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prythiansprincess · 21 days ago

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CHAPTER TWO

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🤎 pairing: azriel x reader.

🤎 song inspiration: start a war by klergy.

🤎 author’s note: bear with me as we dive into the lore of our feisty assassin. she's not just a bitch, but she's a bitch with a backstory. as always, let me know what you think and if you'd like to be added to the taglist.

The witching hour fell upon the Western Isles, enveloping the rocky shores with a thick malevolent fog that curled through the shadowsinger’s wings like phantom fingers.

As the moon beamed high upon the starless sky, Azriel careened across the horizon with the precision of an ash arrow. Normally, he would have taken the opportunity to appreciate the sights and sounds of the Night Court, but tonight he flew fast and hard — eager to return to Velaris and uncover the reason for the High Lord's abrupt summons.

Like the female in his arms, Azriel had been away on assignment when his brother sent word to return home immediately. The High Lord had been curt in his message, bidding Azriel to fetch the assassin from the Western Isles and fly straight to the River House at once.

The assassin hadn’t been the least bit pleased to see him and even less so once he conveyed Rhysand’s command. The flight home was strained and silent with the female gripping him around the neck so tightly that her nails were currently pressing crescent shaped marks upon his skin. Azriel’s gaze flickered to her face with every intention to bark a biting reprimand, but the burning fire crackling through those familiar golden eyes made him think better of it.

The shadowsinger could only guess at the increasingly worrying thoughts filtering through the assassin’s mind. He had a vague idea of the anxiety bubbling up within because he himself felt its sharp claws raking through his subconscious. Despite the calm and collected mask he bore, Rhysand’s summons had rattled him.

Perhaps it was the abruptness of it all that unnerved Azriel. The last time his brother had sent a message of this nature was to inform everyone that Prythian had fallen into Amarantha’s hands and all the High Lords were being held captive Under the Mountain. Azriel hadn’t felt visceral fear like that in centuries. Not since the years spent in the darkness of his father’s dungeons.

Rhysand had been compromised. Velaris was to be protected. The Inner Circle were ordered to conceal and defend the City of Starlight, rendering Azriel entirely useless and unable to do anything as his brother remained trapped for nearly half a century.

Azriel would never forget what that panic felt like.

So the shadowsinger flew at breakneck speed, ignoring the assassin’s ironclad grip, ignoring the thick eerie fog, ignoring the tightening in his chest as he raced towards home.

Instant relief spread through him when he broke through the protective barrier shrouding Velaris. As far as he could tell, nothing was amiss in the sleepy city. His shadows confirmed that there were no threats at present and he landed on the lawn of the River House with a lighter heart than when he first embarked from Rask. Azriel could tell that the assassin held a similar sentiment when she released a shaky breath.

The two of them walked in complete silence as they made their way into the River House. Azriel’s shadows informed him that the rest of their friends were gathered in Rhysand’s office. All safe, if not a little tense.

Somewhere in the house, a clock chimed ominously, signaling the late hour. It must be urgent then, if everyone had gathered in the middle of the night.

Azriel steeled himself as the assassin pushed through the doors, following closely behind and nodding at everyone in greeting. As soon as he beheld Rhysand’s face, he knew it was going to be bad.

The flicker of worry dancing in Cassian’s gaze all but confirmed Azriel’s suspicion. Feyre and Mor stood by the fireplace, the former wringing her tattooed hands while the latter gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Even Nesta’s nod of acknowledgement was tense at best.

Amren was the only one who met his gaze before that silver predatory gaze settled on the deathly silent female beside him.

The assassin crossed her arms, wary eyes surveying the room. “Well?”

“You might want to take a seat for this,” Rhys said. Azriel noted that his brother didn’t meet either one of their gazes as he spoke.

As Azriel knew she would, the assassin crossed her arms and stubbornly planted herself in place. The shadowsinger did the same, nodding at his brother to go on. Rhysand sighed in response.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The High Lord cleared his throat. “As you know, our spies in the Autumn Court have been keeping tabs on Beron for months. After Briallyn’s demise, we suspected that it was only a matter of time before he attempted to contact Koschei to form an alliance. Eris confirmed just as much, but he’s unable to obtain solid proof of his father’s plans without compromising himself.”

Azriel sneered, ready to convey his mistrust of the Autumn Court heir but the assassin beat him to it. She raised a brow, picking at her nails with a sneer. “How convenient for him.”

