring him food and water and not you was not as strange as he originally thought. You were being mindful, not wanting to accidentally accept the bond without his knowledge. He felt an overwhelming gratitude for how gentle and considerate you've been with him all along. He couldn’t help but wonder how he had gotten so lucky to be bound to someone like you.

“And would you have sung to me, mate or not?” Azriel asks, his mind drifting back to the exact moment he'd first woken up.

Your cheeks flush, and you glance away toward the gardens, suddenly refusing to meet his eyes. “What?” You let out a small huff. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 “What did I hear?” Azriel’s tone borders on teasing, his expression shifting into one of exaggerated contemplation. “Something like… ‘Beautiful stranger, here you are…’”

“That’s enough!” You interrupt, your face turning into an even deeper shade of pink, caught somewhere between mortification and laughter. 

This time, it’s Azriel holding back a chuckle. His lips curl into a small smirk, seeing the blush that lights up your face. He quite likes that shade on you—likes being the one to bring it out even more. “So…”

You keep your gaze straight ahead. “So…?”

Azriel leans in, his voice low and warm, making your stomach flutter. “Do you sing that song for just anyone too?”

“No,” you let out a laugh, your hands cup your face but there’s no hiding the blush there.  “I’m afraid that song was just for you.”

“Good,” he murmurs.

You turn to look at him, realizing his gaze had never left you. Your hands drop back to the porch railing.  “Yeah?” you whisper, your own heart pounding, not sure what it was you were asking.

But Azriel seems to understand anyway. He can feel what you’re feeling, now fully aware and attentive to the bond humming between you.

“Yeah,” he breathes, his smirk softening into a genuine smile, his heart finally at ease. 

A gentle warmth surges through the bond, reaching every shadowed corner of his heart and wrapping around his soul. It’s a feeling he could get used to, one he’s spent centuries longing and yearning for. It’s a feeling he’s searched for in all the wrong places, enduring the heavy weight of heartbreak after heartbreak.

But now, with you, he feels the weight begin to lift. After all the empty falls and broken promises, it’s finally, finally safe for him to fall.

a/n: you can't tell me Az & Cas don't have dad sneezes lol. Anyway, I really wanted to write a fic where Az finally feels safe with someone because he deserves to. I hope you enjoyed this <3

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444 @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits13, @lorosette

@alwayshave-faith

[steveslevis]

all of you, all of me, intertwined.

azriel x healer!reader

summary: You met your mate during the war and have been obsessed with him–and his dagger–ever since.

warnings: smut!!!!!, improper use of of Truth-Teller (aka object in v), knife kink, dom/sub dynamic (+ hints of R in subspace), praise kink, lots of dirty talk, mentions of war & injuries, mentions of pregnancy

If anyone would’ve told you five years ago that the mating bond snaps for you when your brand new mate pulls a knife from his hip and presses it to your throat, you wouldn’t have believed them. Hell, even five days ago you wouldn’t have believed them. 

But here you are, a blade against your throat, back pushed against a wooden support of the tent you accidentally walked into as the most breathtaking male you’ve ever seen holds you in place, eyes narrowed and hands firm on your shoulder and throat as he stares down at you intensely with bright hazel eyes. 

You didn’t mean to walk into the wrong tent, exhaustion and confusion has taken over your body hours prior and it was an honest mistake to walk up the wrong row of tents in the middle of the night. So, you truly don’t blame the male for holding a knife to your throat. You would’ve done the same if a random fae waltzed into your tent while you were recuperating after battle, considering this is the middle of a Godsforsaken war with Hybern. 

A strained cry breaks from your throat as the bond tugs on your chest for the first time ever, feeling like your heart is about to beat through your ribcage as you stare back at the male in front of you, your mate. 

“Who are you?” he insists, blade pressing harder into your throat as he watches emotionlessly as you cry out once more.

You thrash in his grasp once, the blade slipping across your throat as you throw your head to one side. The male grips your chin to force you to look at him, making the blade slip across your throat once more, the tiniest ripples of blood coming to the surface as you lock eyes with him once more.

“M–Mate,” you whimper, voice barely audible as you stare up at him with terrified eyes, hands trembling as you try to reach for his blade. 

“Mate?”

Those are the only words you hear before you slip into unconsciousness, collapsing into the male’s grasp as he stands there, dumbfounded at your words. 

When you wake, you find yourself slumped in a chair, presumably in the tent that you accidentally entered prior to fainting. You’re faced with a familiar female when you wake, who you slowly realize is the High Lady of the Night Court. She’s standing over you, pressing a damp cloth to the shallow cuts on your throat. Your eyes wander as you process the people you’re currently in the room with, you see two very obviously Illyrian males next to the High Lord of the Night Court on one side of the room along with a tall, beautiful blonde female helping the High Lady with tending to you. 

It takes you a moment, but you slowly realize that you definitely wandered into the High Lord and Lady’s tent thanks to the fatigue from battle. 

On your final scan of the room, you finally comprehend that one of the Illyrian males on the other side of the room is definitely your mate, and it’s definitely the male that’s pacing back and forth in front of the other two while running his hands through his hair frantically. You finally recognize the two males with the High Lord as his General and Spymaster, the Spymaster being the one who bombarded you as you entered the tent, but you can’t remember either of their names in your haze.

You try to sit up straight as soon as you see him, but Feyre gently guides you back in the chair before you can. 

“Azriel,” she calls out, making the male snap his attention towards you. 

He’s next to you in an instant, kneeling next to the chair while peering up at you with those cautious hazel eyes. 

“H–Hi.” is all he says, voice shaky as he speaks. 

“H–Hello.” you stammer, finally sitting up straight in the chair, “My deepest apologies for barging in, I–I promise I thought I walked up the right row of tents, I was just trying to go–”

“It’s alright,” the male in front of you, who you now know to be named Azriel, interjects coolly, shaking his head as he notes the panic in your eyes. “The High Lord knows you mean no harm. He saw what you were trying to do.”

You furrow your brow, unsure what he means by the High Lord seeing what you were trying to do. Before you can question it, Rhysand himself takes a step towards your chair.

“And I saw how much blood you’d lost prior to your walk over to the tents, even before your new-found mate here decided to put a blade to your throat.” Rhysand says, “It’s Y/N, correct?” he asks, and you nod hesitantly, “Would you like to see a healer?”

It’s then that you remember that the High Lord is daemati and definitely infiltrated your mind when you entered the tent, in order to gauge the threat you posed to them. 

You shake your head quickly, a frown pulling on your lips as you’re reminded of the blood pooling beneath your leathers at your hip. You don’t want to see another healer, you’re a damn good healer, but you have to remind yourself that they don’t know that yet. Pain ripples through your side as you twist slightly in the chair to look at Rhysand and you have to force back a grimace as you give him a weak smile. 

“No, I am quite alright. Thank you very much, High Lord.” you say, nodding formally at him before attempting to stand from the chair. “I have plenty of healing and strength tonics back in my tent. I just n–need to wrap it and get some rest for the morning.”

You barely make it one step before stumbling, your mind going hazy and body going shaky due to the lost blood and lack of food or water throughout the day. Azriel is there to catch you as soon as you stumble, strong hands holding your weight up before settling you back into your chair. You see shadows skitter around you as you take a shuddering breath and you wonder if your vision is clouding again. But you soon notice them around Azriel’s hands as well and make a mental note to ask about them once you’re fully conscious and not feeling delusional. 

“It doesn’t seem like you’re fit to go anywhere right now.” Azriel mumbles with a slight growl in his voice, turning away from you immediately after you relax back into the chair. 

He walks over to a table on the other side of the room that’s filled with objects you’d find scattered across your own desk on any given day at work. There’s bottles of tonics, gauze, bandages and even some sutures strewn across the table. It makes sense that the High Lord and his Inner Circle would have their own supplies given to them during the war. 

Azriel takes his time gathering the supplies he needs, then sets them on a table adjacent to the chair before turning his attention back to you. 

“Do you need help, brother?” Rhysand questions, noting Azriel’s furrowed brow as he tries to decide what to do first. “I can call for Madja.”

“No, I can do it.” Azriel grunts insistently, sending a warning glare in Rhysand’s direction. 

There’s a tug in the center of your chest as he speaks, as he unintentionally sends his possessiveness and frustration down the bond to you. Without a word, you send a weak but soothing hum of power down the bond back to him, which makes his brows furrow again, his attention snapping to you instead of the High Lord now. 

The look in his eyes is wild, one filled with shock and awe as he processes what you just did. 

“Did you feel that?” you question softly, eyes wide and watery as your heart feels like it’s going to beat through your chest. 

He only nods, his own eyes wide as his hand rests over his heart. You hear the rest of them behind you beginning to exit, hearing the High Lady suggest that they go visit her sisters to give the two of you space. A feeling of relief washes over you as the tent empties, leaving you alone with Azriel, your mate.

“So it is real,” he says breathlessly, a strangled noise of shock falling from his lips as you tug on the bond once more, “you’re really my mate.”

“I am,” you say in reply, a smile playing on your lips as you gaze up at him, you reach a hand up to his cheek to cup it as you grin as you repeat his words back to him, “you’re my mate.”

The two of you stare at each other for a moment before he notices how shaky your hand is against his cheek. He turns his gaze back to the slew of supplies he has in front of him. You hold back from directing him only for a moment before noticing the look of pure confusion on his face as he reaches for one of the tubs of salve that he’d grabbed. 

“Did Madja give you any strength tonics?” you ask, eyes scanning the table for the distinct bottle of aquamarine liquid that you have in mind. 

You spot it eventually, but can’t reach far enough to grab it, so you point to it for him to hand to you. Azriel does so and watches you closely while you shakily take off the stopper and take a drink from the bottle. You know that you only need to take half of the bottle, because you’d mixed these yourself and the amount in each was enough for male Illyrian warriors, not for an ordinary high fae healer. So you drink half of it and set it back down, noticing the male staring at you with wonder-filled eyes as you do.

There’s a beat of silence in the room as you reach for the healing salve on the table, making quick work of soothing the stinging cuts on your neck from Azriel’s interrogation. He continues to stare as you work on your own wounds, unsure of what he can do to help.

“Are you–” 

“A healer?” you interrupt with a smirk, giggling at the dumbfounded male in front of you. “I’m a healer working under Madja.”

“So you really don’t even need me to help with this, do you?” he questions, a small smile on his lips as he stares down at you soothing the cuts on your neck.

“Normally I wouldn’t,” you jokingly hum in return, “but since my healing abilities are stunted and I can’t twist too well right now to see what’s going on, I will need you to dress my wound.”

Azriel’s eyes widen at your words and he nods quickly, dropping to his knees in front of you again. His hands hovered over your waist, taking in the bloodied gash on your side. Your leathers are tattered in that area and there’s a piece of some other cloth shoved in between the holes of the leather, something you did while trying to keep the bleeding at bay while you fought. Truthfully, you can’t fully remember what caused the wound itself, but you’d rather not remember the traumas of the battlefield you endured over the last few days. 

“May I?” his voice interrupts your thoughts as his hands still wait for your approval to peel your leathers away from the wound. 

You nod silently, inhaling sharply as he pulls the leather away from your waist, tugging it up with your help. There’s blood caked on your skin, so Azriel makes quick work of carefully wiping down the area with a warm washcloth. You wince at the rough feeling of the cloth against your skin, biting back a cry as he continues to clean it. He mumbles apologies to you over and over again, his free hand grabbing for one of yours for you to squeeze.

“Almost done,” he murmurs, his thumb running across the back of your hand as he intently stares at your wound.

He finishes up quickly, pressing some dry gauze to the cut area before turning his gaze to you. Your eyes are watering when they meet his hazel ones, but you still give him a weak smile in return. 

“Now you can stitch me up, right?” you question jokingly.

Azriel misses the joke and the half smile on his face falls slowly at the thought. You giggle at his expression, shaking your head as he stares at you blankly.

“I’m only joking,” you tease, watching him finally relax once you start giggling. “I just need you to wrap me up, okay?”

“Yeah, yes of course.” he replies quickly, reaching for the large roll of bandage to his left to start wrapping it around your waist, “Do you harass all your healing trainees like that?”

There’s a smirk on his face as he places the bandage over the gauze on your side, eyes twinkling as he teases you back. 

“No, only the ones that interrogate me with a knife right before I find out that they’re my mate.” 

______________________________________________________________

Six years later

“Can you believe that it’s been six years since you held me at knife-point with Truth-Teller the first time we met?” you ask your mate, who just emerged from your en-suite bathroom in only a towel.

You’re laying on your side in the middle of your king-sized bed in the middle of your shared bedroom, toying with Truth-Teller that Azriel had left behind on the bedside table. 

“Are you ever gonna let that go?” Azriel says as he walks toward the edge of the bed, a smirk on his face as he pushes Truth-Teller out of your grasp. “I only did it because I thought you were gonna try to kill Rhys, or even worse, kill Feyre.” 

You gasp at his statement, throwing your hand over your heart dramatically. 

“I would never do such a thing and you know it.” you say with a dramatic frown, propping yourself up on your elbows as he inches closer to you by sitting down next to you. 

“I didn’t know that then,” he says matter-of-factly, “but now I know that you would never do such a thing and that you’re a little too fascinated by Truth-Teller after all that. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re turned on by it.”

Your eyes widen at his bold statement, your body flushing with embarrassment as he smirks at you before pulling you in for a searing kiss. His hands caress your sides, fingers gently grazing over your scars from that fated night from over your silk nightgown. You grasp for any part of him that you can, your hands shoving their way into his slightly damp hair to pull him closer. He hums against your lips, pulling you onto his lap. 

He presses your hips down onto his, causing you to moan into the kiss and grind back into him as you feel his half-hard length pressing against your core. His lips trail from your lips, to your cheek, and up to your ear. His breath fans against your neck, causing a shiver to run down your spine. Shadows trail along the hem of your nightgown, pulling the silky fabric up and up and up–

“How would you feel if I used Truth-Teller on you now, huh?” he murmurs against your skin, nibbling on your earlobe as he chuckles, “What if I took the blade and cut this pretty little nightgown off? What if I took the hilt and–”

Azriel’s lewd words are interrupted by a loud banging on your bedroom door, causing you to nearly jump out of his lap as the pounding continues.

“Training in twenty minutes with the Valkyries, asshole.” you hear Cassian’s booming voice call from the other side of the door, “Get your shit done and get out here, I can smell you two from out here.”

“I’ll be there, now fuck off,” Azriel retorts, biting back a smirk as he peers down at you to mumble, “remind me to look into new houses for just us soon.”

A pout pulls your lips down as you make the smallest bit of space between you and your mate, cheeks flushing with embarrassment as you become all too aware of your arousal hanging thick in the room.

“Don’t worry, love. We can continue this later,” he hums, bringing his lips to your neck to pepper kisses along the soft skin, “I don’t wanna rush anything today, wanna take my sweet time with my sweet girl.”

The flush of your cheeks deepen as you pull him closer, whining in response to his sensual touch, grinding your hips ever-so-lightly against his as you try to silently convince him to stay with you. He only growls in response, shaking his head at your mischief as he realizes your plan. 

“It’s our anniversary, Az.” you whine, a frown on your lips once more as the scent of your arousal continues to linger around you, enticing your mate more and more with each breath. 

It’s the anniversary of the mating bond snapping into place along with the anniversary of your mating ceremony today. The two of you decided to wait a year to accept the bond in order to get to know each other, and you’ve been inseparable since.

“I know, love.” he coos gently, hand coming up to your cheek to stroke it gently. “That’s why I wanna take my time with you, wanna make sure my perfect girl is taken care of in every way possible tonight. Can you be a good little mate and hold out until after dinner with the family?”

You continue to frown at your mate, but nod at him slowly. He smiles in return, placing a quick kiss on your cheek before gripping your hips to remove you from his lap and place you back on the bed.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come to training?” Azriel asks as he stands, reaching for his coveted blade as he stands over you. “I could bring Truth-Teller out to play just for you.”

