#rhysand acotar x reader

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Datura Pt 7

Summary: The fallout of your confrontation with Amarantha comes to a head, and just might push you that much closer to a certain High Lord.

Content Warnings: Torture, blood, mentions of SA

Author’s Note: Cauldron Boil me this chapter took forever to write on mobile 🫠 My laptop is down for the foreseeable future, but I’m doing my best to keep up on the updates, even if they will be a little slower for a bit. Thank you all for your patience! ❤️ As always, if you want to be added to the tag list, let me know! 😁

Master list

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It feels like a dream; a dream would explain the shimmering auroras of blue, violet and pink overhead; explain the music that floats around your as if it’s on the wind; explain the creature of darkness and starlight that drags gentle fingers through your hair. It would be a lovely dream, the kind you cling to desperately as waking beckons at the edge of your consciousness.

A dream would explain why a voice made for the gentle darkness of a bedroom speaks from everywhere at once: “I’ve got you. Don’t worry. You’re safe with me.” It might come from the creature who holds your head in its lap but you can’t be sure. Not when the clicking of heels on stone drags you further away from the music and the starlight. Not when the dream shifts and spins and feels a little too like your training exercises for you to be convinced this isn’t actually happening inside the confines of your own head.

It’s hard to be certain of anything through the fog that clings to you. The only thing that’s real and true is the pain shooting through your right arm. It’s so intense you try to curl in on yourself but that only makes it worse. Any movement makes nausea roll in your gut and your head spin. The loud booming of heels on stone doesn’t help.

“Oh poor little thing,” a voice croons.

And then pain flares in your spine, the air crushed from your lungs as something sharp and heavy presses down into the center of your back. You’re blind with pain, barely conscious enough to see what’s happening, let alone fight. The half wheeze half scream that tears out of you sounds like it belongs to a trampled animal.

“Where’s all that fight you showed last night?”

The pressure increases and the blurring in your already terrible vision is now more from tears than your own mental fog.

Something brushes against your mind, like phantom fingers brushing against your mental shields. “Get up! Fight her!”

More pressure on your spine. It’s an effort just to get a breath in. You’re going to be crushed like this.

“I can’t! Please. Please help me!”

There is no one else to help you, no one there to make any of it make sense. You can’t figure out where you are, why this is happening, everything feels so foggy.

The pressure on your spine finally lets up, let’s you breathe, just for something to hit you in the back of the head. Not hit. Kicked. The tip of one of those ridiculously pointed heels has kicked you in the back of the head. They’re starting to come into view, even as your temple clacks against the rough stone floor, the same awful shade of red as the hair flowing from her pale head.

“You’re going to be ok. I’ve got you. Breathe.”

The tip of her heel slides under your chin as Amarantha comes around to face you and the world finally comes into focus as she uses her shoe to lift your chin.

You’ve never felt so small and helpless in your life; you’re a bug and she’s a giant.

“Don’t let her see you cry.” Urges the voice. Now that you’re head is clearing, the fog rolling out slowly, you realize it’s Rhys, has been this entire time. “Stand up.”

You try, you really, really try, but getting your palms against the floor, moving the mottled mess of flesh that’s your right arm at all makes the world spin. If you’d eaten anything at all you would have thrown up all over the Queen’s expensive shoes.

Would have been worth it.

“Nothing to say to me now?” She coos.

“Rhys I can’t get up,” you whimper in your head. She’s going to crush you like this. Put your head under her heel and stomp down until your skull cracks like a watermelon.

You feel him tugging at things in your head, not throwing open doors to your memories, but rooting through the bookshelves, looking for something, anything he can reach to move you himself.

“You know, I’m feeling a lot better this morning. Turns out mated sex does wonders for the psyche.”

Your stomach rolls.

“Mother’s tits! Tamlin!” Rhys swears and as if his horror is your own, a shiver trembles down your spine. You get a flash of something like nails running across your skin, drawing blood, a scent of mirthroot and incense, and then it’s thrown out of your head in a rush.

“Rhys-” horror and the dawning realization rolls through you at once and that chasm in your chest that had snapped shut last night, the yawning, bottomless darkness rises up to meet you, calling your name. There’s a roaring in your ears, as if a strong wind had burst through the mountain. You can only see red.

“So I’ll offer you a bargain,” Amarantha is still speaking, her voice droning and lifeless in your ears.

You grit your teeth and put your palms flat on the floor, trying to get up again, fighting every slash of pain, the horrible tearing feeling in your gaping flesh. You get an inch, maybe two, your whole body shaking. The roaring in your ears won’t stop, it’s getting worse. Pain explodes in your jaw, fangs ripping through your lip. Your eyes are changing again, things suddenly sharper and clearer in your vision.