A murmur of agreement swelled through the group. Given the history between Eris and Mor, none of the Inner Circle trusted the Autumn lordling. The cruelty he displayed all those years ago barely scratched the surface of the monstrosities that the Autumn Court was capable of, but no one in this room — not even Mor — truly knew the extent of the brutality of the Vanserras except the assassin.

The female would know, because she was a Vanserra herself. Technically a Thorne, if Azriel was being precise. The mysterious assassin was the Lady of the Autumn Court’s niece — the only daughter of her eldest sister. Up until the assassin’s exile, she also served as Beron’s ward for much of her adulthood.

Little was known of her former life in the Autumn Court. In the three centuries Azriel has known her, the assassin had never once spoken of her past. For all his connections and network of spies, he wasn’t able to find out much about her besides the fact that she’d fled the Forest House and never once looked back. She was shrouded in mystery and given the nature of his occupation, this greatly unnerved the shadowsinger.

Azriel crossed his arms, scrutinizing her conflicted expression as Rhys continued. “Eris thinks that Beron is searching for the scepter of summoning and intends on using it to free Koschei from his curse.”

“The scepter has been missing for centuries,” she pointed out. “Even if Beron were to find it, he needs the blessing of the High Priestess to wield the scepter and Alyanna would never grant him its power,” she pointed out.

His brother’s pause of hesitation drew Azriel’s attention. “The High Lord has her daughters.”

Beside him, Azriel felt the simmering rage radiating from the assassin. He angled himself in a defensive position, eyeing her clenched fists with caution. The shadowsinger could only deduce that she knew of the daughters his brother had mentioned and that they were probably close friends judging from the severity of her anger.

“If Eris truly wants to help us, he’ll slit his father’s throat and put an end to all of this.”

The sentiment seemed to echo through the otherwise quiet study. Though the shadowsinger wasn’t a stranger to the assassin’s infamous temper, he hadn’t seen this side of her before. The rage that emanated from the female was a living, palpable entity that threatened to swallow the room whole.

“In due time,” Rhysand replied. “But right now, Beron is too powerful for Eris to openly oppose and even if he were strong enough to dispose of his father, starting his reign with blood on his hands will destroy what little peace exists between our courts. He wants to stop Koschei as much as we do, but we can’t afford to destabilize this already waning alliance.”

“So why doesn’t he just search for the scepter himself?”

“Given his predicament, he can’t exactly go traipsing through the Autumn Court without raising suspicion. However, Eris was able to find a map that may lead us to the scepter. If we’re to stop Beron from unleashing Koschei, we need someone who can maneuver the Autumn Court and steal the scepter.”

Rhysand lowered his gaze. Violet eyes flashed with regret as he drew them back up again. Realization dawned on Azriel and the assassin at the same time.

“You mean to make me a thief for that wretched male?”

The assassin’s voice was soft and deathly still, but it carried over to Azriel all the same. The calmness of her tone perturbed him, feeling reminiscent of the silence before a storm. The shadowsinger clutched at the dagger strapped to his thigh, readying himself for that first crack of thunder.

Rhysand’s voice softened. “For better or worse, we’re stuck with Eris. He’s the only one who can give us access to the Forest House. Many of our spies have tried, but it is impenetrable. No one enters or leaves without Beron’s knowledge.”

That was only the half of it. Even Azriel found himself unable to infiltrate the formidable fortress. The Forest House was built in and around the rocks and trees itself and only the uppermost level was visible from the ground. It would take the better half of a day to walk from one side of the tunnels to the other and even then, one had to survive the dangerous creatures lurking beneath its lower levels. Only someone with extensive knowledge of the fox’s den could ever hope to execute a mission like this.

Someone like the assassin.

“Then surely you’re aware that Beron isn’t likely to invite you or Feyre into his home any time soon,” she supplied.

The High Lady placed a tattooed hand on the assassin’s shoulder. “But he might permit his niece to visit,” she said softly.

Azriel’s fingers curled around Truth-teller’s hilt as rage flashed across the female’s face. Shadows swarmed around him restlessly as though they were overwhelmed with the extent of her wrath.

A strange tightness clawed its way around his heart, but the shadowsinger didn’t dare take his eyes off of the assassin. There was such fury on her face and her hands shook from the effort it took to tamper it all down. Then, just beneath all of that ferocity, Azriel thought he saw a glimpse of fear break through the surface.

But it was gone before he could further ponder it.

The assassin’s gaze hardened as she rolled her shoulders back. “My uncle and I did not part on good terms. I’ve lived as an exile of his court for centuries. I don’t foresee him welcoming me back with open arms. So what exactly is your plan?”