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to ignore the familiar yet strange feeling of dread roiling within your gut as you try to feign annoyance with your mate. You shake your head at him wordlessly, rolling your eyes playfully when he shoots a lighthearted smirk in your direction. He’s only teasing you and you both know it, but the thought of training for battle does not sit right with you anymore, especially after you swore to him five years ago that he’d protect you forever, and that you’d never have to be on the front lines of war again. You could continue your duties as a healer for as long as you pleased, and would never have to worry about defending yourself, as your very own shadowsinger would do so for you. 

Ever since sustaining your injury six years prior, your body has never been the same. The injury you sustained was so intense that even the powers of you and Madja combined couldn’t heal the skin of your waist fully, nor could the two of you completely repair the damage to your hip bone that fractured from the impact of whatever took a chunk out of you. You can’t move as freely as you once could, though it doesn’t stop you from many things now aside from training, which you’ve only attempted once. 

“I’m only joking, love.” he reassures you, seeing the dimming light in your eyes as you drift off into thought at the idea of training. His hand runs along your side reflexively, as if his own scarred hands can heal the scarred skin of your waist. He plants one soft kiss on your lips before pulling away, taking you in as he smiles, “I love you, happy anniversary.” 

“Happy anniversary, Az. I love you so much.” you murmur, watching as your mate continues to get ready for the day. 

—

The day flies by quickly, filled mostly with fulfilling orders from Madja for illness tonics and salves in preparation for the coldest months in Prythian. It’s all a blur to you in all honesty, your mate being the only thing on your mind all day as you try to preoccupy yourself with busy work until it’s time to go to the River House for dinner.

It’s only 4:30 in the evening by the time you finish putting the rest of the salves into their tins. But you still decide to head to the River House a little early in order to speak to Feyre regarding an experimental tonic the two of you had brainstormed about a few weeks prior. 

She had commissioned you to do some research on non-Illyrian females giving birth to half-Illyrian children if there was any magic that could help to make the process less life-threatening. The High Lady never specifically asked you to make anything, just to research the topic, but you found a mix of tonics that would potentially help with flexibility and strength of a female’s bones during pregnancy in order to prevent major complications with the Illyrian wings and couldn’t help but start experimenting right away. 

It was a topic dear to your heart and you were more than grateful for Feyre’s commission, as you’d been told by Madja multiple times that it’s very possible that you’d never be able to mother Azriel’s children, especially due to the injuries you sustained in battle damaging your hip and pelvis. You’d hoped that this could be the cure for your feelings of inadequacy in being able to give your mate a child, but Madja still warns you to be careful and to wait as long as possible before deciding to try for a child in order to make sure you are truly healed. 

Despite the ringing thoughts of inadequacy in your brain after finishing the tonic, you nearly floated with excitement over to the River House at the end of your day, feeling beyond excited to tell Feyre the great news about your work-in-progress.

You enter the River House and are greeted with the smell of fresh pastries and a crackling fireplace. One turn into the drawing room and you spot Feyre lounging on the couch while Nesta plays with Nyx in the middle of the floor. Rhysand enters the room from the other direction as you do, three glasses of wine in hand as he strolls toward the couch to sit with his mate. Your chest blooms with warmth at the sight in front of you, admiring your found family that you lucked into becoming part of just a few years ago. 

Feyre is the first to notice you enter the room, greeting you with a grin as she motions for you to come in. You sit on the couch that’s facing the one the mates are sitting on, quietly greeting the others in the room as you settle. 

Nyx all but abandons Nesta when you come in, waddling over to you to give your legs a hug. You giggle at the boy, grabbing him under his arms to pull him into your lap and give him a proper hug giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“You’re here early today,” Rhys notes, summoning a fourth glass of wine for you before handing it to you. 

“I finished with my work early today, and had some exciting news to tell the High Lady that I wanted to share before dinner.” you retort with a smile, bouncing the toddler on your knee as you speak. 

Feyre’s eyes narrow at you as you call her by her formal title, but it’s so second nature to you that you almost always slip up when referring to her in conversation. You give her an apologetic look but her mood quickly changes once she realizes what you’re referring to.

“Oh, what have you found?” she says excitedly, sitting up straight as if that would help her hear your response any better. “Any good ideas for us to look into?”

“Actually, I have something better than good ideas to look into,” you say, reaching your hand into the bag at your side, pulling out a small vial of a cherry red tonic to show the three in front of you. 

“Is that–”

You nod slowly and hum in response, swirling the liquid in the vial before handing it to Feyre. She inspects it with wide, wonder-filled eyes as it sloshes in the tube. Nesta and Rhys crane their necks to look as well, both confused about the content of the vial.

“If it does what it is meant to do, it should be able to widen the pelvis of non-Illyrian females in order to aid in the birth of winged babes and make the process easier on our bodies.” you start, a bittersweet smile on your face as you catch yourself using the word our, referring to yourself as one of the females, though you know how unlikely it is that you’ll be able to. “It is supposed to help with the flexibility of the bone and grow the bone outward in order to accommodate the wings. We–We just need to complete some trials on non-pregnant females to confirm that it does what we want it to do before we can start advertising it to the public–”

“I’ll volunteer,” Nesta says, eyes wide as her own eagerness takes her aback. “I mean–If you need volunteers, I would love to help.”

“Of course, Nes.” you say with a smile, “You’ll be the first person on my list to contact when we’re ready for volunteers.”

“And what about you?” Rhysand interjects, taking a sip of wine as he peers over at you with nothing but pure interest and amusement in his eyes. “Would this be able to help you with childbirth, given your situation?”

Feyre immediately elbows her mate in the ribs, giving him a sidelong glare as she does. You know his curiosity is genuine and he means no harm by asking the question, but the thought alone feels like a knife through the heart. 

As you open your mouth to answer him, the doors to the house swing open, a booming voice flowing through the lower level as Cassian and Azriel enter. You thank the Cauldron in that moment for Cassian’s loud mouth, turning your attention to the two males strolling into the drawing room. 

Your mate’s eyes meet your own instantly, brow furrowed as he looks down to you, able to feel your discomfort, thanks to the conversation they’d interrupted, through the bond. You give him a weak, but reassuring smile, tugging on the bond lightly as if to tell him that you’re fine. 

“We thought we’d find you two here,” Cassian says to you and his mate, pulling Nesta into an embrace when she stands to greet him. “Neither of you can go a full day without seeing your precious Nyx, can you?” 

You smile down at the giggling boy in your lap, little wings flapping happily behind him as Cassian comes behind him to poke him teasingly. 

“As much as I love this little babe, I know my rightful place,” you laugh, standing from the couch to hand the child over to Nesta. “I know I’m quite far down on the list of favorites, especially since Auntie Nes is 1000% his number one.” 

Nesta hums in approval as she holds the little boy close, cooing as he plops his head down on her shoulder. 

Azriel makes his way over to you, his shadows immediately greeting you with lingering touches and whispers in your ears. His wing closest to you nearly wraps all the way around you like a protective shield, covering your back as he pulls you to his side to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Are you alright?” he mumbles against your skin and you nod, feeling better now that your mate is by your side again, especially when he sends a soothing hum down the bond to you. 

The rest of the night goes by smoothly, with flowing drinks and a bountiful feast. You told Feyre a thousand times that she did not have to do all of this just to celebrate your five year mating ceremony anniversary, but she insisted. It’s just you, Nesta, Feyre and your mates, and Nyx, present for dinner this time, as the others have other obligations. 

You don’t mind, though, since sometimes it’s overwhelming with all of the Inner Circle, including Varian and Lucien following their lovers around like lost puppies, present for dinners. So you’re grateful for the somewhat smaller crowd, meaning there are less people around to ask prying questions about your job, about your life before meeting Azriel, or–your least favorite–about what Azriel is like in bed. Those questions typically come from Mor or Amren after a few too many glasses of fae wine, but you’re grateful for the break from them for the time being.

You don’t miss the way your mate sneaks glances at you all night, sending his shadows to tease you and play with the crushed velvet of your skirts while acting engrossed by conversation with Nesta, using his own strong hand on your thigh to tease you. 

By the time desserts roll out, you’re having a hard time sitting still under his touch, ready to head back to the House of Wind to continue whatever you had started with him earlier in the day. You’re shifting back and forth in your seat while trying to focus on the chocolate tart in front of you when you feel a strong hand squeeze your thigh once again, making you snap your attention to your mate. 

Azriel smirks down at you, reaching his free hand to your cheek to stroke it gently. Your knee brushes his leg as he massages your thigh gently, pushing your knee against the sheath holding Truth-Teller flush to his outer thigh while a wicked smirk plays on his lips. He knows exactly what he’s doing and it’s damn near driving you insane.

“Are you going to be okay to leave after you finish your dessert, love?” he questions, feigning innocence as he knows at least Nesta and Cassian are listening to him from the seats on the other side of you. “I’m exhausted from training today.”

You nod quietly, keeping a cool and collected expression on your face while you tug on the bond between your souls sensually.

It’s only 8 in the evening by the time Az is shooting into the sky with you in his arms, two hours earlier than the two of you usually are leaving the River House on a family dinner night. He typically has to drag you out of the drawing room after multiple drinks with Feyre and Cassian, but this time you’re the one dragging him out. 

He doesn’t even bother entering the House of Wind through the front, just flies straight onto the balcony outside your bedroom, pushing the door open quickly as he sets you down gently. 

Before you can pounce, he turns away from you and walks over to his desk on the other side of the room, rummaging through the top drawer. He pulls out a black rectangular box that’s a little longer than his hand, adorned with a golden ribbon. You frown as he turns back around, shaking your head at him.

“Az, we said no gifts.” you say, brows furrowing as he runs his hand along the edges of the box nervously. “I–I didn’t get you anything.”

“I know, I didn’t want you to get me anything,” he says firmly, hazel eyes flaring with love and intensity as he stares down at you. “I–I just wanted to give you this, it’s something I’ve had for a long time and haven’t really known what to do with, until now.”

He’s firm in his movements as he places the box into your hands, not letting go until you accept the gift. You eventually grab it, a frown crossing your face as you look down at the box.

You choose not to argue with him anymore, giving in to his intense gaze as you tug on the golden ribbon to free the lid for the box. In all honesty, you’re expecting some kind of jewelry, some delicate and historic necklace that he’s had for centuries. What you’re not expecting to find on the other side of the black lid is a dagger. 

Lying within a blanket of velvet inside of the box is a silver dagger, one with a braided silver and gold hilt adorned with large white and golden-yellow gemstones in an intricate pattern imitating starlight all the way from the pommel down to the cross-guard. A gasp falls from your lips as you take in the beauty of the weapon in the box, unsure of what to say.

“I was given this dagger centuries ago by my mother. She told me she knew I would never use it myself because my hands had nearly outgrown it by the time she gave it to me, but she knew that I would find the perfect person to give it to.” Azriel says, unsheathing Truth-Teller to place it next to the box in your hand. “I think deep down she knew that I would meet you, love.”

The dagger within the box is almost an exact replica of Truth-Teller in shape and form but not size, only the color of the gemstones embedded in the metal and the gold-adorned hilt of the smaller one setting the two apart. 

The two blades seem to hum when set next to each other, as if they were Made together, as if they were twin flames, as if they were mates. You can feel the vibration in your hands along with in your own soul as you stare down at the gift in wonder.

“Az, I–I can’t take this from you,” you say, finally looking back up at him with teary eyes, “I know how much your daggers mean to you, I don’t want to take one from you.”

“My lightsinger,” Azriel nearly whispers to you, his free hand coming up to brush through your hair, “my beautiful mate, can’t you see?”

You smile gently at the nickname, one he’d given you shortly after the two of you had met. He’d told you that he thought you were a lightsingerwhen you walked into the tent that evening, joking that you were just like the faeries living in the Bog of Oorid in the way that you lured him in immediately. The nickname stuck, especially after the first time he’d watched you heal Nyx, seeing the bright light flowing from your fingers as you healed the boy’s scraped knee to ease his pitiful sobs. 

“Can’t you feel it, love? This dagger was made for you, it took me so long to realize it, but I just know this was made for you. It sings to Truth-Teller, just like your soul sings to mine. You are the light to my shadows, I–I really never thought I would find you in this lifetime, but then you just stumbled into that damn tent six years ago and my life has been so much better since. I was stuck in a constant state of darkness with no real purpose in sight until this bond snapped into place, but now I can see what my life is meant to be spent with you.” he continues, cupping your cheek. 

For a man of few words, Azriel always knows how to make you melt. Without a word, you pull him down for a gentle kiss, feeling the two daggers hum in rhythm with your bond between your bodies. You pull away from the kiss to peer up at him, eyes glowing with love and warmth.

“I love you, Azriel.” you whisper, pulling him close as his shadows skitter over your hand that’s touching his cheek. “My shadowsinger, my mate.”

He doesn’t say anything as he wraps one arm around your waist, the other pulling the daggers from your grasp. He sets you and the blades onto the edge of the bed, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist as he kisses you deeply.

“Can we finally finish what we started earlier today?” you tease against his lips, earning a chuckle from the shadowsinger.

“I think we need to finish the conversation we were having earlier before we continue anything else, yeah?” he murmurs, trailing kisses along the smooth skin of your neck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you hum innocently, grinding your hips up into his eagerly. 

“Hmm, you don’t?” he questions, blindly searching for the blade he’d strewn onto the bed next to you with his free hand before running it along your arm. You gasp at the contact, the coolness of the blade making your skin erupt in goosebumps, “Does this jog your memory at all, love?”

You open your mouth to make a teasing comment to your mate, but he trails the blade from your arm and up to your chest, stopping at the hem of your shirt laying between your breasts.

“Do you want me to use my blade on you?” he questions, voice low and sultry as he speaks, “I see the way you watch when I train with Truth-Teller, I can feel the way it makes your heart race every time I pull it out. I see how disappointed you get when I take it off my hip when I come into the bedroom, love.” he continues, the tip of the blade drawing tiny circles on your chest as your breathing grows heavy. “Just tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”

You stare up at him with lust-filled eyes, pupils blown as you think about what’s about to happen. He gives you an encouraging yet lustful look in return, tugging on the bond between your souls to tell you how much he needs you. His shadows trail around you as well, tendrils swirling by your ears and down near your breasts excitedly to spur you on. 

“I–I want you to use Truth-Teller on me, Az.” you admit finally, a blush spreading over your cheeks at the confession. 

“How would you like me to use it, love? You gotta use your words or I won’t know what you want.” he coaxes, a smirk playing on his lips as he tries to get you to elaborate, since it always took much encouragement from the foul-mouthed shadowsinger to get you to talk dirty with him. 

“Want you t–to fuck me with it, u–use the hilt to fuck me.” you murmur, eyes falling to avoid his as the words fall from your lips. “Want you to cut my clothes off with it and–and then fuck me, mark me as yours, Az.”

He hums happily at your confession, one hand coming up to grip your chin. Your eyes meet his and you notice that something’s changed, something dark and lustful taking over his gaze as he trails the blade from the exposed skin of your chest towards the ruffled neckline of your pale marigold dress. Your breath catches as the blade digs into the velvet, easily creating a small nick in the fabric.

“This dress is one of my favorites on you,” Azriel states in an almost disappointed tone as he watches the blade slowly separating the bust of the dress, “but I guess I’ll just have to find a really good seamstress to make you a new one because I need to get this off of you, right now.”

Before you can process the scene unfolding, Azriel uses one swift flick of Truth-Teller to split the velvet all the way down to your navel, and one more to separate the skirt. His eyes are wide as he shoves the fabric from your body, helping you as you tug your arms out of the sleeves, leaving you in only a glittering navy blue bralette and thong, picked out specially for him. 

“You’re incredible,” the shadowsinger breathes out, feverishly pressing his lips to yours again once he takes in your figure below him.

Your heart races as you raise your hips up, grinding against his clothed cock while he trails Truth-Teller over your bare hip. He groans into your mouth before pulling away from the kiss, gently removing your legs from around his hips to spread them for you. Shadows work on your bralette as he moves the blade, unbuttoning the back of it so you can quickly toss it off, leaving you in only the glittering navy thong.

Truth-Teller is in Azriel’s hand as he takes a half-step away from you in order to trail the blade down to your core, the cool metal against your heat causing you to squirm slightly. He smirks at you as he flips the dagger around, hand on the blade as he presses the hilt against your clit. 