“You drink this,” she’s pulled a vial from some pocket realm, holding the black glass between the tips of her pointed nails. Nails you can now see still tipped in blood. There’s more of it splattered across her pale arms, a hint of it around her lips. You don’t know if it’s Tamlin’s or Rhys’s.

You manage to get a knee up under your body, then a second. Blood drips from the lacerations across your shoulder and back, cascading into the horrifyingly large puddle beneath where you’d been laying.

“Tie your powers to me and I’ll heal you right up.”

“NO!!! Don’t do it!!!” Rhys screams; it’s a strange sensation to have his voice so clear in your head, even as the mountain shakes beneath you, rattled by a dark power you somehow know in bones is him. It’s not a darkness like yours, nothing that lives in the deep recesses of his being, it is something natural and good that has been honed and sharped and when he unleashes it, you feel it skitter across your skin. You can almost taste jasmine and citrus.

Amarantha pauses her little victory speech to stare at the roof as it rattles and cracks, raining dust and debris down on your heads. She frowns, then cocks her head like she’s listening to something. Her eyes glaze over a bit, like she’s no longer here in the room with you.

If Rhys can reach you from wherever he’s being held, can he reach her too?

It’s that thought that gets you off your knees. Not standing, not really because you’re so dizzy that would be impossible, but you have enough in you to throw yourself forward and tackle her. It’s her head that slams into the stone floor this time. Her that’s helpless beneath you as your claws rip through your nail beds and you slash a hand across her face. The pain in your arm is blinding, makes your stomach roll and the room spin, your next swipe at her face sheer instinct, but you know it hits something soft, by the splatter or warm blood across your fingers.

She still has the advantage, her years as General of Hybern’s armies and the sheer amount of time she has trained to fight means you got this far because she was surprised, and she won’t stay that way. A claw tipped hand wreathed in flame latches onto your wrist, halting your next blow, the flames licking and crackling up your arm so hot you feel it in your teeth. It would be a surprise if smoke didn’t come out your mouth as you scream, feeling like you’re being cooked from the inside out.

Sheer desperation has you swinging with your other arm, but she’s already shifting her weight and your hand hits stone, talons breaking against the rock. It’s all too easy for her to get another flame wreathed hand around your throat and shift her weight so she’s now atop you.

The mountain still shakes around you. Her eyes are still glassy like Rhys is still trying to reason with her, even as she closes off your air way, nails tearing through your skin.

“You know,” she says as she leans down, lips next to your ear. “I like the struggle. It makes the surrender all the sweater.”

You’re on fire, skin blistering beneath her grip. Spots dance across your vision. But that cavern in your chest cracks, the darkness that lives inside swirling like a tornado as it flares to life, flares in response to your plight. It’s not like last time where you can take hold of it, it takes hold of you, filling you until there is only empty darkness and the sound of Amarantha screaming.

Her weight is off you, her hand no longer crushing your windpipe. You scramble onto your knees, coughing, gasping for breath. When the spots clear from your eyes you can finally see your hands, skin no longer but made entirely of an empty darkness, as if you’re made up by some sort of void. Stranger still, the fire that she had summoned now dances around your wrists and hands, twirling like it belonges to you.

Amarantha’s on the floor, groaning, a huge dent in the wall from where you’d, apparently, thrown her body.

Her dark eyes narrow to the fire wreathing your shifted form. It no longer answers to her, but you, as if you’d stolen in from her.

“GUARDS!” She screams and the door comes flying open, six of her personal guard running in with their weapons drawn. The Attor flanks them, a grin spread across its leathery face.

“Take her to the dungeons! She attacked me!!” Amarantha wails. Blood trickles down her face, your talons having ripped open her cheek, just missing her eye. Good. You’ll splatter more of it before this is over.

Your body feels different. The pain so dull now you start to wonder if it was even real in the first place. None of this feels entirely real as you manage to get on your feet, flames still dancing across your changed body.

They aim spears at your head as one of them approaches with chains. Not normal iron chains, either, the shackles a strange bluish color. You can smell something on them, something decaying and rotten that makes your nose crinkle. All your senses are sharpened when you’re like this, every smell sharp and clear.

“You attacked me!” You say, even though you know it’s useless; your voice raw from how hard she’d held you by the throat. Strangely, the burns that should be blistering across your skin don’t feel like burns anymore. The flames you stole lick over the affected areas, winding back and forth like they’re capable of healing the damage.