Feyre tensed beside the assassin. “During the Blood Moon, the Lady of Autumn will be hosting a ball. You will use that as an excuse to visit. Eris will make sure that an invitation is extended to you. In order for that to happen, Beron has to believe that you’re interested in reclaiming the position of High Priestess.”

The whole room fell silent. The revelation hung in the air like a loose thread and Azriel felt an overwhelming desire to tug on it until the secrets of the assassin’s past came unraveled before him. This was the most he’d heard about her sordid history.

The assassin crossed her arms. “And then what? I march into the Autumn Court and steal the scepter from right under his nose? I’d be the first target he’d suspect.”

“That’s why you’ll use the distraction of the festivities to do it. Rumor has it that Beron has sent invitations to several emissaries from the Continent. He will be busy entertaining them, which will give you the opportunity to find the scepter. Once you secure it, Eris will winnow you back to Velaris.”

“And if things go awry?” she asked prudently. “What then, Rhysand?”

There was a fierce look in the assassin’s eyes that told Azriel the female would rather set the Autumn Court alight than be captured as its prisoner.

Rhys was gravely serious as he met the assassin’s gaze. “Then you burn it all to hell.”

Azriel suppressed a shiver. There were layers upon layers in that statement alone. The shadowsinger had a sneaking suspicion that there were even more surprises lurking in the horizon where the assassin was concerned. He didn’t like the feeling — not one bit.

“It’s a horrible plan,” she said wryly.

Cassian nodded in agreement. “Be that as it may, it’s the only plan we have.”

“And you’re the only one who can pull it off, girl.” Amren added.

Azriel watched carefully as Feyre squeezed the assassin’s shoulder. “It’s your choice.”

The shadowsinger could see the gears of her mind work, calculating the risk and reward, turning over every possibility. Despite the mutual dislike between the two of them, Azriel knew that the assassin’s intuition was as sharp as his spymaster abilities and carefully honed from her years of service to Velaris. Perhaps even before then.

Resolve washed over her expression. “I’ll do whatever I have to.”

Rhysand let out a ragged breath. His brother’s gaze briefly flickered to him. “You and Azriel will depart in three days' time.”

Now that was news to the shadowsinger. Over the years, Rhysand had taken great pains in ensuring that the pair of them were never assigned to the same mission. It was a strategic plan to keep his strongest lines of defense separate in case of attack, but it was also necessary because neither party seemed to be able to withstand each other’s presence without some type of incident occurring.

So why place them together now?

Rhysand must have a good reason. One that his brother would no doubt fill him in on later. The assassin wasn’t so easily convinced.

“I don’t need an escort,” she gritted through her teeth.

“I’m not sending you on this mission alone.” Rhys countered.

“I can handle this on my own. I don’t need anyone slowing me down.” Azriel flashed the female a glare, which she quickly dismissed much to his annoyance. “Besides, the last time he was in a room with Eris, he almost killed my dear cousin. As enjoyable as it was, I highly doubt fratricide will help our cause. Beron is more likely to hand over the scepter willingly before he allows the shadowsinger into his court.”

It was a fair point. Though Azriel didn’t regret the encounter during the last High Lord’s meeting, it surely didn’t gain him any trust when it came to Beron.

“The High Lord would be willing to put more than his son’s safety at risk if it means gaining power. You are that power. I hate that we even have to ask this of you, but you’re our only chance of stopping him.”

The allusion to power wasn’t lost on the shadowsinger. Whatever ability the assassin possessed, it was apparent that it would be highly valuable to a male like Beron. Maybe it was the missing thread to why she’d left the Autumn Court and never once returned.

“But you are asking,” the assassin replied. “And I’m accepting, but I’m not doing this with a chaperone.”

Azriel schooled his features into neutrality, leveling a cold gaze at her. “You need to approach this objectively. Beron’s court is a dangerous place. You’d be a fool to think otherwise.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it contained nothing but dark wrath. “I know all about the dangers of the Autumn Court, shadowsinger. I’ve lived it.”

He bristled at the assassin’s clipped tone. There was more to that statement, but it wouldn’t help the situation at hand. She pierced him with a molten gaze that silenced the room. “I hardly think you’re in any place to lecture me on objectivity given all that passed between you and Eris. I do not need your emotions jeopardizing this mission.”

The icy rage he kept locked away spread through his veins like frostbite. The chill of it broke through his composed exterior, but it only served to harden his resolve.