“Are you sure you want this, sweetheart?” he questions seriously, watching you closely for any signs of hesitation. He finds none as you shake your head firmly.

“Yes, Az.” you nearly whine as it takes everything in you to keep your hips on the bed, feeling like you’re going to implode if he waits another minute to touch you. “I need you..need Truth-Teller, please.” 

“Nuh-uh, love. I gotta hear what you want.” he purrs, a smirk playing on his lips as he holds your hips in place with one hand while pressing the dagger against your clit with the other, “Gotta tell me what you need from me and Truth-Teller.”

It takes everything in you not to scream as he urges you to beg for him, tears welling in your eyes as you stare up at your mate. His hazel eyes are blown with lust as he continues his relentless teasing, getting pleasure from you begging for him.

“P–Please,” is all you can say as your mind becomes fogged by desire, eyes glassy as you beg.

“Use your words, love.” he prods again, a wild smirk on his face as he watches you becoming a mess beneath him. He knows you love submitting to him like this, and loves watching you give in to his every desire, loves watching you give up all control in order to please him. 

“I don’t know what you want when you just sit there and whine at me,” he teases, removing Truth-Teller from your core to move it towards your lips. “For all I know, you could want me to fuck your face with it.”

He catches the way your eyes flare slightly with interest at his suggestion, the way your lips part slightly as if you’re ready to take the hilt in your mouth instead. He knows you’re close to giving in again just from the way you can’t take your eyes off of him, the look in your eyes showing him that you’ll do anything for him.

A low chuckle falls from his lips as your mouth falls open when the pommel presses against your plump lips, allowing him to slide the hilt into your mouth with ease. Your lips close around the metal and he presses it to the back of your throat, slowly pumping it in and out as you whine around it.

“This isn’t what you really want, is it?” he questions and you hum around the hilt and shake your head slowly. “That’s what I thought. Once I take this out of your mouth, you have five seconds to tell me what you want, or you don’t get to cum at all tonight, got it?”

You nod obediently up at him, heart swelling with pride as he smiles sweetly down at you. 

“Good girl.” he whispers, finally pulling Truth-Teller out of your mouth for you to speak.

“Want you to fuck me with Truth-Teller, Sir.” you beg almost immediately, “Please, I–I need to feel it, wanna cum on your dagger, wanna be your good girl.”

“Oh, I can’t say no when you ask so sweetly, can I?” he coos at you as he pulls your panties away from your core, making room for his fingers on your clit and the hilt of the dagger against your entrance. “Now, be a good girl for me and stay still, sweetheart.”

He presses the pommel into your cunt, groaning as he watches your heat swallow the metal so well. A cry of pleasure falls from your lips as the hilt is pushed deeper into you, mouth falling open as you squeeze your eyes shut. That familiar feeling coils in your core as the hilt reaches your cervix, pent up from all the teasing you endured leading up to this moment. 

“Look at you, already ready to fall apart on my dagger. Such a good slut for me,” he remarks, pumping the blade into you at a steady pace. “You’re not allowed to cum until I say so, alright?”

“Yes, Sir!” you whine, nodding feverishly as you squirm.

Azriel watches in wonder as you take the entire hilt of the blade, your hips bouncing in rhythm with his thrusts. He can tell you’re fighting hard to hold back your orgasm, getting even more turned on by the tears of pleasure and frustration pricking the corners of your eyes as you bite your lip harshly. 

“Love when you take what I give you and listen so well,” he praises, increasing the speed of his thrusts as you begin to chant his name mindlessly, “My beautiful little mate.”

“P–Please, Sir.” you beg, eyes opening quickly and hips snapping roughly as you feel the shadows begin to work on your clit when Azriel takes his hand away to palm himself through his pants. “I wanna cum for you, please!”

“That’s it, love.” he coaxes as you don’t dare to look away from him, watching as he smirks down at you approvingly, “C’mon, cum on my blade.”

You don’t have to be told twice, your release immediately washing over your whole body as you let out a loud cry of pleasure. Azriel wraps an arm around your waist as you squirm beneath him, pumping Truth-Teller into you at an unforgiving pace to fuck you through your orgasm. He kisses your neck gently, whispering praises in your ear that you can’t hear over the shout that falls from your lips. He doesn’t stop moving until you’re almost begging him to, squirming beneath him to get away from his relentless touches. 

“Did so good for me.” he murmurs against your skin, planting one last kiss against your neck before pulling away from you completely and placing Truth-Teller next to you on the bed. “Think you can give me another?”

You watch in a daze as he strips, discarding his clothes quickly before returning to the foot of the bed. In his own lustful daze, he begins to sheath himself into you immediately upon stripping, but stops himself when he looks down to see you blinking up at him slowly. He relaxes for a moment, reaching to stroke your cheek gently to bring you back to him. 

“Need your color, love.” he coos, smiling down at you sweetly.

“Green, Az.” you say confidently as you nuzzle against his hand, “Need you so bad, Az, please.”

He hums in response, leaning down to kiss you gently as he pushes into you, one hand toying with your clit as he does. You both groan at the feeling, his cock filling you to the brim, unlike the hilt of Truth-Teller that didn’t have the same thickness.

“F–Fuck,” he groans, burying his head into the crook of your neck. “You feel so good, love. Don’t know how long I’ll last.”

He couldn’t lie, watching you get off on Truth-Teller turned him on so much more than it should have. It turned him on so much that he’d almost cum in his pants at the sight of you, so he’s on the brink of cumming just from being inside your warmth for a few strokes. 

“Want you to cum in me, Az.” you whine, desperate to feel him, in love with the sight of your mate marking you as his. “Please, cum inside me. I’m close again too. Make me yours all over again.”

He nods wordlessly, speeding up his thrusts as you coax him now, the feeling of you clenching around him spurring him on even more. You wrap your legs around his waist, digging your fingers into his shoulder while you moan, his name falling from your lips like a chant. 

It isn’t long before his hips are stuttering, thrusts becoming erratic as he reaches his own climax. You’re not far behind, feeling his cum coating your walls making you cum quickly as you hold onto him tightly. 

“Gods,” he mumbles as he collapses against you, your sweat-slick bodies flush against each other as you feel your heart beating in time with his. “You’re unbelievable.”

You hum tiredly in response, trying to fight your weariness for long enough to get ready for bed. Azriel can tell that you’re exhausted as he pulls away, and he knows what he has to do. He plants a quick kiss to your forehead as he pulls his half-hard cock from your cunt, making you whine at the loss of contact. 

Before you can protest, he’s walking towards the en-suite bathroom to draw you a bath, though the House is already one step ahead of him. There’s already a steaming bath running, along with a bottle of fae wine and two glasses sitting next to the tub, ready for the two of you to clean off. 

Azriel quietly thanks the House and returns to where you’re sprawled out on the bed. You give him a tired smile as he reaches for you, stroking your hair to get your attention. 

“Let’s take a bath before you fall asleep, alright?” he suggests and you nod, willingly letting him pick you up bridal-style to carry you to the bathroom.

You wrap your arms around his neck, cuddling against his bare chest as he carries you effortlessly, “I love you, my shadowsinger.” “And I love you, my lightsinger.”

taglist: @wrecklesssly @slutforwordsfr @georgiadixon @dreamloud4610 @angelbunny222 @bookishbishhh @fanficscuziranout

[shadowdarlings]

Blood Will Rain II

Azriel x Reader

Synopsis : After emerging victorious in the war with Hybern, you are learning to be a part of a family again. Your recovery after being captive is slow, but a certain shadowsinger makes it his responsibility to see that you get well again.

part one

Pairings : AzrielxReader , ReaderxInnerCircle!Platonic , ReaderxRhysand!Siblings

A/N : part two of idk. if you’d like to be tagged in any other series updates please comment!

Warnings : slight angst, mentions of captivity, az being sweetie pie hehe

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It had been weeks since you and your family had returned to the Night Court. After half a millennia you were thrilled to be back in the city of starlight. Velaris, your home, finally. You had taken up a semi-permanent residence in the House of Wind alongside Cassian and Azriel. Although the elation of returning woke something that had been long asleep within you, the scars of your captivity rang throughout your very bones. Rhysand made a habit of coming to check on you frequently. Sometimes under the guise of wanting to meet with his general or shadowsinger, but it was all to see you. You noted his efforts and appreciated his call to be your older brother, but you did not know how to be a sister anymore. You did not know how to be a friend. These titles had been forgotten, the only thing you knew how to do was be prisoner. You often caught yourself falling into old habits that had been developed during the 500 years you were Hybern’s pet. The chambers in which he kept you at the grey stone palace had changed throughout the years. The first 200 you spent confined to a small dungeon with little light or air. After much beguiling the King saw fit to move you into a room similar to what their servants were housed in. It was nothing compared to the space and lavishness of your quarters in the House.

This did not stop you from remaining mostly confined to that room. It was rare that you strode the halls or explored the libraries or training ring. Interactions with the rest of your brother’s court were kept short and polite. You did not want them to see that you now felt stranger to them, this world. Although you had grown up with the three Illyrian males they had become something you did not recognize. They too had gone through extensive changes during these years. Rhysand had become High Lord. Cassian a commanding General to the Night Court’s armies. Azriel had become something completely different than what you knew before. He was the same in some regards, still reserved and watchful, but his presence held a more powerful purpose than it did during those years in Illyria. These people were your family, yes, but they were also strangers. The Archeron sisters were also completely foreign to you. Feyre visited as Rhys did and made efforts to give you any comfort you requested. The other two sisters you hardly spoke to or saw at all. Strangers. They were all strangers. Except that this was their House, their family. There was a sickening realization that it was not them but you who was the stranger. So you kept to yourself, to your abominably large quarters, and to the small tasks you gave yourself each day.

You were up before dawn as you practiced each morning. The power that the Cauldron had bestowed on you was something that needed an outlet. These last hours of night were perfect, you would not disturb anyone as you released waves of magic. The stars winked at you from the lightening sky as you levitated each item in your room several inches then gently placed them back down. It was simple magic, not anything that could be used productively, but it was something to quell the ocean inside. One floor above you felt movement coming from Cassian’s rooms. The General was often awake early but typically not for at least another hour. The shock of it was enough that your bed landed with a dull thud instead of silent ease. Panic struck through you and it was an effort to control your breaths. “Relax,” you said to yourself, “he is not your enemy.” The footsteps and noises that came from the two Illyrians often sent your survival instincts into hyperdrive until you reminded yourself that they were not the guards. You were not prisoner. You were home. Loosing a calm breath you considered. His steps were no longer solitary but accompanied by a lighter pair, and they were making their way down to your floor. Then seconds later a soft knock sounded on the large wooden door to your sitting room just outside your sleeping quarters. You shouldered on the floor length robe that hung on your bedpost and pulled your midnight hair back from your face. Padding over gently you opened the door slightly to reveal a towering Azriel waiting to greet you.

“There’s breakfast,” he offered observing your entire figure. He seemed to note the thin sheen of sweat that adorned your forehead from your morning magic. He did not comment, but raised his palm slightly in invitation. “Let me change into something more appropriate and I’ll be ready,” you said assessing him in a similar manner. The shadowsinger was not in his usual Illyrian leathers, but instead he donned casual black pants and a loose fitting long black shirt. The swirls of ink on his chest peeking just above the neckline. Whispers of autumn were upon the northern territory, a slight chill had claimed the mornings while the sun still heated the afternoons. He bowed slightly, “Of course,” was all he said before you shut the door and turned to get yourself ready. The outfits you’d worn at the House had all been casual. Rhys did not deem it fit for you to take up any sort of fighting anytime soon, and you were inclined to agree with him. “Recovery,” is what he had said, “that is all I want you to focus on. If you need anything at all please let any one of us know.” You smiled slightly at the thought while pulling on a lightweight sweater that matched your violet eyes and a pair of black leggings accompanied by woolen socks. It had been longer than you could remember since such kindness had been extended to you. It was so foreign, but you welcomed it nonetheless. After tying your hair into a loose bun at the nape of your neck you strode to the double doors that entered the hallway. Upon opening them you were surprised to see Azriel still standing there waiting for you.

“You didn’t have to wait,” you said, willing the slight blush that threatened to climb up your cheeks to dissipate. “I know,” was all he said before gesturing towards the hall that led to the dining room. The two of you took the short walk in silence. Whether Azriel knew the silence was born by feeling like a stranger he did not let on, but silence with him felt different than with the others. With the rest of your family you were always searching for something to say, something to fill the emptiness that gave away your alienation from them. With Azriel the quiet did not seem so desperate. Perhaps it was just the nature of a shadowsinger, you thought.

The two of you entered into the grand dining room and the silence was broken by Cassian’s bellowing laughter and Mor’s palm thwacking against his bicep. Surely you did not want to know the words they had exchanged before your arrival. Rhysand and Feyre swooped into the main room not a second later, the two of them giving knowing glances as they strode in and joined the rabble. You were happy for your brother, and it was then you made a mental note to try and get to know his new mate better. When you halted a few feet from the group, Azriel stopped with you. Rhysand turned his attention from Feyre and his eyes landed on you and the towering Illyrian standing just to your side. “Good morning, Y/N. Good morning, Az,” he purred. Cassian and Mor paused their bickering to gaze over to you both as well. The sets of eyes that all laid upon you now had you toying with the sleeve of your sweater, but you simply replied “Good morning, everyone.” Feyre approached and wrapped her slender arms around your shoulders. “I hope you slept well,” she said pulling back after her short embrace. You nodded and plastered a cheery smile on your face. This was your family. They love you. “Good,” Rhysand stated, “because we have a long day ahead of us.” At your confused look Azriel leaned down to say gently “We’re going to celebrate your birthday.”

Taglist : @annamariereads16 @lilah-asteria @sidthedollface2 @todaywasafairytale07 @doodlebugg16-blog

[stormhearty]

Pushed to the Edge

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Trigger: angst, cheating, suicide, death

Word Count: 3k

Summary: You were the official seer of Night Court for nearly 500 years. the Inner Circle had always listened to you and your visions; however, when the Archeron sisters came and Elain started to show her powers, your family started to shift their attention to her visions. When you try to voice your warnings about the death-lord’s resurrection, everyone gave you the cold shoulder, ignoring your prophesies — this included your mate.

Note: no hate to Azriel or Elain, it just helped with the plot. and Also, I know it's completely unreasonable for Azriel to not have the Truth-Teller be with him at all times, just go with it for now. And I am working on “Reach Your Voice” Series, I’m still trying to figure out how to make sure each of our boys spends quality time with the reader.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue

<Pushed to the Edge> Masterlist

“That sounds absolutely absurd… How many times will you try to warn about something that will never happen?”

Your voiced died in your throat as you watched Rhysand look at you with apprehension before focusing on the paperwork in front of him.

You had ran into his office, waking up in cold sweat after another vision of another Death God crawling it’s way back into Prythian. You had tried to forewarn your High Lord for weeks on end ever since you first saw that vision. However, your warnings had been ignored by Rhysand. You knew that it sounded impossible, you knew that, Prythian had just finished a war — one that almost destroyed the world.

After the war with the King of Hybern, Prythian was slowly returning to its normal … well, attempting to fix what was broken by the King. The Night Court was healing, trying to rebuild itself again to its glory, helping other Courts to fix the damages that the war caused. Rhysand had been through an ordeal, losing his life to save Prythian and you knew that your High Lord was still recuperating from that tragedy. You knew that your High Lady was as well, almost losing her mate.

They didn’t need another war to happen when peace had barely returned.

But you also knew there was another reason your High Lord had been ignoring your for forewarning. You looked to the side, one where the rest of the Inner Circle was watching the confrontation. Cassian and Nesta, sitting close to each other, a glass of wine in their hands, whispering to each other, mostly likely about you and your vision. You could barely pick up with your keen Fae hearing on what they were saying.

“Do you think what she’s saying is real? That Koschei is trying to come back?”