The guards move closer, each step calculated. Their grey eyes are narrowed to your hands, eyeing them like snakes poised to strike. You can fight them, the power thrumming in your veins tells you it’ll be easy, as if it’s an entity entirely separate from your own consciousness, but the disastrous effects of yesterday are still heavy on your mind, as muddled as the end of it still is. You were in this predicament because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut; Rhys was in this predicament because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.

You raise your hands, palms up in a move that you hoped would be compliant, but the way they raise their spears, the way the Attor spreads it’s wings and hisses, makes you think better about it. You lower your hands to your sides and look at Amarantha. The grin on her face makes you want to lunge for her throat and claw out her eyes. Your power roars in your ears again, she’s hurt your—

The power balks, retreats as if it had just realized something it didn’t want to touch. The fire vanishes from your hands along with the inky darkness, the power seeping back under your skin until there is no longer a glimpse of it. Your teeth ache as your fangs retract; fingers feel like they’re breaking as your battered talons disappear. Even if you had planned to fight, it would have been useless, you don’t attempt to fight to hold it.

“Good, little mouse,” she purrs.

You grit your aching teeth as the guard hurriedly snaps the cuffs on your wrist. Any lingering hint of power leeches from your body, leaving only the cold press of iron.

Amarantha stalks over once she’s sure they’re secure, sure you’re as helpless as she wishes you to be.

The mountain still shakes around you, but you can’t hear Rhys anymore. Can’t reach into your own shields to search for him, any hint of magic is far beyond your reach.

“Looks like my offer is of no use to you now,” she drags a finger over what should be your ruined shoulder, but the mottled flesh is now pink, your gaping wounds stitched back together. It’ll scar, but that’ll be the end of it.

“So maybe I can change your mind another way, hmm?”

It’s an effort not to tremble.

“Take her to Rhys,” she orders as she snatches a handkerchief from one of them and dabs her bleeding face with it. Her wounds are already healing. “Since he seems alive enough to try and bargain with me.”

Cold dread seeps through you as they drag you down the halls. Heads peak out of doors to watch as your led past, some of the faces you have a vague memory of seeing watch you in the pit. No one comes to your aid; no one will even give you a pitying glance. A couple of them smile. Better you than them, their faces seem to say.

Your whole body feels cold and empty, strained beyond belief. Still, you try and keep your head up best you can as you go deeper and deeper into the mountain.

You can see your breath around your head by the time they finally stop in front of a worn, time scarred door. There’s a heap of rubble in front of it, the walkways half caved in with heaps of rock and debris. The iron is oddly shaped, lumpy almost, like something had been bashed into it over and over from inside.

It’s not until the door is dragged open, with the help of four guards because of all the damage, that your realize that something had been Rhys’s fists. Someone had clamped a collar around his neck and chained him to the wall, or at least, they had initially. The chain had been ripped out of the wall, the rusted medal dangling uselessly behind the male. Even though he was on his knees now, bare chest heaving to catch his breath, knuckles dripping blood into the floor, it was clear he had been doing his damndest to break through the iron door by any means necessary.

The first two guards raise their spears again, as Amarantha says, “Well isn’t this quite the temper tantrum.”

Your chest aches when you see him, the bruising over his face and chest, the blood splattered across the floor.

It looks like it’s an effort for him to raise his chin and look at her. The bruises around his eyes are dark as shadows. “Thought it would get your attention,” he rasps, voice practically gone.

The urge to press your lips to his throat is suddenly overwhelming, your whole body itches to hold him, soothe the aches you mark across his toned body. A thought you try to shove away, a realization you don’t want to think about in a place like this. It would be a tremendous weakness for you to want anything other than friendship.

Amarantha reaches around one of the guards to grab you by the hair, your chains rattling as she drags you over to her.

Rhys is on his feet, snarling, teeth bared at the sight. It takes four of the guards to restrain him.

He’d done that last night too, when they’d shoved you, though you’re not sure why. Doesn’t he hate you? He called you a monster, yet a monster he risked his life for.

“You seem to care a lot about this little thing, Rhysand.”

His eyes darken, narrowing in on the hand gripping your hair like he was debating the best way to rip it off her body. It’s the same murderous rage he’d had when he’d found the Attor had taken you from your room without him.

“So let’s give a little test if the feeling is mutual, hm?”

Your stomach does flips as she waves to the guards and they kick Rhys back down onto his knees on the filthy cell of the floor.

To you, Amarantha says, “You drink the vial,” that black glass is back in her hand again, dangling in front of your face. “And I won’t kill him.”

“You won’t kill me,” Rhys snarls. “Who’d keep your bed warm? Your mate that hates you? Your drugged up slaves?”

It might be the only leverage he has, but it’s like someone dumped ice water on your head. All thought leaves you, save for one singular thing that repeats like a mantra over and over: Save him. Save him. Save him.