Azriel didn’t so much as waver. “You are not going alone, Thorne.”

“Like hell I am!”

“Enough.”

The dark power of the High Lord rumbled through the study and shook the room with the sound of thunder. Azriel’s gaze cut to his brother.

“These are the terms of the mission. Azriel goes with you.”

“And if I refuse?”

The bite of the assassin’s words awakened stars in Rhysand’s eyes. “Then you will return to the Western Isles to finish rooting out Hybern’s supporters and I will find another way to seize the scepter. As your High Lord commands.”

The shadowsinger balked. In all his years of serving the Night Court, Rhysand hardly ever pulled rank. His brother would not be moved from this decision. The realization seemed to rattle the assassin out of her stubbornness.

Rhysand’s tone was full of finality. “This isn’t up for negotiation, Y/N.” Feyre and I will not send you to the Autumn Court by yourself.”

“I’m perfectly capable of—”

“I will not lose another sister!” snapped Rhysand.

The words settled uncomfortably over the group. Azriel could tell that the mention of Serena had quelled all the fight remaining in the assassin. Losing Rhysand’s sister was a burden that everyone carried, but it had been especially hard on her. If there was anyone in this world that knew the female beside him best, it had been Serena. When she died, the assassin distanced herself from everyone. Even Rhys.

The shadowsinger found himself unable to face the haunted look in the assassin’s eyes. The striking golden color dulled to a pallid yellow, bearing the expression of a wounded animal. There was so much guilt swimming in that gaze and he knew the feeling all too well.

Feyre grasped the assassin’s fingers. “We just want to make sure that you’ll be safe. I know that you’re perfectly capable of defending yourself, but it won’t be easy to go back there. Maybe you’ll even come to appreciate the presence of a familiar face.”

Azriel highly doubted that, but the High Lady’s words seemed to placate the female for the moment. Her scrutinizing gaze flickered from Rhys to Feyre, at the united front that they represented, and by the resigned sigh that escaped the assassin’s lips, the shadowsinger guessed that she’d come to the same conclusion as he had moments ago. The High Lord and the High Lady would not compromise on this matter.

There was no room for argument after that. The assassin simply conceded with a terse nod. “It’s settled then. The shadowsinger will accompany me to the Autumn Court.”

No one spoke as she directed a withering glare in Azriel’s direction before striding out of the study. He surveyed her retreating figure until she disappeared at the end of the hallway.

Exhausted from the loaded exchange, his friends started filtering out one by one. Feyre and Mor shot him weary glances and tight smiles. Cassian clapped his back before following Nesta and Amren out the door.

Stay, echoed Rhysand’s voice.

The shadowsinger stayed put, watching silently as his brother shut the door and strode over to the bar cart. He grabbed two crystal glasses and a decanter filled with expensive whiskey before setting it down on the ornate wooden desk. Rhys settled into his leather chair just as Azriel took the seat across from him.

“Drink?” Rhysand asked despite the fact that he was already halfway through filling the glasses.

Azriel only nodded, taking the whiskey and swirling the amber liquid around as silence filled the room. The High Lord took a generous pull and grimaced.

“That went about as well as I thought it would.”

The shadowsinger raised a brow. “Did you expect any better?”

“No,” Rhys said, meeting his gaze. “I expected her resistance. Yours, too. Though I’m glad of its absence.”

“Don’t mistake my silence for agreement. I have my own apprehensions, but I figured you had your reasons.” Azriel took a sip of whiskey, savoring its smooth and smoky taste. “My spies have been working on infiltrating the Forest House for months. What changed your mind?”

“Nothing. I have always known it would come to this. I hoped that your spies may be able to break through Beron’s defenses, but it’s impossible. Only someone with extensive knowledge of the Autumn Court could ever hope to succeed in stealing the scepter.” His brother rubbed his face, concern and worry contorting his features. “All these months, I was trying to stall the inevitable. I was trying to prevent this exact thing from happening. Asking Y/N to go on this mission isn’t something I take lightly.”

“I’m sure she knows that,” Azriel offered. “At least she’ll come to realize it after her temper has cooled.”

“I promised…I promised that I’d never let her go back there. But here I am, asking her to return to that wretched place.”

“It’s not without reason. The fate of the realm rests on this decision.”

“I know,” the High Lord breathed. “It doesn’t make it any easier. If anything happens to her — I’ll never — I can’t…”

I will not lose another sister.