“Elain hasn’t seen it though…”

The whisper of the middle Archeron child echoed in your ears as you looked at the Made Fae. She sat next to the window, brown eyes that seemed to sparkle like the sun rested on you before turning over to the male that she was sitting with. Your gaze followed hers to Azriel — your mate— but you can see that he didn’t bother to glance in your direction, only to focus on the delicate female next to him.

It hurt. You watched as the two of them conversed, glancing back in your direction before focusing on each other.

It was no secret, not for you, on Elain’s growing infatuation for the Shadowsinger, and in turn his own growing affections for the middle Archeron child — and in turn, losing his love for you.

You woke up in an empty bed, your mate missing from his side. You tried to talk to Cassian about how his day went, on if he would still train you with the Valkyries if he had time. You tried to converse with Rhysand and Feyre, seeing if they were healing properly after the war, wanting to make sure your High Lord and Lady were safe. You sought after you mate, wanting to spend even a second with him.

But they disregarded you so easily. Especially after they had found out that Elain had similar powers to you, one that was gifted to her by the Cauldron — one that was deemed more powerful than your own.

Your role as the Official Seer of Night Court was granted to you after Helion had sent you as an emissary for Day Court. Helion had found you wandering around Day Court lands. You had been a wandering child, with no real attachment to any Court, abandoned in the streets by your family at the age of five when your seer powers started to come into light. Helion had taken you in when you were ten, helped you hone your powers. Being a seer had been a mystery, no one in your heritage (that you were aware of) was a seer. And it baffled Helion on why such a remarkable gift had been casted aside.

You had stayed with the Night Court, gaining their trust and friendship for five centuries, gaining your own little foothold in their family. You had been a pillar when Rhysand had been trapped Under the Mountain for nearly fifty years. You helped Mor and Armen with the official Night Court Duties, trained with Cassian to ensure you were strong enough to fight when neither he nor Azriel was there.

During your time protecting Valeris from the eyes of Amarantha, your mating bond with the Shadowsinger snapped. It had been difficult at the start, both of you were still struggling with the disappearance of your High Lord, along with the weight of protecting the very city he hidden from view. But during that time, you became each other’s pillar, each other’s comfort in such a dark time. Falling in love with Azriel wasn’t difficult.

But keeping his love, apparently, was the most difficult.

When the Archeron sister’s came into everyone’s lives, it caused a tip in the scales. You loved Feyre, you loved your High Lady. You would do anything in your power to ensure she was safe and well cared for. But for the Cauldron-Made sisters, it was difficult for you to accept them.

They were different. You couldn’t see anything about them, as if the Cauldron had masked them from you powers. It made you terrified of them. Feyre and Rhysand had tried to assure you that the Archeron sisters deemed no threat to the Night Court. And you trusted them — trusted your High Lord and Lady without a blink of an eye. And yes, while their words deemed true, you did not realize that they were a different type of threat. One that would eventually lose your foothold in the Night Court.

You swallowed, your throat parched as you glanced from the sight of your mate and Elain speaking to one another to Rhysand and then to Feyre who had stood next to him. She gave you a worried look, wondering what you were wanting to tell them.

The air was tense, the declaration from your High Lord seeming to echo in your surroundings — he had deemed your vision to be false. And he had never done that before.

“… But…” you whispered, your voice nothing but wind in such a large room, “… I’ve seen it so many times, Rhys. Someone is trying to resurrect him. That they need a piece of something from the Cauldron — -”

“The Cauldron is with Miryam and Drakon… in Creta. There is no way that anyone would be able to use that power again,” Rhysand’s tone was taut, as if trying to drawn a line between the truth and your vision, “Your vision must be wrong, (Y/N). There is no way that Koschei can be resurrected from that lake.”

Another swallow, “But what if it doesn’t have to be the Cauldron itself. It could be something that was Made from the Cauldron.”

Rhysand’s eyes snapped up from his desk, up to you, eyes darkening at the words you were insinuating, “—- What are you trying to say, (Y/N)?”

You let out a shaky breath, eyes shifting down to your hands, fiddling with your fingernails — a habit that you’ve had ever since you were a child — one that would leave your hands raw from removing skin, ‘… Nesta and Elain were Made from the Cauldron. If it were to get word to the followers of Koschei, they… they could be in danger. The power that resides in them is the Cauldron… Nesta took something from the Cauldron and did not return it… They could be looking for that.”

It was already bad that you were trying to suggest a return of a Death God, months after a war with Hybern, but it was worse that you were even implying that the sisters were the center of being in danger again.

A dark shadow stood in front of you and you looked up to see Azriel. The golden string that connected the two of you sung, it had been weeks since Azriel went near you, but you knew that his side of the bond was shut, enshroud by shadows, completely shutting you out.

“Az—-” you said his name, as if it was a prayer, hoping he’d be the voice of reason. That he would back up you and your visions. As he always had in the past.

“How can we know that your visions are truth, (Y/N)? There are two Seers in the Night Court now, and yet you are the only one who sees this.”

Your ears rang, a high pitch noise echoing through them as disbelief shook your body. Azriel never distrusted you, never doubted your visions and your forewarnings.

The bond in you ached, as if it was burning you on the inside. Tears lined your eyes as you looked up at your mate, brows furrowing, “…How could you, Azriel?” you muttered, the pain lining your tone, “How can you not trust me?” your voice small.

“Because Elain hasn’t seen it,” was all he had to say.

Hot tears ran your cheeks, as you shakily stepped back from the male that had towered you. You glanced at Cassian and Nesta who looked at you, their eyes inattentive to the pain that you were feeling. You glanced at your High Lord, who looked at you with disinterest. You looked at your High Lady, the only person in the room that seemed to have noticed your pain and anguish, as she took a step towards you way, only to be stopped by Rhysand, his hand around her wrist.

“… So, just because the Cauldron-Made Seer hasn’t seen it, doesn’t mean that it is going to happen?” you asked, your question in the air for everyone to think, “… Just because I wasn’t a Seer Made by the Cauldron, that my visions and my words are not real? That I am a lesser of a Seer than her?”

“(Y/N)—-” Feyre, the voice of reason, called our your name.

You took a step back again, head shaking at them, “I’ve worked my life off for the Night Court. Ensuring that your city is safe, making sure that any danger would never step past the wards that you have put up. I have never hidden anything from any of you. I used my visions and my powers for all of you. And yet…” your voice shook at the end, not believing anything that was happening in front of you, “You disregard me… the moment a better Seer shows up. One that is Cauldron-Made… one that you…” eyes shifting to Azriel, “Deems more suitable for you.

“I’ve seen it. Not only in my visions but here with you all. You have decided to all turn a blind eye to it, decided not to tell me about it. Three sisters for three brothers, isn’t it, Azriel?”

Azriel’s form stiffed in front of you — he did not think that you would have heard that.

You were done, you were tired. You were tired of the lies and the deceit from whom you thought were family.

Feyre’s brows furrowed as she looked at you and then her elder sisters before the back of Azriel. Rhysand stood up as well, standing next to his High Lady at your declaration.

“… What are you talking about, (Y/N)?” Feyre asked, watching your form shake.

“Don’t you lie to me…” you muttered, glaring at your High Lady, “Don’t you dare lie that you have not seen it. Don’t you dare tell me that you have not noticed that Azriel and Elain have been together all this time. That you have turned a blind eye that a mated male would be infatuated, would fall in love with someone else that was not his Cauldron-bound mate. Don’t you dare lie to me you have not all seen it, and have ignored it and not tell me about it.

“You also have all disregarded me and my visions, ever since Elain started to show her own powers. You have all deemed, even without you telling me, that my powers are not worthy enough. That you all would listen to her cryptic visions rather than my own.”

Your words were rushed, you were hyperventilating to the point that your visions swam, but you shook your head, focusing on the scene unfolding — Feyre’s surprised look, Nesta and Cassian staring wide-eye at Elain before glancing at the Shadowsinger in front of you and your High Lord gripping the edge of the table, his violet eyes clearing as if he was in a trance, as if his mind has been cleared and he realized what he has done and what was unfolding with his family.

“No, (Y/N), that’s not what we meant…” he tried to reason, try to gain back your trust in the found family you had with them.

You scrunched your face, shaking your head as you looked at your High Lord before back at your mate, “…That’s what you have meant for the months you have been ignoring my forewarnings. Been ignoring me. Because Elain’s powers are better than mine, you have casted me aside…” Another step back, glancing at the grand door behind you before you glanced back at the family who had lost you, to the mate that had broken your entire being, “You had decided, to your own conscious, to fall in love with someone else, who is bound to someone else, just because you deemed that the Cauldron was wrong. I don’t understand what I have done to you, Azriel… when I have spent nearly five-hundred years with you, fifty years with you as your mate. And you, knowing Elain for a mere five minutes, throwing all that away…”

Azriel looked at you, his chest rising and falling quickly, his eyes staring you down. He watched as tears continued to flood down your cheeks, your form shaking even further. You couldn’t do it, you couldn’t just stand here and be the object that they throw away.

So, you ran, ran out of that room, your name echoing behind you as your dress swirled behind you. You climbed up the spiraling stairs to your shared room with Azriel, throwing up the strongest ward you can muster behind you and around you. You couldn’t handle it.

You couldn’t handle the echo of the bond in your chest, you couldn’t handle the empty stare of your mated looking at you. You couldn’t handle the thought that you were so easily replaceable. A sob escaped your lips as you rummaged through Azriel’s drawer of weapons, pulling out the one weapon that he never is without — Truth-Teller. Dark tendrils of shadow gripped your wrist as you looked around you, Azriel’s shadows surrounding you.

That was where his shadows went — they had always disappeared when he was around Elain, yet they were here with you.

Frantic knocks startled you as you grasped the weapon close to your chest, your head whipping around towards the door. You heard them — Feyre’s panicked voice, Rhysand’s apologizes, Cassian yelling your name. But you didn’t hear that one voice that you had loved — you knew Azriel wasn’t there.

That had pushed you. Gripping the weapon, you moved to the bathroom, the shadows following your every movement. As you kneeled down on the marble floor, you felt the tug of the shadows against your hand, trying to will the weapon out of your grip — attempting you to stop at a take of your life.

You had always loved the shadows that surrounded Azriel, both physically and metaphorically speaking. They had always comforted you, protected you, always had been there for both of you when times were tough. But this was one of the times that you didn’t want them protecting you, comforting you.

“Please..” you begged at them. Whether or not they would listen or sprint off to their master, they backed off, though a few tendrils stayed behind, slithering around your wrist, holding Truth-Teller, as if a reminder not to do it. But you had made your mind — you couldn’t stay and be pushed to the side. Not anymore.

And with a last breath impaled yourself with your mate’s beloved knife, the very knife he had handed Elain during the war, was the last thing you remembered. As your body fell against the marbled floor, your soul leaving your body, you felt the tendrils of shadow frantically skim over your body, as if to try to find a piece of life still clinging onto you. Eyes looked and watched as the ward was broken and your High Lord and Lady skidding towards your body as your soul left for the skies above, the cool feeling of shadow never leaving your body.

A gasp escaped your lips, the dull ache on your chest making you rub at it.

“— - What…” you mumbled, your voice hoarse as if not used for a century.

“That Shadowsinger did not know what he had decided to let go, huh…” A voice, one so dark and so familiar echoing.

You knew that voice, that voice that haunted you in your visions for weeks — the same voice that you tried to warn your family about. Eyes opening, you were surrounded by the dark, the voice of the Death-God echoing around you.

“I should have died…” you voiced to no-one.

A laugh echoed around you, “You did, (Y/N), but you forget that I am a Death-God… And I can resurrect anyone I wish. Now, that your family has abandoned you, why don’t you join me. Show them what happens when a Seer of your capacity has been cast aside. I should have had you when that original family of yours stranded you, but that damn High Lord of Day found you first. Anyway… come child…”

You laid there, in the darkness, before you shakily reach out a hand, before spiny fingers grasped onto yours and pulled you out of that darkness.

[pellucid-constellations]

R&R

Pairing: Cassian x Reader

Summary: Cassian was tired and you were taking forever to get your ass back home.

Word count: 1k

Warnings: nothing! fluff <3

a/n: A little drabble as I ignore my homework.

~~

Cassian was tired. 

He felt it in his bones and the cracks of his skin.

Dirt was ingrained in every crevice of his leathers, dusting out as he shucked the articles to the ground and stepped into the steaming bath. Training didn’t usually take this much out of him, but there were a host of recruits that he needed to train, all so eager to be part of the troops after the victorious War with Hybern. 

All eager but so, so inept.  

And then you weren’t home when he got here, which pissed him off. 

All he could think about during the hours of training drills and conditioning and corrections was coming home to you, pressing his face into your neck, and falling asleep to the warmth of your skin. He had sent a spark down the bond when he started his journey home, which—to him—was a request for you to come home as well. 

You did not. 

Cassian dried himself off and threw on the closest pair of cotton pants he could find, falling into bed with a huff. 

Ridiculous. 

He was in bed and he was alone. 

He covered his eyes with the bulk of his arm. 

He’d sleep then. Fine. 

Only he couldn’t sleep. The bed smelled like you and he tugged at the bond again. This time, you actually did offer him a reply, and Cassian wanted to drown in the warmth you sent through his chest. 

Where the hell were you?

He flipped onto his stomach and shoved his face into a pillow. He should be able to sleep without you there. He was Illyrian; he had slept in far worse conditions. On rocks, in a tree, standing up against war-torn buildings—Cassian could sleep anywhere at any time. But then he met you and he fell in love with you and you weren’t getting your ass home fast enough.

Cauldron help him if you ever decided to go on vacation. 

Mor had tried something like that when you were freshly mated, posing a girl's trip to you and Feyre. That idea hadn’t gone far.

It had been more about sex and lust and being so enamored by you that he couldn’t breathe back then. Right now he just wanted to get some damn sleep. 

The bedroom door clicked open and unrelenting joy washed away the irritation he was harboring for you. Because how could he be irritated when you came into the room all soft and smiley and bright? Upon further contemplation, Cassian decided that no, he wasn’t ever irritated at you, actually. 

“Hi, Cass,” you called, the sound muting the headache that had begun to form behind the general’s eyes. “How were the recruits? Are they ready to charge into battle?”

You flitted about the room, taking off your coat and setting your bags down and not paying attention to him at all. Cassian fought the urge to tackle you onto the bed just to get you to stop moving. He couldn’t even get a good look at you like this, and he hadn’t seen you all day. He left before you woke up. 

“Yeah maybe in a few years,” Cassian grumbled, following you with his eyes as you started cleaning up the damn room. “C’mere, sweetheart.” 

“I will in just a moment. This place is a mess. You got dirt everywhere, did you know that?” 

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up later, just come here.” 

You tsked and ignored him. Cassian cursed at the ceiling.

“I was out with Mor earlier and we stopped by Nyx's school to surprise him,” you giggled, grabbing a stupid broom. “He was adorable, of course. He painted you and Az for one of his projects in art. You’ll have to see it when he brings it home. I swear, Cass, he is just hmph—” 

The broom clattered to the floor, forgotten along with the dirt that lined the wood. Your cheeks were encased by Cassian’s hands as he kissed you, and he ran one back to entangle it with your hair. Gods, you smelled good, like strawberries or apples or whatever fruity perfume you were trying while you were out shopping. Cassian deepened the kiss and relished in the surprised sound you made. 

“You didn’t even kiss me when you came in,” he practically pouted, lips brushing against yours as he spoke. “Or look at me.” 

You gripped at his biceps to keep yourself upright, his body pressed so closely to yours. “I didn’t mean to,” you whispered. 

“I know.” He nudged your nose with his. “Lay down with me.” 

“But the floor—” 

“Lay down with me,” he repeated.

A brief pause, a small nod; right now, it took very little to make Cassian so inexplicably happy. 

He gathered you in his arms the moment your body hit the sheets, burying his face in your neck like he was supposed to do about thirty minutes ago. And then you ran your fingers across his scalp and Cassian decided he was dead. There was no other explanation for this type of bliss. 

“Did you have a bad day?” you asked softly. 

“Day was fine. Long, but fine,” he grumbled, pulling you tighter, pressing his lips to your skin. 

You hummed. “Then why couldn’t I clean the room?” 