You cannot undo what she has already done to him, but you can find a way to stop it, find a way to ensure she never hurts anyone ever again. You’ll kill her, you’ll tear her apart one piece at a time—even if you have to use your powerless hands to do it. What are you unruly powers anyway? They only seem to save you when it suits them. You will find a way without them.

Because, with a sinking feeling in your gut, you know you won’t find a way without Rhys. If he dies here, in this godsdamned cell, on his knees in the muck you will not recover. You’re not entirely sure why, but you know it to be true.

“I’ll take it,” you say.

Rhys flinches, “Don’t you fucking dare!” He snarls.

But you look away from him, to those soulless eyes instead. “I’ll take the vial and you’ll leave him alone.”

She waves the glass back and forth, lips pursed, thinking. “You take the vial and you both get to live as my pretty little pets. I think I’ll make a show out of you in my fighting pits again. You’re amusing to my court.”

You’ll both be alive. And maybe you won’t recognize yourself at the end of it, maybe you’ll hate everything that happens from here on out, but Rhys will be alive.

He’d said you’d need to be an opportunist, to find any way you could to get out, but getting out would mean nothing if you lost your ability to care about anybody in here. If you let him die, the heart your uncle had tried so hard to protect from Hybern would die, and you can’t live with that.

“I’ll do it.”

She drops the vial into your hands.

Rhys starts thrashing again, trying to stand, cursing at everyone.

It takes a second with the shackles in the way, but you manage to get the cork off the top. The scent that hits you is awful, like sulfur and smoke. You don’t give yourself time to think about it as you bring it to your lips and tip it back.

It burns worse than any alcohol you’ve ever tried, tastes like you licked a tar pit, the contents sticky in the back of your throat. It fills you, slithering through your insides like some kind of beast beneath your skin.

Amarantha breathes in deep, savoring whatever transfer she gets from this. Savoring your terrible powers as they get transferred to her.

Rhys has gone still as death on the floor.

“Guess these won’t do you any good,” she sneers. Flickering her wrists, the chains drop from your wrists.

The sensation you feel now that magic can touch you again makes you clutch at your chest, makes your body ache. It feels as if there had been a fire in your belly and the flames had been dragged out your mouth, your nose, your ears.

The guards release Rhys on her order, and then she puts her hand on your back and shoves you directly into his chest. And despite all reason, he wraps his arms around you, keeping you from sprawling face first into the floor.

“I think a few nights down here will teach you a good lesson.”

You bury your face in his neck, the scent of jasmine and citrus and sweat overwhelming. His heart beat is rapid against your cheek, but beating, he’s alive and so are you.

The door slams shut behind you, the old iron groaning and shrieking as it goes. It’s a surprise that they trust it to still hold, but, you suppose they don’t think you’ll try anything now either.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper into his skin once they’re gone. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He grips you a little tighter, his body shaking. He has so little access to his powers and yet he’d still gone to you where he could, had still tried to bring down the mountain, he has to be exhausted, yet that grip on you is firm.

“Idiot,” he hisses, but there’s not much venom behind it. “What were you thinking?”

You shouldn’t, gods know you shouldn’t, but you let yourself lean into him, let him hold you. He’s safe and alive and it doesn’t matter what you have to do to ensure it, because this, him… It’s right. Just as it had been on Calanmai, as it was in your headspace when it was just the two of you, it’s right.

“You’re an ass,” you say into his skin, “but I’m not going to let you die for me.”

“Y/N,” he begins to reprimand, even as his hand strokes down your back, fingers catching in the tattered remains of the dress he had sent you yesterday. Gods the Pit and the chimeras had felt like a lifetime ago already.

“Yell all you want,” you whisper. “Push me away all you want. It’s not going to stop me from caring about you.”

He lowers his chin onto your shoulder, body sagging in surrender. It’s hard to tell if he’s holding you up or you’re holding him up. Doesn’t really matter in the end, you’re both too exhausted for it to matter.

“The closer you are,” he whispers and his voice is so damaged from either the collar or from screaming that it cracks. “The more danger you are in.”

“I killed three chimeras yesterday, I think I’ll live.”

“Yesterday you had full access to your powers.”

You reach for the chasm, expecting it to feel cold and empty, to confirm that it was gone and you had truly signed all of it away to that horrible bitch, and though a part of you hoped, like Rhys you’d maintain a fraction of it still sleeping there, you were not prepared to feel it so fully.

You pull away from Rhys at last, hands poking at your chest like you could somehow feel that well beneath your skin.