“It will be fine, Rhys.” Azriel found himself saying. “I’ve seen her cut down grown males without breaking a sweat. If anyone could pull this off, it’s Thorne.”

His brother released a shaky breath, seemingly reassured. Azriel continued. “In any case, I’ll be there to work alongside her. Speaking of which, how do you plan on convincing Beron to permit my entrance into the Autumn Court?”

The worried look returned all at once. Rhys toyed with the rim of his glass. “Leave that to me. For now, I need your word that you’ll do everything in your power to help with this mission. I know that there’s little love between you and Y/N, but you two are our only hope of stopping Beron.”

“If there’s enmity between us, it’s not a failure on my part. It’s not my fault that Thorne insists on being difficult at every turn.”

Rhysand sighed. “I know, but she has her reasons. All I’m asking is that you try.” He tapped his fingers on the wooden desk. “You’re the only one I can trust to have her back. I refuse to send her into that den of vipers alone.”

Azriel rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on. Of all the impossible tasks his brother had asked of him, getting along with the hotheaded assassin seemed the most challenging. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me why she left the Autumn Court in the first place.”

“It’s not my story to tell.” The High Lord shifted in his seat. “I know that the crypticism must be frustrating, but I can’t betray her trust like that. Besides, the reason for her exile will neither help nor harm the mission. The important thing is getting her in and out of the Autumn Court safely.”

Worry lined his brother’s features. “I wouldn’t normally ask this of you, but I need you to trust my judgment on this.”

However misguided Rhysand may be sometimes, the shadowsinger knew that he was coming from a place of good intentions. Azriel conceded with a sigh of long suffering.

“Of course I trust you, Rhys.” He set his drink down and the glass rapped against the dark wood. “But I do have a few questions before I agree.”

“This power of hers,” Azriel began. “I know she can conjure nightmares and illusions based on people’s fears, but there’s something else, isn’t there? My shadows can sense it. I can sense it.”

Rhysand went preternaturally still. His brother swallowed, glancing out the window. “You know that she wields the flames of the Autumn Court, given her heritage. Beron, Eris, Lucien…they merely summon fire, but Y/N is different. She is fire.”

Azriel blinked. “What do you mean?”

“She’s a phoenix.”

If being a shadowsinger was rare, then a phoenix was nearly unheard of. There were only a few known to history and the last of their kind died centuries before Azriel was even born. They tended to be few and far between mostly due to the volatile nature of their power. Aside from their psychic and empathic abilities, a phoenix was fire personified. Legend says that looking upon their true form was enough to drive one into madness.

Azriel recalled Lord Covington’s pleas right before the shadowsinger transported him away to the Court of Nightmares. The young lord had groveled, had even asked for death, and had almost looked relieved once he was deposited into the dark, dreary dungeon. As if torture was a much better fate than facing the assassin again. Azriel had chalked it up to cowardice, but now he wondered what the male had seen that evoked such terror.

“Who else knows?”

“No one besides Serena,” Rhys said with a pained voice. “And my sister took the secret to her grave. The only reason I found out was because I had to…” His eyes snapped shut. “After my sister died, Y/N lost control. Scared me half to death and nearly scorched all of Oorid in her wake. I managed to pull her out of it before she burned the swamp to cinders.”

“Fuck,” Azriel said softly.

“That’s why I insisted on all of this. I need to know that she’ll be safe. From Beron and from herself.” Rhysand’s expression turned gravely serious. “Promise me, Az. Promise me that you’ll keep her safe.”

“Why me?”

His brother blinked, weighing his words. “Because you two are more alike than you know.”

“If she’s truly that powerful, I highly doubt that she needs me to look after her.”

There was a sort of sadness in the High Lord’s gaze as he looked over at the shadowsinger. “You’d be surprised,” Rhys murmured. “Despite how Y/N may act, she’s not as strong as she looks.”

It seemed absurd for Rhysand to say that about a phoenix, but Azriel supposed his brother was the only person alive who knew the assassin better than she knew herself. Setting aside his own complicated feelings, the shadowsinger agreed to the High Lord’s plea.

With the conversation weighing heavy on both of them, Azriel bid his brother goodbye. He walked out of Rhysand’s office with his head hung low, unable to see anything in the darkness of the hallway but that same haunted look in the assassin’s eyes from earlier that night.

The image would plague him for days to come.

She’s not as strong as she looks.

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#if you saw me repost this no you didn't the tags are shite #azriel #azriel fanfiction #azriel fluff #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel spymaster #azriel/reader #pro azriel #acotar #bat boys

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