“Because I’m tired and you were over there.” 

“Not seeing the correlation, my love.” 

Tire was weighing heavy on Cassian’s mind. His body relaxed even more into the bed as his hands ran down the length of your body. 

“I need to hold you to fall asleep,” he replied as if it were obvious. Because it was. 

“Oh.” 

He grunted out a confirmation.

“Well, I’m not exactly ready for bed yet and I told Rhys—” 

“I love you,” Cassian interrupted. “Please stop talking.” 

And then Cassian was no longer pissed or annoyed or tired because nothing was out of place. Sleep found him quickly.

[remember-that-one-blog]

You're Mine

Azriel x reader

~

You threw back another drink at Rita’s trying to drown the way you were feeling. You sighed as you leaned against the bar. You watched as Azriel leaned into Elain to make sure she was okay. You felt your heart crack a bit. You made sure your walls were up mentally and physically. You didn’t want anyone else to know how you felt about the shadowsinger. Mor was the only one that knew and you wanted to keep it that way. You closed your eyes centering yourself. When you opened them again, you locked eyes with those hazel ones you have loved for the last two hundred years. You gave him a smirk as you turned for your next drink. You felt a presence beside you.

“How are you holding up?” Mor leaned against the bar with you.

“I’m fine, Mor. Nothing a little of this can’t take care of.” You swirled the amber liquid around in the glass. Mor rolled her eyes at you. 

“Maybe, you should tell him?” You felt yourself freeze. She was the only one that knew the mating bond snapped, for you anyway. She was there when it happened. Your jaw tensed. 

“I’m not telling him.”

“Why?”

“Look at him over there with her. He’s infatuated, he looks like he’s in love and in the last three hundred years I’ve been with you all he’s never looked at anyone else like that before. Anyone.” Mor pursed her lips. She was about to say something when she saw it about the time you felt it. A shadow wrapping around your ankle. You smiled a bit. You let the shadow slither up to your shoulder. 

“Hello there. I’m fine, you can tell him.” You gently caressed the little shadow before it scurried back down your side and over to the shadowsinger. You looked over to find shock on his face. Did he not know one of them came over to you? You quirked your eyebrows but quickly turned back to your conversation with Mor. “Anyway, I’m gonna go. I leave in the morning.”

“Leave? Where are you going?” You downed the rest of your drink before you answered her.

“The continent. Rhys wants an eye on the queens since we haven’t heard from them since before the war with Hybern.” Mor’s eyes widened.

“Are you going alone?” You nodded. She let out a scoff. “I can’t be here right now, Mor. Not while all of this is going on. I need to go somewhere, do something. I won’t be gone long, just a day.” She sighed. She knew.

“Doesn’t mean I like it. Just be safe, don’t die.” You laughed at her. She gave you a smile back.

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” You gave her a small hug and made your way out of Rita’s. You were halfway down the street when you heard, and felt, a gust of wind.

“You’re leaving?” Shock covered your features as the shadowsinger appeared behind you. 

“Jeez, Az, a little warning please.” He waited for you to answer his question. “Yes, I’m going home.” He gave you a look. You sighed before answering him. “I leave in the morning. I’ll only be gone a day, two at the most.”

“Where?”

“The continent.”

“It’s dangerous.” You tilted your head at him.

“I’ll be fine, Az. You’re the one who trained me. I’ll be fine.” Azriel didn’t seem so sure. You giggled as one of his shadows wrapped up your arm. You smiled down at it. “Tell him I’m going to be fine.” The little shadow seemed to disagree as well. You let it wrap around the hand you held up to it. You let it wrap around your hand and slide around for a while until it seems to be content. 

Azriel was looking on in awe. He didn’t even ask his shadows to do that. They did it of their own accord. He had never seen that happen until tonight when you were at the bar with Mor. The way you giggled as it wrapped around your hand made his heart squeeze in a good way. Once his shadow seemed pleased it slithered back down your arm, leg, then scurried across the small space between the two of you.

“Are you sure you don’t need anyone to go with you?” He wasn’t sure why, but the thought of you going that far alone made his entire body ache. You reached out, giving his arm a squeeze.

“Az, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.” That signaled the end of the conversation. Azriel sent one of his shadows with you to make sure you made it home. You let out a loud laugh, “Thank you, Az. Goodnight.” The shadowsinger didn’t reply. He just waited until you made the short walk back to your apartment.

~

You were not fine. Someone had tipped the queens off about your arrival. You didn’t know who it was, but you sure as hell were going to find out. You were taking a quick breather in a cave that seemed to be safe. That’s when you felt it. A little shadow crawling from behind your wing. You let out a sigh of relief. 

“Hey there. He just couldn’t stand that I was going alone could he.” The shadow seemed to do a little dance confirming you were right. “I need you to tell him I was ambushed. I don’t know who did it and it could be more than a day until I’m back. He cannot come and cannot send anyone. I’ll make it back.” The little shadow slithered down to your hand and wrapped itself around it. You gave it a smile. “I will make it back.” It seemed to hear the conviction in your voice. It seemed to hug your hand before it scurried away. 

You took a deep breath steeling yourself for what you were to do next.

~

Azriel’s shadow came back to him. He was surprised considering he hadn’t sent any out today. Once back it told him what happened. He swore the entire world stopped at that moment. You were ambushed and you told him to stay away. The worst part is, he knew you were right.

“Dammit.” He made his way to Rhys’s office at the House of Wind to relay what he found out. He did send a few shadows out to see if he could find who ratted you out. Azriel opened the door to find Rhys and Cassian already there. “We have a problem.”

“What is it?” Azriel explained everything that happened to you and how you were holed up in a cave, safe, for now. 

“Shit.” Cassian was up pacing before he even finished and Rhys had his head in his hands. 

“What was this for anyway?”

“I needed someone to go see if there was any movement from the queens. I was going to ask you, but she volunteered.” Azriel didn’t know how to feel about that. 

“Why would she do that?” Rhys and Cassian leveled him with a stare.

“For a spymaster, you sure are dense.” Rhys threw a hard stare in Cassian’s direction.

“For the love of the Mother, Rhys, I can’t not tell him at this point.” 

“Tell me what?” Cassian and Rhys shared a conversation he wasn’t privy to. Rhys finally relented.

“She’s your mate, Az.” Az felt his heart drop. 

“What?” Rhys and Cassian sighed. You didn’t know Rhys and Cassian knew the bond snapped into place for you. They had sensed something was different. It didn’t take long for them to put the pieces together, although you hid it very well. They let the information sink in for the spymaster. 

“She volunteered because of the way you’ve been stuck to Elain’s side.” All three turned to see Mor standing in the doorway. She wasn’t sure if they had put the pieces together, but she knew Rhys, it wouldn’t take him long. Azriel felt his chest tighten. Yes, he had been by Elain’s side the last few months, but she didn’t see him that way, she just needed a friend. 

“That’s not, there’s nothing between Elain and me.” 

“It didn’t seem that way, especially to her. I tried to get her to tell you, but she thought you wanted Elain. So, she took this mission to get away, even if it was just for a day.” Azriel had no idea. Didn’t even get a hint that the two of you were mates. It made sense though, the way he was around you. He seemed more open with you, it was easier to joke with you. The way his shadows were drawn to you. It made so much sense. The other three stood there watching as all the pieces fell in place for the spymaster. Azriel opened his mouth to say something when one of his shadows wrapped around his ear. 

She’s hurt. 

Azriel stood up ready to go find you when they heard a commotion in the hallway. The four of them ran out to see what was going on. They followed Naula down the corridor, she led them to the balcony outside the dining area. There you were a crumpled heap on the ground.

~

You heard your name. You looked up to see Azriel, Mor, Rhys, and Cass running toward you. Azriel reached you first. He hooked one arm around your back and the other under your knees lifting you off the ground.

“What a welcome committee.” You rasped. You were breathing hard, too hard. Az watched the pain flash across your face. Your hand gripped Az’s shoulder a little harder. One of his shadows curled around your hand. You managed to smile a little. “Hello again.”

“Where are you hurt? What happened?” You closed your eyes, taking a breath before you replied. 

“My wings.” The four of them looked to see the ends of your wings torn and many different spots. You heard Rhys yell for someone to get a healer. “I found out who did it. They won’t be a problem anymore.” Azriel couldn’t help the smirk that crossed his face.

“That’s my girl.” He kissed the top of your head. Azriel carried you to a room, there was a couch. That’s all you could manage to comprehend through the pain. Azriel laid you down on the couch and immediately kneeled down beside you. He grabbed your hand. He didn’t let go. Not when Madja arrived. Not when you nearly passed out from the pain. He was there. Never letting go. Never leaving your side.

~

Madja said to rest for a few days. It was currently day four of healing and you had managed to talk Madja into letting you go home. You were rummaging through your kitchen when you felt it. You giggled as the shadow wrapped itself around your ankle and made its way up your side and perched on your shoulder.

“You can come in, Az. It’s unlocked.” A second later you heard your apartment door open. You turned to see him bringing a couple of bags in. “What’s all this?”

“A few groceries. I thought you might be getting low.”

“Thanks, Az.” You started helping him unload the bags. You were putting them away, his shadow still perched on your shoulder.

“They don’t do that with anyone else.” You turned, giving him a questioning look. “My shadows. They don’t do that with anyone.”

“You haven’t sent them?” Azriel shook his head. “Even the one that was with me on my mission?” 

“I didn’t send it. I didn’t even know it was gone until it came back to me.” The shock was evident on your face. You had assumed he sent it. You looked at the little shadow still perched on your shoulder. “They only do that with you.”

You felt your heart stutter at the look he gave you. That’s when he felt it. The bond snapped into place. It had snapped for you long ago, but you could finally feel him. Everything. 

“Az,” you didn’t know what else to say as he made his way to stand in front of you.

“You’re mine.” You felt the bond glow within you, but you had to ask.

“What about Elain?”

“What about her?” He didn’t mean it in a mean way, but he wanted you. 

“You two just seemed so close.” You didn’t know how else to say it. 

“I don’t want her. I’ve loved you for so long. I just didn’t think I was enough for you. I’m a-” you placed your finger on his lips. You knew what he was about to say. He was about to repeat what every Illyrian warrior has called him for years. You weren’t having any of it.

“Don’t you dare. You are everything, Az. Everything.” You cupped his face and watched as his shadow crawled across your arm to join the others. You stared into those hazel eyes, losing yourself. You took a deep breath knowing what you were about to do would make this final.

“Would you like something to eat?” Azriel’s eyes widened. He knew you were mates, but he was still unsure if you would accept the bond. 

“Really?”

“Really.” Finally he slotted his lips against yours. You felt everything in the kiss. You were his and he was yours.

[myvoiddreams]

Fragments of Starlight

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: With the impending war, Y/N is captured by Hybern's general. As they struggle to protect those they care about, they reflect on their unrequited feelings for Azriel and their insecurities within the Night Court.

Word Count: 4,585

Warnings: ANGST, violence, torture, dark themes

A/N: This is my first time ever writing anything like this. I am a true sucker for angst. This is meant to go along with some of the events of ACOWAR, but of course, it’s different. Please don’t come at me for not following it’s exact story line. ALSO, I know that Azriel or Feyre would NEVER, but it’s just for the heartache okay!!

Part 2, Part 3

------

Now

All of it, it was all going to shit. I don’t know how my ears weren’t bleeding at the sheer amount of noise coming from the chaos around me. So much screaming, but was it Hybern’s forces, or our own? Everything was ringing, my head throbbing along with it. It was almost as if my breaths were not reaching my lungs. I was on the ground, all fours underneath me as I tried and tried to get myself to my feet. Everything was sore, it was like my muscles were not working. I stretched for the source of the aching on my temple and what I found was the warm, wet consistency of fresh blood.

My family, where is my family? Panic drenched me like a bucket of ice water.

With a groan, I grabbed my sword that lay beside me and turned to face the sky, now sitting at least. The sky, it was so blue. It almost felt like a disgusting joke to see something so beautiful, as dead bodies lay at my feet. Hybern’s forces were surrounding me, there was no escaping this.

I grit my teeth as I stand, my blade in hand. Dizziness rolls off me in waves, so much so that nausea is found coursing through my veins. I don’t get very far up before I’m slammed back down to the earth. My face hits the dirt as all the air leaves my lungs, leaving nothing but the taste of the earth and blood in my mouth. There is someone standing on my back, applying enough pressure I’m sure I’ll have a broken rib or two.

“Don’t go too far, sweetheart. We are just getting started with you.” A cry of pain leaves my lips as one of Hybern’s generals continues to crush my ribcage. The nausea and ringing in my head is too much. Then, with another blow to my head, everything is dark.

---

Before

“Oh, come on now sweet cheeks! You can do better than that. Az and I trained you myself!” Cassian’s voice was oh so annoying as he pinned me to my back. Sweat was gleaming across both of us as we spent the morning training. I was panting as my mind continued to reel.

Life had gotten tense with the Inner Circle recently. Not only was Prythian on the cusp of war with Hybern, but now we had to juggle the two newly made Fae that were the Archeron sisters.

I honestly felt bad for them. They did not ask for this life. I can only image what it would be like to go through life having your humanity ripped from you. Now knowing that you are going to be around for centuries instead of decades. And I felt bad for Feyre, who never wanted to see her sister’s dragged into this.

Usually, Azriel would be here with Cassian and me. Usually. It seemed as though Azriel had been getting far in over his head with the middle Archeron sister as of late. I would be lying if I said it didn’t bother me. But, I would never admit that fact out loud. Elain was half here and half not. Whenever she did speak, she’d just spew some crap that didn’t make any sense. But, that didn’t stop Azriel from spending any time he was not preparing for the war, with her.

Azriel. My heart seized at just the mention of his name. I had known the Shadowsinger for centuries. I stood by his side as he faced his own inner turmoil about Rhys being taken from us right under our feet. I stood by him even before that as I watched Windhaven and Devlon try to take was little he had away from him. Really, I had stood by everyone in this Inner Circle. But Azriel, Az was different. This too I would never admit out loud.

It took me holding him one night, after he had dreamt of his hands being lit aflame again, that it snapped. In all his vulnerability, it just, snapped. Az and I had shared a connection, a friendship, and I had loved him far long before the mating bond clicked in place. It only felt right that it was him. But, it hasn’t snapped for him.

It hurt, every single day, it hurt. And to watch him try so hard to make whatever it was happen with Elain, who was mated to someone else, made me feel worthless. This too, was not his fault. How was he supposed to know when I refused to breathe a word of it. Honestly, it might be a good thing, the distance. It hurts, but Azriel deserves happiness. I don’t know if I’m the one who can give him that.

“Damnit Cass!” I grunted as I fought back from his restraint.

“You are letting yourself get sloppy, Y/N. No room for that on the battlefield.” His face was smug. I felt some embarrassment creep up my neck and find its way on my cheeks.

“I know, I know.” I huffed. “Just let me up already.” I gave up on fighting back. Recently I found myself lacking the energy I used to have. I used to be full, driven, but I have found myself distant lately.

“Look, are you sure you’re okay, Y/N? You have not had your head in the game recently.” He stood and held a hand out to me. Cassian only wanted to check on me, it was nice really. I just wasn’t used to it. I had been the one the members of this court had always leaned their heads on. There just seemed to be no room for the others to do the same for me. So, I never asked them to. I wasn’t going to start now.

“I’m fine Cass, just tired.” I retorted.

“Aren’t we all sweet cheeks.” He said as he patted my back.

---

Now

Fire is crackling somewhere near me, but I can’t feel its warmth. I feel myself chained up. My arms were far above my head, hanging me from a support post. My feet had been stripped of their shoes, and now chains wrapped around my ankles. My body hurt, breathing hurt, and my head hurt. I was sure that this hellhole was only going to make it worse.

“Ah, there she is. Glad to see you actual awoke, we were starting to get worried.” Spoke the same general who broke my ribs.

I kept my mouth shut, only glaring at the direction of the voice. My vision was still blurry, and where I hope there was only one of him, I saw three.

The entrance flap of the tent open and closed to reveal another male. This one, I recognized. The King of Hybern himself.

“If it isn’t Y/N of the Night Court. I have to say, my men did a fine job bringing you in here for me. Wouldn’t you say so?” His voice was gruff. “Now that you’re here, we some questions we need answered, and I suggest you do answer them, dear. I’m sure you don’t want to find out what will happen if you don’t cooperate.”

I lazily lifted my head toward the King and sneered. “Try me.” I bit back, my voice laced with venom.

“Oh, I was afraid you’d say something of those sorts.” The king waved in another male, he was in head to toe in black. Something similar to what I’d see our very own Shadowsinger wear. Only this male was no where near the build of Az, but damn, did he look pissed.

The male pulled out a small dagger that was sheathed on their waist and made his way closer to me. I couldn’t help but let a little laugh escape my lips, “Size does matter you know,” I quipped. I know this man was here to interrogate me, but I could not let these people know how truly vulnerable I felt.

“Oh? I beg to differ.” The male stated as he plunged the dagger into the flesh of my calf.

---

Before 

Rhys wanted to have a family dinner tonight. It would be the first one in quite a long time. With everything going on, who was to blame anyone? I couldn’t say I was looking forward to it though. I used to love the time I could spend with my family, but now, it wasn’t the same. Not when my family was no longer the same. 

Rhys had Feyre, who don’t get me wrong, I love, and I love to see Rhys have the mate he has always deserved. But, with the additions of the Acheron sisters came with something strained. Cass hasn’t said anything, but I see the way he looks at Nesta. Nesta, who wants absolutely nothing to do with him, or any of us for that matter. Mor and Amren hadn’t been around as of late. Both were too busy preparing for this inevitable war. Mor with being an emissary and Amren with working out some logistics of the Cauldron. 

And Az. Azriel was no longer seeking me out. No longer spending time in the training ring or the library with me. Instead, he was with Elain. 

And then, there was me. Before this family all I was, was alone. Finding this family had saved me in more aspects than one, but I can feel it shifting under my feet, about to give way and take me with the edge of it. 

This though, is something I would never speak about. There is enough going on as it is. No one needs to be burdened about me, my unreciprocated feelings for the Shadowsinger, or my silly feelings of insecurity. I’m a friend to the court, a warrior, sometimes an advisor, but, I am nothing compared to the rest of them. I simply do not hold enough importance, and that is something I must live with. Something I am terrified they will realize as well. 

I was the last to make it to the table. Cauldron, even Elain is here. And next to Elain was Az. Hazel eyed, messy haired, Az. We caught each other’s eyes. I couldn’t help but let a smile creep up onto my face in greeting, and he smiled back.

I took my seat next to Cass and Amren and looked at the table around me. Even though war was around the corner, it felt good to gather as if nothing was wrong. Conservation started buzzing, everyone started eating, and I drifted off to a place that wouldn’t hurt me.

—- 

Now

Sweat is dripping off me in beads. My body is littered with cuts and bruises. But, I didn’t say a word. Not a single word about the size of our armies, not a word about what Rhys and the others had planned, not a word about our allies. Not a word. And I was paying for it.

Gods. They had left me here, giving me a break from the beatings and the torture. Whatever the used must have been laced with faebane because I have never felt this weak. This out of control of myself. I wasn’t healing, and I was still losing blood. At this rate, it wasn’t looking good. I was still hanging from my arms, I’m sure at this point I had a shoulder out of it’s socket. A rustling began again at the entrance of the tent.

“Back for more?” I croaked. My throat was completely dry from the screaming. But, when I got my eyes open enough to see what the cause of the noise was, my heart stopped dead in it’s tracks.

Elain.

---

Before

I retreated from dinner early. As pitiful as it sounds, I couldn’t be around it. I couldn’t stand to see Azriel with her any longer. Not when I knew he was the one who was slowly healing her and ruining me.

Knocking at my bedroom door pulled me from my thoughts and I was looking into a book, not really reading it. “Come in,” I shouted.

The site of Azriel caught me off guard. Once upon a time, it was normal for him to seek me out from my room. Now, it simply wasn’t. I couldn’t help but tense.

“Oh! Az!” I put my book down and stood. “How are you doing?” I smiled up at him.

“You would know if you hadn’t left dinner so early.” He looked down at me, frowning and crossing his arms. It was rare that Az was upset with me.

“Look, I’m sorry, I’m tired after training today.” I gave him a sad smile, not wanting him to push the issue further. “But please, tell me what I missed.”

This somehow made his shadows start to swirl around him and he huffed. “I was telling everyone how much progress Elain had made. She’s having actual conversations now.” He smiled at it, proud.

I tried not to show any hurt on my face. I have no right for this to hurt me. He was helping someone, and I had to be pitiful enough that I was jealous.

“That’s amazing Az, you’ve helped her a lot.” I let another smile grace my face. Before I knew what I was saying it was falling out of my lips, “But, you do realize that she is mated, right?”

Azriel’s demeanor shifted. His shadows became agitated, “Elain is a friend. She is going through a lot, and she needs support.” He sighed, “Plus, I think that cauldron could be wrong.” That sentence alone was enough to rip whatever was left in me to shreds. Why couldn’t he see me?

I had to take a deep breath to keep the silver lining in my eyes in place. “Az, when in your life have you ever seen the cauldron be wrong? Why would it start being wrong now?”

“Look, maybe you’ll understand one day, but it’s wrong about her and Lucien.” He crossed his arms now.

“It sounds like you want to it be wrong. Whether it is, or not.”

Azriel was growing frustrated. His eyebrow ticked and he huffed, “Can you blame me for wanting something more?”

“She is mated Azriel. Off limits.” I tried to stress him. “I don’t want to see you hurt if it doesn’t turn out the way you want.” I sighed. “I wouldn’t want my mate ripped away from me, I’m sure Lucien doesn’t either.” He doesn’t even realize that I’m talking about him. Not a single clue.

“Ripped away? Look Y/N, just because you’re alone, does not mean I have to be. Why are you making this about you?” He nearly snarled at me. Snarled. “I have finally found another purpose other than this war. I have found something, someone, to spend my time with and enjoy.”

His words hit me like an arrow to the chest. Alone. Maybe they all did see me, and they just didn’t care. Why couldn’t I be enough for him? Why hadn’t in all the time and cherished memories we have together be enough. We had held each other in hardship. We had trained together. We had grown together. We had spent countless Starfalls together. We had shared so many laughs and touches. Why wasn’t what we had enough for him?

The weight of Azriel’s words hung in the air, heavy silence settling between us. My heart ached with the sting of his remark, and I fought to keep any of my remaining composure.

I deflated, “Az,” I tried to sigh as he cut me off again.

“Well, maybe if you weren’t so insecure, you’d see that I’m just trying to help someone who’s been through a lot. You’re jealous and it’s clouding your judgment.” He stared at me, and I had to look away. I didn’t realize it but I began to shake. I couldn’t tell if it was from rage, or from the way my heart cracked as he spoke.

“I think you should go Az.” My voice began to break, and I could tell that my walls were going to come down. Not once had I ever asked him to leave.

His own eyes softened, and he reached for me, “Wait.”

He tried to continue but I cut him off, “Leave, Azriel.” I turned to face away from him. I gathered my arms together. I couldn’t let him see the tears that were rolling down my face, I wouldn’t.

He pulled his arm back to himself and hesitated, seeing the pain he was causing me. Without another word, he turned and left, the door closing behind with a heavy finality.

---

Now

Elain. What the fuck was she doing here?

Seeing her tore me from my stupor. She acted as if she was in a trance, half there. I was really panicking now. I could take this torture and pain, Elain, I don’t think she would last. I could hardly pull at my restraints at this point.

“Elain! Elain!” I screamed at her, trying to get her attention. One of the males that was hauling her in, left her side and strolled to mine. Next thing I knew I was tasting my own blood in my mouth as his fist met with my face. As the blood welled up in my mouth, I felt rage hit me. I spat at him. His face now coated with the bloody saliva that he caused me.

He wiped his hand over his face, ridding it of its bloody covering. I snarled at him as he drew a blade. Good. This way the focus would stay on me and not Elain. He brought the blade to my face, slicing a thin mark down my cheek. “If you wanted more, you could’ve just asked.” He trailed the blade down my neck, and now to my collar bone, all the while slicing lightly as he went. He brought his lips to my ear and his hand grabbed my face, “I have so much more than just blades and fists in store for you, girl.”

It was almost too hard to stomach. I didn’t want to know what he was alluding to. Elain, do this for Elain. I told myself. I kept silent and he pushed me away, returning to the other male who was already putting Elain into restraints.

Why is she here? Why is she not fighting back?

As they finished with her restraints, Hybern himself walked back into the tent.

“Cauldron be damned, if it’s not also Feyre’s cauldron made sister.” Hybern chuffed, “We are truly going to have such a fun time together.” He chuckled as he looked between Elain and I.

He nodded at his men and they both reach for their knives. One for me. One for Elain.

“Wait!” I blurted as I saw the man move toward Elaine, “Please, leave her unharmed.”

“Hmm,” hummed Hybern, “Now, tell me pretty thing, why would I do that?”

“She’s a Seer. Please, you must leave her unharmed or she will be no use to anyone. She will not come out of any trance if she is harmed.” I didn’t know if what I was blabbing was true. I only knew that I needed to protect Elain, for she could not protect herself.

Hybern nodded again at the male who was at Elain’s side. The male sheathed his blade and I let out a silent sigh.

“You on the other hand,” Hybern turned his attention back on me, “I have some questions about pretty Elain.” A wicked smile reached the lips of the male in front of me, as he lifted his blade threatening. “You, dear Y/N, best answer them.”

The male reached for my shirt and tore it in half. Now leaving my chest and abdomen exposed to the air, only a warrior’s wrap covering my breasts. I gasped at the bite of the air reaching my skin. My abdomen was littered with black and blue bruising from the beatings. The faebane in my system slowing any kind of healing.

I turned my face to a stone grimace. I could do this. I told myself. If nobody comes for you, then surely someone will come for Elain.

That truth hurt almost as much as the torture that I was being put through.

---

Before

It had been about a week since I’d seen Azriel. The bond that used to hum in my chest felt vacant. Rhysand had sent me and Cassian to one of the Illyrian war bands that were positioned in case of an attack.

It was a single flaming arrow that was sent into a tent that set everything into utter chaos. Cassian was in the middle of a meeting with some of the other commanders, and I was in the training ring.

Hybern’s forces hit us as if we were nothing but an anthill in their way.

I don’t know where Cassian was as I fought and fought, until I was brought down.

---

Now

I was hardly holding on. I had no energy to cry out anymore. No energy to even lift my own head up. My abdomen and back was near ribbons after that male drove his blade into me again and again.

Elain had seemed to snap in and out of it. When she was somewhat coherent, she would only cry. I felt bad for her, but I had done what I could do protect her. There wasn’t a single scratch on her.

At thinking of Elain my mind drifted to Azriel. I wonder if he’s looking for me, if not, her.

The inner circle had to know that something was wrong at this point. I only hope that Cassian was also okay after we were ambushed. I’m sure if he wasn’t, he’d be right next to me also receiving the beatings I was.

Blood dripped down my back, creating a small pool under me. I truly didn’t know how much longer I would last. I had never felt weaker in my life.

I should’ve told him that night. Anguish was suffocating me. I found myself retracing everything I did as of late. The way I stole myself away from my family because I was being nothing but pitiful. The way they started to treat me differently. The way one no one would come to me anymore, and I would not go to them. No wonder they have left you here. You are nothing to them. My mind bit at me.

What truly bothered me was the downfall of mine as Azriel’s friendship. He was the one person I could always truly count on. If I had fallen in training, if I had drank too much, if some stupid male had broke my heart, it was always Azriel that had caught me, and me him. It’s why I fell in love with him long before the bond snapped its place into my heart. And now I was going to die without him ever knowing. I was simply going to fade away as my blood pooled underneath me.

It's better this way. I told myself. Elain is unharmed, and I will fade before anyone knows of this bond. The war will be won and Az will be able to move on with someone he finds joy in.

I couldn’t help but let tears run down my face. I wanted to scream, to find some way out, but with the faebane running through me, I was simply too weak.

---

I woke to the sound of rustling at the entrance of the tent. The rustling led to Elain, and I could hear her restraints being messed with. I nearly couldn’t pry my eyes open at the sound. Maybe they would finally take me from my misery. I silently hoped. That’s when I heard a quiet gasp. I looked up to see.. Feyre? And behind her, the one messing with Elain’s chains, Azriel.

My heart lurched to a stop. They had come to help, we were going to get out.

“Azriel..” Feyre quietly said as he brought Elain into his arms.

“What.” He nearly hissed at her. That’s when he looked up and truly saw me.

“Az.. Feyre..” I choked on my words. Help was here. I was going to get out of here. To make it. Finally something positive bloomed in my chest in place of where that hole had found itself.

Azriel set Elain back down and rushed to my side. He put a hand to my cheek, “Y/N, we couldn’t find you anywhere. Cass, he said you were missing after the battle.” His touch sent shivers down my beaten spine.

My restraints still bore heavily into my wrists where I was strung up. Then, there was rustling and yelling coming from outside of the tent.

“Help me down, please.” My voice was raw and pleading.

The yelling was getting closer and closer.

“Az, we have to leave, now.” Feyre said, trying to scoop Elain into her arms.

Azriel’s hand left my cheek, and panic flared into his eyes as he took in my state.

Hybern’s soldiers were coming, realizing something was wrong. Azriel looked between Elain and I, backing up from where I was strung up. He was backing away from me. Why was he backing away from me?

My own panic started to settle deep inside of me, long squashing any hope that had found it’s place.

“Azriel… please,” I coughed quietly. Dread was setting deeply inside of me. They didn’t plan on saving two. They came here for Elain, not me.

A sob found it’s way onto my lips as he picked Elain from Feyre’s arms. Feyre herself looking torn, her eyes expressing so much anguish.

“We will come back Y/N. I promise.” Azriel’s words were yet another punch to the gut.

I couldn’t help but let the sobs I had been holding onto for so long bubble out of me.

“Please don’t leave me here.” I cried, no longer caring for the quietness. They both stiffened at the sound of my voice. “Please,” I was gasping for air as this point, “If you’re not going to take me, then at least put me down.”

Their eyes widened at my statement, but I couldn’t hold for much longer. I needed this pain to end. This suffering to be over with.

“We will be back. I will come straight back.” Azriel hushly stated. His eyes, those beautiful hazel eyes were boring into me. They were trying to convince me he was telling the truth, but I knew better. I knew that they were only getting into the camp once successfully.

They chose Elain. They were going to leave me behind.

“Just kill me, please kill me…” I sobbed, “Please if you are going to leave me behind, then just kill me.”

Feyre was crying now, and Azriel. I knew, that even though he was choosing Elain, Elain to save, and Elain to love, he still wouldn’t harm me.

“I’m so sorry Y/N.” Feyre bubbled out of her crying lips as she quickly left the tent under her cloak.

Azriel and I made eye contact again through my sobbing, through the tears that were leaving my eyes in force. “I will be right back. I will come back for you.” And then, he was gone. With Elain in his arms.

I broke, truly broke. No weapon could hurt me as much as the sight of who I loved most, my mate, leaving me here, strung up and bleeding out.

[mommyofkittens]

A Court of Fallen Heroes: Chapter 9- The Third One

𓆩✴𓆪

Author's POV:

          Venom...  A chilled shadow crept through his sweat-soaked hair, whispering velvety in his ear. Azriel turned his weary gaze to the obsidian weapons, hanging at the guard's hips. Their equally dark armor, probably made of the same cursed material, glowed faintly as they passed any candles or windows. The moon watched over him like a stern mother, hoping for the best for her son.

          Faebane... Another companion spoke directly into his mind, snaking quickly down his searing spine. He subconsciously thanked her for the icy path she left on his clammy skin, cooling him enough to allow his mind to think more clearly.

          It had been more than twenty hours since he had eaten or had ten minutes of deep, uninterrupted sleep. He was used to these episodes of insomnia, he knew where his limits were and he knew how to help his body survive exhaustion, but with the hunger gnawing at his stomach he could hardly cope. 

          He was so getting a vacation after he went back to the Night Court. 

          Azriel stumbled to keep up with the guards escorting him from the gate. They were a head shorter than him, and perhaps those bulky armors hindered them in every way. Still, they were probably cleaner than his Illyrian skins, which seemed to mold over the film of sweat that had formed underneath. Azriel refrained from wrinkling his nose. He hated feeling stinky.

          As he considered the color mismatch between the exceptionally clean burgundy carpet and the brown velvet curtains, he also noticed the way the mosaic on the windows and ceiling changed as they moved through different areas of the palace. It smelled nauseatingly of burning incense, sage, and something rotten and damp. Azriel searched until he reached the corners of the marble floors, where he noticed the musty flowers they tried to hide.

          There was death inside the palace.

           Azriel thought about the list of dangers he had made up in his head that would prevent him from getting out of the royal court alive if he had to escape. Not even his wings would help him, as they would be the first target of all the trained archers in the outer court.

          He didn't have to turn around to count the scars that stretched like a mosaic along the hard Illyrian membrane, the way the brown was patched with dark red spots, aerodynamically weaker than the rest of the healthy tissue. He could still feel some of them, running deep into the marrow, like a ghostly rash that constantly reminded him of past nefarious circumstances. It sounded like he was adding another five hundred centuries to the ones he already had. Azriel knew that torn ligaments and sword wounds could heal too tightly and viciously, restricting certain movements. All of this ached during training, or in his prematurely short hours of sleep, even when it rained, thanks to changes in barometric pressure. He knew with frightening accuracy how, for whom, and when he got al those scars. He liked to keep track of everything, it was in his nature.

          Azriel felt his wings a few pounds heavier, and he fought to keep his tired shoulders straight so as not to drag his bony tips across the marble floor. He wouldn't have minded scratching at the perfection of this palace, but to the Illyrians it was a sign of weakness he would not allow.

          Turning his gaze back to the glass, he saw them again, shining under the crescent moon. Four pairs of towers surrounded the main hall of the palace, and as far as he could tell, the archers were only mounted in the outer towers, relying more on being useful over a longer radius. In the smaller towers, huge bells lay black as night, no natural light reflecting in the darkness of the material. In Azriel's mind, the worst-case scenario emerged. He imagined that the sound it produced would be loud enough to overwhelm the delicate hearing of a fae, loud enough that any danger in the vicinity would be killed in seconds by guards on the walls armed with sharp spears, swords, and daggers.

          And he hadn't seen their magic system yet.

           These were just a few of the small details that made Azriel sit as stiff as a bow and as still as a river, ready to turn at any moment. He was pleased with himself, his plan had worked. It had been easier than he had expected, setting himself up as a target in front of the bridge and allowing himself to be escorted by six guards into the heart of the palace, relying perhaps too much on the fact that those in charge had been tipped off by the winged man haunting the surrounding villages. His ego seemed a bit bruised, considering the small number of guards around him.

          He counted the curves and doors that stretched from side to side, analyzed the thick glass and the type of fastenings in the walls, and made sure that all the ropes tied to the ceiling were there to support the heavy chandeliers and not for some who-knows-what trap. He was sure his shadows would have warned him of any imminent danger, but now they were just as vigilant, listening, watching, like hunting dogs.

         Azriel knew the rules: he was to be presented to an emergency council unless they had time to raise another king to the throne. He had everything ready, the letter from Rhysand was his ticket in, but the problem was how to escape and how to find the so-called Comet Woman. He hoped no one else knew about her, knew what she could become. If someone found out in the meantime, things could get very, very problematic. It meant he wouldn't be coming home with his hands clean. 

          The man knew she lived here for the past month, retracing all her steps by the scent of amber that lingered in the atmosphere. There were certain areas so much more concentrated, so much more filled with her presence, so tangible that Azriel could almost see her faded face, as if he were standing behind a curtain in which he could just make out her outline. The shadows had led him to a wooden threshold with a barely legible sign carved with the simple word 'Potions'. Azriel caught the humor and almost snorted: the one he sought was indeed a sorcerer, which was why it had been so easy for her to slip past their protection, to sneak into the house when he slept so soundly, to haunt him for weeks.

          He wouldn't have left without her, after getting so close that he could feel her brittle bones crumbling under his strong fingers. If he played his cards right, like a true diplomat and not a thirsty assassin, he could walk out of the wolf's mouth with his head still on his shoulders and the great trophy won.

          He paused for a few seconds in front of a polished wooden door, surrounded by ancient phrases carved into the holster. There was a brief exchange of glances between the man to his right and the guard in the hallway. He allowed himself to roll his stiff neck. He had been in the palace for more than ten minutes and still no sound, no servant, no Fae of any rank. What was everyone doing? 

          " Raise your arms! " The man to his left commands as he rests his hand on the scabbard of his sword, his eyes quickly scanning Azriel's body. " Remove your cloak and slowly present your weapons. "

           Azriel made no gesture as he nimbly unbuttoned the gold button that held his traveling cloak, then removed his knives and swords from his armor and placed them according to size on the low table by the door.

          A guard comes too close for Azriel's liking, counting the equipment in the torchlight. He lifts his eye shield over his head, revealing tawny irises and the smell of sour wine. " Are you planning an uprising? You brought an arsenal. ''

          '' No. '' Azriel said casually, rearranging the crooked line of daggers with a finger, '' I just can't sleep without them. ''

          The guard gave him a puzzled look, sensing Azriel's wry humor, then shook his head and put the torch away. He hoped there was no spell inside that would block his access to the other realm, where he had left allof  his most important tools, undetectable and ready to use at a moment's notice. The colleague, who smelled of cheap wine, took his hand off the sword and pulled on his gloves, then began to search Azriel's body. 

          ''Don't touch my wings,'' he warned them coldly, watching their slow movements closely.

          The individual paused for a second, trying to decide whether or not to take the mountain of a man in front of him seriously, then seemed to make the right decision and carefully circled the base of his wings on his back. He was aware that his life was not important enough to be judged by the royal court if the famous Shadowsinger decided to break his neck with his bare hands. Besides, there was his reputation: no one wanted to mess with the fragile nerves of a torturer. 

           The Shadowsinger didn't take his fierce gaze away from the guard's curious hands. In fact, he was annoyed that they were hovering too long over places he certainly did not want to be touched, but he could not afford to lose control when he was so close to fulfilling his plan. No one could test his iron patience. He could feel his skin soaking with sweat and dust as it ate away at his equipment. He hadn't had a hot bath in days and craved the feeling of cleanliness. And this touchy-feely examination was making it worse.

          After making sure he didn't bring in a butter knife to slit the throats of the entire council, the door was opened and Azriel stepped through, this time accompanied by only two of the six guards. 

          He paused for a moment to take in the new scenery. Surely he had entered the gilded palace street, where the king's closest allies made their home, judging by the imperial colors of bright red, the spotless view and, of course, the lack of musty odors. Gold chandeliers and scented candles were screwed into the marble walls, along with dozens of paintings of portraits and battle scenes. 

          A couple of women, the first Azriel had seen in the fifteen minutes he had been in the palace, emerged from a side room and did not shy away from looking at him from head to toe. Azriel refrained from rolling his eyes, content to look straight ahead without giving them any meaning. The ladies whispered to each other long enough for him to realize that he was the subject of the discussion, more specifically his tights and something about his waist. Even though Azriel was more than used to female attention, even male attention, that didn't mean he wanted it from everyone and everywhere.

          Still, he threw a bone to the dogs and bowed his head like a courtier, eyeing the ladies like a predator disguised under the skin of a gentleman. Oh my, how the perfume of the hallway had changed to something sweeter, more... enticing. Azriel's lips curled just a little as a loud giggle escaped them, enchanted by his attention. 

          Azriel doesn't get to take a few steps before an all-too-familiar smell hits his senses hard: nutmeg and... burning coals. Azriel sighs deeply and prays to the Mother that he won't find what he already expected to find somewhere nearby. His instincts rarely failed him. Maybe he'd finally found the reason to end this male's existence after the meeting of the High Lords months ago. His discovery would only add fuel to an already smoldering fire that could reignite any second back in Prythian, And possibly make Azriel's job a little more difficult if this redhead started sticking his nose into his affairs.

          The muffled voices seemed to contradict each other just after the left turn where the smell of fresh food came from. There were many more people on this side of the palace, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to locate the source. The scent, which could only have come from a fae, given how strong it was, began to intertwine with something softer, barely tangible, as if this person had no personality or will of their own. It had a subtle hue, barely discernible, like plants and leaves. No, not just the kind you grow everywhere, but the ones that love dry summers and cool winters, a plant that only the most special person in the world would know how to plant and grow for him. Saffron, he concluded, a plant that lives in the mountains and that for him meant freedom, however temporary.

          He didn't dare close his eyes to block out the memories. Every moment of weakness was just another knife between his shoulder blades. Azriel gritted his teeth and pushed every thought away. He subtly sniffed the bittersweet scent that took him to the same place where those sunken voices could be heard.

          The first guard stopped in front of him as he rounded the corner, probably slightly startled by the image he saw in the next corridor. Azriel stepped cautiously, his eyes taking in every detail of the stained glass until he came to a familiar clump of red hair. He couldn't help but sigh.

          An awkward moment of silence fell over all the participants. Azriel felt the urge to hit someone, especially the one who was now standing there nonchalantly, as if he had done nothing wrong.

          '' Well, I see Rhysand has sent his brutes out to play. '' His words, laced with mocking humour, did him no good as Azriel tried hard not to step on his throat again. '' What wind blows you here, Shadowsinger? ''

          The raven-haired man didn't respond to his challenge at first, watching the intimate scene unfold before them: an insultingly small body trapped between Vanserra's tall frame and the marble sculpture of a naked fairy. The woman struggled to cover her face with the red mask he knew all palace servants wore for some reason, then pulled the folds of her dress tighter, waiting for the awkward moment to pass. In his mind, he guessed the reason they were forced to wear that uniform. It was easier not to know who was disappearing, it was easier to kill someone who was lost in a landscape where a thousand others looked the same. It was easier to get murdered.

          '' Are you all right, girl? '' Azriel deliberately ignored Eris, any conversation with this traitor would only end in blood and not otherwise. 

          The woman didn't answer, didn't even look at him, as if she hadn't heard him at all. He was slightly offended by the lack of response, but overlooked it as she was probably on edge from whatever magic Vanserra had put on her.

          One of the guards approached the maid menacingly, ready to strike. " Our guest gives you permission to speak by engaging you in conversation and you dare not answer? You disgusting human! "

          Eris jumps up to stand between the guard and the woman, smiling sardonically. " She can't speak, Draegan cut out her tongue. "

          " Of course King Draegan cut out her tongue if she doesn't know when and how to use it! " The other man shouts from behind his mask.

          " Calm down! There's no need to throw a tantrum because a woman rejects you. " Azriel intervenes, freeing himself from captivity. " I think I can find my way from here. "

          " I don't think is wise... "

          " You're not here to think, you're here to guard, and I'm inoffensive. Lord Vanserra can vouch for that. " Azriel intensifies his look, turning his back to the guards. " And I left my entire arsenal by the doors, remember? "

          " I'll take care of him, don't worry. " Eris grunted, crossing his hands over his green tunic. " Men like him are as harmless as a bear: they don't bite unless you find their lair. "

          The men nodded sceptically and turned back. He felt Eris stiffen beside him, as if he'd been waiting for someone to catch him cheating at cards.

          " Let the girl go. " Azriel spoke grimly, not turning to look at them. " She shouldn't be here. "

          " She's where she's supposed to be. " Eris replied dryly, already irritated by Azriel's tendency to twist his words, then left a theatrical kiss on the woman's cheek.

          The girl seems to push him away for a second, then pulls her hand back, hiding it between the thick folds of her black dress.

        " I don't think you're where you're supposed to be. " Azriel didn't seem to want to back down, so he turned his full attention to the Heir of the Autumn Court, irritated by his idiotic answers.

          " True. " Eris admitted, covering the woman almost completely. " But I could say the same about you. King Draegan is waiting for both of us in the dining hall. "

         " Oh, you already share a bond with these criminals. " The man concluded, nodding slightly. " You still haven't told me why you're here. " 

          " Go, little human, I'll find you later. " Vanserra hugged her too lovingly, resting his huge palm on the woman's small face.

          A violent feeling ran through Azriel as he watched these gestures: fear, fear for this woman who didn't know what she was getting into, who was always in danger of being crushed by Eris or someone else from this cruel continent. A fragile human once again caught between the fingers of a fae. These stories caused a sick feeling of anxiety in his stomach, not because he cared, but because he knew history was about to repeat itself. He watched her short legs move hastily to the servant's door, avoiding eye contact with the fae around her, trying her best to pass unnoticed. Azriel was almost nervous for her. 

          Don't be clumsy. Don't be loud. Leave as soon as you can. I'll pay you ten times your salary if you just leave. Azriel sang in his head, but it was in vain, she couldn't hear him and he couldn't do much more for now.

          " Do you hear me? " Eris's voice grows a little louder, but something else catches Azriel's attention.

          The woman stops suddenly, eyes wide with shock as if she had seen someone naked, and looks around in confusion. Azriel frowns, Eris' words flying past him. She turns slightly toward them, and for a brief moment Azriel can finally see her troubled eyes: round as a full moon and fiery as a burning sun, but their color was what set them apart - gray, like an inviting sea that hides treacherous dangers. 

          Then she disappeared, like a ghost between the walls. 

          A few moments later, he realized that his shadows had become silent, resting, waiting, as if they were hoping, and then vanished from his surroundings completely. It seemed bizarre to Azriel, and he felt lonelier than he would have liked.

         " What are you doing here, Eris? "

         " Same as you - business. I know you're not here for pleasure or anything, you won't find a happy place here. " Eris Vanserra seemed to slap him as he gave him a tight smile. Azriel stiffened his mental, emotional and psychic shields and the shadows reappeared. " I want to know more about Hybern. They are weak and few. I want to have an advantage when the time comes. "

          " Just say you're here to spy on them and cut the crap. " Azriel strode after Eris, who knew the palace corridors disturbingly well. " Except I still wouldn't believe anything that came out of your mouth. "

          " I don't need you to believe me or the approval of the Night Court. This isn't about the Morrigan anymore. " Eris turned abruptly, almost bumping into Azriel who was behind him. " Another war is coming, something worse is happening right now, and I want to know how we can win. If we can. "

          Azriel's alarm rang in his ears. Did Eris know more about the Fallen Star than he was letting on?

          " Hybern was our enemy months ago, don't tell me you want to have them as allies. It's like trusting a rabid animal. " Azriel stopped him with a gloved hand before they stepped through another huge door. " They are the reason more than half of our armies have been destroyed. "

          He wanted to say a few more words to Eris, but that was a discussion he would have another time, in a much more secluded place and under more permissible circumstances, where he could use acts of physical violence. He couldn't ask him enough questions to find out what he knew, or if he knew anything.

          " I'm aware of that, but they don't have the Cauldron to do that kind of damage again. Anyway, this is not the place to discuss the matter in detail. Give me more time before you turn me in. "

          He didn't want Rhysand to find out that Eris was here, actively betraying everyone. He couldn't do that, it was a luxury he couldn't afford.

          " This new king, Draegan. He knows something we do not. He may have an advantage we do not. Let me find out what it is. "

          As another pair of huge doors opened before their eyes, Azriel suddenly felt tired. A huge table lay before him, decorated with plates and glasses far too full for his taste. Oriental flavors and far too much food awaited him, and the servants - both women and men - moved around in disturbing circles of clattering, chattering, and chopping.

          Dozens of pairs of eyes turned to them, hidden in that semi-obscure atmosphere of burning candles and the barely audible strains of a violin. Azriel wanted to turn around and leave, he didn't have the energy to go through all that was about to come, but he had no other choice. 

          " Sometimes I hate it too. " Eris whispered, with the same smile that now seemed forced, and started to walk to the only two empty seats that were too close to the already occupied one at the end of the table. The big chair that actually mattered.

          Azriel couldn't really see him, the king, hiding behind all this charade of music and dimmed lights and fae. But he could feel the sudden change in the air around him, too heavy to breathe and full of something evil. His shadows circled his vital points like a vise, shielding him as best as they could.

          " Glad to hear it. " Azriel spits back at Eris and turns away, unfazed by the reproachful looks.

          Azriel noticed the ladies from the hallway, watching him with lustful glances and scandalous promises. The creatures already seated at the table, all different kinds of fae, smiled at them all knowingly, bowed their glasses to them like hyenas tempting their prey. Indecent dresses, precious stones, tunics sewn with gold and silver thread, violinists with handcuffs on their feet and pianists with bandaged fingers. An unpleasant and painful sight. Someone proposed a toast and silence fell over the room. The two suddenly stopped, side by side, as if they had been caught sneaking into the banquet.

          " My dear friends and advisors... Tonight I'd like to introduce two special guests. Two soldiers who are willing to present their offers of peace for our kingdom, offers that I intend to accept. " A dark-haired man with square features rose from the imperial chair at the end of the table and gestured for them to sit beside him.

           Draegan... The brave shadow crawled through his hair, sitting on his head like a crown of darkness.

          Azriel takes a deep breath. How stupid of him to think that the Night Court would try to win a place next to those abominations of faes. He hated talking to men of high rank. They were far too full of themselves, they spoke coded most of the time, and the part that really drove him crazy was their facade. Far too much politeness, far too many fake smiles, and duplicitous opinions. He was too old for all the political games, but tonight he had to get into his role.

         " So you're here to make peace with these? " Azriel whispered so quietly that only Eris could hear, and began to push himself toward the red velvet chair. " They slaughtered our people. "

          " You slaughter people for fun. At least I'm productive. "

          " I hope your productivity kills you. " Azriel almost pointed his sharp canines at Eris, but refrained at the last moment. "And I hope it kills you before you leave this place. "

          Azriel walks to the farthest place from the so-called king. This man seemed unfit for such a title: too young, too vulgar, and too innovative for a land deeply rooted in tradition.

          " At least you're here with me and I won't feel alone in my dying moments. " Eris smiled jockingly and bowed his head.

          " I am more than happy to find you in such a festive mood, King Draegan. " Azriel bowed very slightly, as if any bowing would cause him terrible knee pain. " May all the year be as prosperous as you are at this moment. "

          A muscle twitches in Draegan's face. If he had made it this far without anyone standing between him and the throne, he had convinced his people that he would be a trustworthy leader. Who knows what means of persuasion he had actually used.

           Draegan smiled knowingly and gestured for Eris to take a seat at the table. " May all your blades be at hand when you need them the most. " A wry smile almost crept across Azriel's face. The game started earlier than expected.

         " You have no idea how pleased I am to have not one, but two emissaries from Prythian at my table. " The man smiled, showing his straight teeth, and poured the red wine into the golden cups himself. " You must be Azriel, the trustworthy and last of his kind Shadowsinger. I've heard enough about you and... your loyal companions. "

          " All wounds heal. " Someone from the table interjected, raising his cup. " May this meeting heal us all. "

          " Indeed, Lord Charon. " Vanserra agreed with the former, older participant, then turned back to watch Draegan.

          His shadows swirled around Azriel's neck, stirred by the ease with which the king spoke about them. The Shadowsinger eyed the speaker, noting his many medals and muscular frame. In return, Lord Charon gave him a compassionate smile, toothy and wide, showing all the wrinkles on his round face. 

          By the Mother, Eris Vanserra seduced half the court of Hybern.

          " After hearing so much about my business, I find it hard to believe that you are very excited about my unannounced arrival. " Azriel replied monotonously, placing a gloved hand on his crystal goblet. His boldest shadow jumped from his forearms and surrounded the glass.

          " No poison. " Draegan announced displeasedly, drawing his dark gaze to the dark tongue of shadow circling the freshly poured wine. " This is no way to greet your guests. "

          Safe...

          The Shadowsinger turned his head cautiously, looking for some food on the table, which was barely holding together due to the numerous dishes. Did the people outside the palace have as many goods as those inside?

         " What determined your unannounced visit? " Draegan leaned back and gestured for the others to continue their conversation. " I must admit, I was intrigued by the rumors. "

         Azriel knew that though they all seemed to be deep in their own discussions of land, property, and business, their hungry ears were tuned to the three of them, their senses were intoxicated by his ominous presence, and every fleeting corner of their eyes was focused on him.

          " My High Lord and High Lady wish to send you a letter - of peace. " Azriel rolled out the words as sweetly as possible and handed him the envelope marked with the royal court seal.

          " So many offers. " The king chuckled lightly, but didn't open the envelope. " Why didn't they come themselves? "

          Among the many candles melting on the tablecloth, he caught the glances of the diners around him. He noticed the cautious way they had begun to behave: eating in silence, wearing straight smiles and speaking in hushed tones. Some glanced at him out of the corners of their eyes, while others dared to admire him fully, allowing Azriel to sniff their disgusting fear.

          " Well, it's no secret that everyone is rebuilding their kingdoms after the devastating war. Politics and people can't wait, their homes are ruined and laws are old and terrible, they don't apply anymore. So they're doing their best to solve these problems. "

          " What about Velaris? The Hidden Treasure, is it as destroyed as the rest of the Night Court? " A question flies across the table, raising the hairs on Azriel's neck.

          " Who determines what people can live there? It's unfair for some to get the chance to stay safe and happy and other innocent lives to pay the price of not being lucky enough.  " Lord Charon throws the hardest question at Azriel,

          Azriel bites back an angry reply. These people were talking about innocent lives when they were killing dozens every day, not to mention that bitch, Amarantha, their own, worse than all of them.

          " Like I said, the laws are old, the city is as old as the law. Everything needs to be rebuilt. Everyone needs a chance to survive, to be happy, to be safe. The Night Court is working hard to rebuild everything from the ground. "

          Vanserra almost spits his food on the table, trying to hold back a laugh. " Let's not dig up the graves. Both continents made mistakes. The Night Court is working hard. " Eris backs Azriel up only to speak under his breath, using the music so only the winged male can hear. " That's why the Night Court is divided into the one of Nightmares and the one made for Dreamers. "

          Icy rage fills Azriel's veins, and it takes everything he has not to stab Eris with a real butter knife found on the table. He knew that the way people were allowed to live in Velaris was a flawed system, as were the Illyrian camps and the way women were treated there. But his words on these matters meant next to nothing if no one actually listened to his or Cassian's opinions.

          " Everyone needs a second chance, I think. " Draegan interjects as he raises his goblet to his mouth. " It's better to have friends, not enemies. I'd like to visit this place once. If I'm allowed, of course. "

           The Shadowsinger only nods, drinking heavily from that shitty wine, hoping to calm his stretched nerves. 

         " To what occasion do we dedicate this meal, Draegan? " Eris began as he eagerly carved a piece of lemon-glazed lamb, trying to ease the tension around the table.

         Azriel plunged his fork into a well-browned potato, passing through numerous spicy condiments. He'd forgotten the etiquette of high society, so he'd forgotten how polite it was to actually take food, not just look at it. He sniffed the piece of vegetable lightly, guessing pepper and something resembling turmeric, a spice grown exclusively in the Montessere. He popped the potato into his mouth and enjoyed the burst of flavor.

          He was starving, but he couldn't afford to eat everything on the table. If there was the slightest chance of being poisoned, at least the vegetables would have been digested faster and everything would have been disposed of even faster.

          The king laughed. Azriel cringed. " Well, aside from celebrating new bonds... Remember I told you today that someone broke into my room? "

          Azriel raised an eyebrow and looked at the man at the head of the table. He was glad the topic of conversation had changed. Shadows continued to swirl around him, clinging to his thighs and forearms, seemingly ready to draw his daggers at any moment.

          Draegan's golden crown decorated with rubies sat on his head full of brown curls. The burgundy tunic he wore and the shadows cast on his face by the candles seemed to send him into a realm of madness.

            There was a sudden movement as the guards closed the doors and the diners began to stir, startled by the turn of events.

          Eris stopped eating and resigned himself to look around, stunned and dumbfounded. More guards appeared from behind the stone columns holding up the balcony above, pointing crossbows at everyone's head.

          Azriel, though stiff, leans back in his chair, like a deadly weapon latently waiting to be used. He knew from the moment he walked inside that something would go wrong, that someone would die tonight. Maybe that's why he felt this urge to save the servant, this pity for her.

          A few screams rang out in the high room as the guards ruthlessly grabbed the maids who were bringing wine and food to the table and ordered them in a line down the hall. The silver trays tumbled to the floor with a dizzying high-pitched clatter, the cups now empty, and the red wine that had once filled them quickly spread everywhere, soaking the carpets and seeping through the cracks in the marble.

          " Dear participants, I don't want to give you a bad first impression, but I despise stealing. You see, one of those whores came into my room looking for something. " Draegan rose from his velvet chair and took a few steps toward the women, who were trembling. " You stole from me. "

           Suddenly, he slapped the first servant in line so hard that the silly hat she was wearing flew off her head, revealing her aged, white hair. The woman was off balance for a second, stunned by the powerful blow, but did not react. Her legs had turned to jelly and she was now hovering above the floor in a half genuflection, so the guard behind her tightened his grip on her forearms, forced to support her.

          The armored man behind her was as cold as this entire palace. Azriel felt no hint of guilt emanating from him, not even reproach, not even pleasure. Azriel quickly realized that there was something different about the guards here: the material of the armor was covered in onyx from head to toe, a trick to keep the Daemati out of their minds, but also to keep the smells they gave off from being detected.

          The Shadowsinger clenches his fists under his chair. " Shouldn't Your Highness solve your problem somewhere private? ". Azriel tries to ease the tension and give these women a chance to get as far away from the palace as possible tonight, but he doubted they would make it out alive. He looked at the burgundy stain of drink that was now all over the place and horror gripped him, there was really nothing he could do to stop the next events from unfolding.

          He couldn't do much without losing his own credibility. His mission was at stake, to find the Fallen Star, and that was more important than anything else at the moment. Once again, he felt like a child trapped in a dungeon.

          " Or perhaps more diplomatically, given the presence of our new guest? " Eris also jumped to Azriel's aid, standing up as if to climb out of his chair.

          Azriel watched where Vanserra tended to peer from time to time, as if hoping to find an escape hatch for the person in question. Glancing carefully over all the participants in this atrocity, he sensed that something was off: there was a disturbing sense of calm among them, but who could be so.... detached?

          " Don't you dare tell me how to run my kingdom! " Draegan's head turned like a whip on their table, his pointed gaze raised in accusation. " I have been nothing but kind, and everyone seems eager to step over me! "

           For a second, he would have thought the king was the calm one, but he smelled like a sewer on a hot day, as if his irritation was boiling up all the hatred inside him. Vanserra hid his panic all too well, but his eyes usually spoke louder than his smart mouth, so all he could feel were smoldering coals, red as burning lava. Azriel put a gloved finger to his lips and calculated again. The participants at the table, though technically accustomed to such excursions, were as frightened as lambs at the sight of a wolf for the first time, sweat and mischief dripping from every pore.

          Oh, that was it. Azriel tapped his forefinger against his lower lip in satisfaction. A devastating storm of sea-blue smoke was about to drown Draegan and drag him into the deepest oceans.

          " Please, my king... " The first woman wriggled, palms outstretched and rosy cheeks pleading for mercy. " I would never do such a thing. I have children to feed. I wouldn't dare. "

          " Charon, bring me her eldest child. " Draegan ordered grimly, without a second thought. " Lock them both in the dungeon, without food or water. I will give you further instructions. "

          The woman wailed uncontrollably, falling to her knees and soaking the king's leather shoes with her salty tears. The guard could not restrain her, but Draegan did, sending her into a deep sleep with a boot in her jaw.

          Eris closed her eyes at the breaking sound and took a deep breath. Azriel didn't allow himself to close them anymore, he needed enough hate to annihilate them all at the first opportunity.

          He noticed the reason for Eris's panic as she stood one woman away from what was now a pile of flesh on the ground. Curiously, he rolled his eyes restlessly over the six women until he reached the third in line. She now shifted her gaze, keeping her head in the ground as if trying to burn a hole in the thick marble and get underneath. He studied her for a long moment, never taking his eyes off her reactions. Her heartbeat was so tightly controlled that neither the scent of fear, nor stress came from her. Azriel was slightly impressed. This woman could control herself very well, but he could see through her, the way her wrists were tense, the way her thick eyebrows were raised to her forehead, the agony she went through to keep her steamy eyes from rising, how difficult it was for her to control herself.

          Azriel's eyebrows rose slightly. This was where that dangerous, deaf, wild oasis of calm came from. She looked as if she knew what everyone's next move would be, waiting for the inevitable to happen and free her from her torment. Could she be the woman he was looking for?

          Azriel rested his elbows on the table and kept his eyes on her. A helpless, small woman, without courage, without the strength to save the situation, too slow to save herself, too timid, too weak. Disappointing, he thought, he expected more from a myth.

          " What were you looking for? Sex? " Draegan clung to the second with all his might and began to fondle her breasts thirstily. " You wanted to have fun with me? You see brothers, the news that I have a big dick sends these ladies into a frenzy, looking for trouble. "

          Azriel was deeply disgusted, and so was Eris, who took a generous sip of wine without taking his eyes off the third maid. A bond formed between the two as the woman raised her head briefly, generously giving him permission to be calm, as if everything was under control. The Shadowsinger almost snorted. It was as if he could hear those burning coals eagerly leaping from the fire, waiting to be summoned.

          If Eris wanted to start a second war here and now, he had every reason to do so. And the worst part was that Azriel would help him, no matter what. Faes like that just cast a shadow on the ground for nothing.

          The rest of the guests begin to laugh, making indecent jokes that seem to feed Draegan's ego.

         " Be in my room after dinner. " Draegan made a show of whispering something in her ear, loud enough to be humiliating to the second girl, who was shivering like she was getting hypothermia by the second. " And bring the blonde, Aoife. She'll teach you what I like. "

          Tears as bitter as the first woman's began to wet her burgundy mask. Azriel was beginning to feel he couldn't take it anymore, but something caught his attention. The third lifted her head fully and glared at Draegan with the most venomous gaze. It looked as if she wanted to tear the sky in two above the new king's head. So this Aoife was special for her and wanted revenge for whatever she had done to her friend.

          When the king finally reached her, he was met by those gray, icy, murderous eyes. He stumbled over his words, as if he'd actually hit a wall of ice, and stared at her for a few seconds, as if he couldn't believe what the madwoman in front of him had just done. There was a silent conversation between them that lasted so long that even the roar from the table stopped to watch.

        Eris swallowed dryly and covered his mouth with a hand. Azriel could swear he was trembling with impatience. Obviously he had warned her about her behavior.

        Draegan tilts his head to the side, intrigued by her bold gesture. " You have pretty eyes. You should be more careful if you want to keep them. " He spoke after a moment, aggressively grabbing her jaw and bending her head enough to leave a wet kiss on her mask. " You're next tomorrow night. "

          Vanserra looked lividly at her, at that disgusting stain of saliva on her mask. His agitation vanished, as if Draegan had poured water over the smoldering coals. She looked back at him with blank eyes and nodded slightly. She could handle it.

          There will be no tomorrow night, Azriel suspected, either Eris will do something that will cost him his head, or this woman will do something that will burn the palace to the ground. Or maybe both. He was running out of time.

         When Draegan moved on to the next woman, the third one no longer looked down, but stared at Azriel with her huge eyes. Azriel held her gaze for a long time until Draegan pulled a necklace from the fourth woman's pocket. None of the three looked at the stunning discovery. It did not shock any of them. 

          Eris dropped his head, tired of watching the next bloody minutes unfold among them. Guilt was written everywhere: on Vanserra's face, on Azriel's actions, in the eyes of the third servant, even on these damned walls. They all watched as that innocent woman was mercilessly killed for something she didn't do.

          Another burden to carry, another soul wasted. No one was going to notice, they all looked the same after all. That cursed uniform... But Azriel knew immediately that the third woman was the one who stole from Draegan's room. And that Eris Vanserra was her accomplice.