The darkness laughs from within you, from wherever the bottom of that ceaseless chasm may be, as if it’s wholly untouched. It doesn’t feel any smaller, it is still something wild and untamed, but it has not shrunk in the slightest.

“Y/N are you ok?”

You’d felt the burn, felt something tear out of you, how was this possible?

You dip into it, let your consciousness free fall, willing it to show you everything, whatever limit and chain Amarantha has slapped on you. But there isn’t one, the bottom still will not rise to meet you, it remains an empty, ceaseless void out of reach.

Rhys takes your face in his blood stained hands. “Y/N?!”

You finally drag your gaze up to his, the violet a striking contrast to the damage over his handsome face. “I want to make a bargain with you.”

He raises a brow, confused. You know you’re not making any sense right now, but the walls were sure to have ears this deep in the dungeons, and you have to be smarter from here on out. If Amarantha learns that you merely gave her back the fire you stole from her and not your own gifts, there will be hell to pay. And until you’re ready to pay it, you have to be careful, you need allies and confidants.

You reach up and tap a finger against your temple and he opens the door in your mind with a groan. You feel his headache in your own head.

“I want you to help me kill Amarantha.”

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[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Hello!! Could you do a Rhysand x reader where reader has a nightmare and Rhys comforts her and just talks with her to get her to relax?

I absolutely love your writing🩷🩷

Nightmare

He felt it. It's like someone sucked all the air out of the room he was sleeping in. Somehow stole all the stars from the sky and plunged him into a cold river. Rhys shot up. He was more than aware that it wasn't his nightmare that woke him. He knew the pattern of his dreams all too well. He would not mistake it. This felt different. As if someone's pain was calling out to him.

You. When that thought ran through his mind. Rhys didn't even realize how quickly he winnowed into your room. You two weren't dating. It was complicated, let's put it that way. You lived under his protection, in the library for years. You two were close and he had grown to love your presence. But as of lately, whatever was growing in the high lord's chest could no longer be classified as simply friendship.

Rhys looked around your room quietly. His own heart beating against his ribcage. His eyes fell onto a blanket that was on the floor. You must have kicked it off. Then there's your body soaked in sweat. As you turn and twist in your sleep. The cries stab at Rhys. Claw and dig scars in his chest. He had sworn to protect you. So what was this? Why were you like this?

He rushes towards you. Climbing onto your bed. Long forgotten is the fact that he's only in loose grey sweatpants. Or that you barely have a big shirt Rhys's shirt on. "Darling", he calls out into the night. But all he is meat with are you whimpers, please, and sobs. His palm gently cups your cheek, "My love, I've got you", Rhys says louder this time. Trying to bring your body back to consciousness without shaking you too much. "Please, I don't want to...", you cry out and Rhys has to clench his jaw. "You're with me. You're in Velaris", Rhys brushes his fingers through your damp hair, "All my stars are protecting you".

You wake up with a final scream, reaching for something until your eyes snap open. Rhys feels bile rising in his throat at the sight of you but then you turn to move out of bed, clearly not yet aware that Rhys is in your room. "Rhys....", you call out his name, no doubt in search for him. The high lord gently summons his magic around your room. Flickering stardust lights up the dark corners, stars twinkle up above. You still, and then you feel him right behind you. His warmth seeps into your back. You let out a cry as your fear surfaces but Rhys is quick to wrap his arms around you.

You both collapse onto your messy sheets. He's holding you from behind as you cling to his arms. "Rhys...", you choke out, "I've got you, darling. You're not alone", his smooth voice fills your ears. "It was...", you cry out, turning in his embrace to face him. "I know... I saw bits of it, but this will never happen. I will never let it happen", Rhys cups your face, making you look right into his beautifully purple eyes.

"But they...", you hiccup, yet he shakes his head, "Never get close enough because I'll raise hell itself if anyone ever as much as makes a hair fall off your head". You look at him with both surprise and awe. "Rhys...", you call out once more, "You don't have to say anything tonight. Just let me hold you", he breathes out. Searching for your gaze. You only nod. That's all you trust yourself to do before you reach to wrap your arms around his neck. Welcoming the warmth and comfort of his chest. Rhys wraps his arms around you tightly. Your heartbeat slowly drops. Your tired eyes look up at Rhys. He gives you s slight smile, "Try to get some sleep, dead", you shake your head, "I don't think... I'm", you stutter but Rhys knows what you mean. He's been there himself so many times. "Come lay with me", he quickly motions for the house to change the sheets before he reaches for a new blanket to drape over your body. "I'll guard your dreams for you", he says softly, you move to get comfortable against his toned chest, "You don't have to", you mumble. "I want to", he says firmly, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead.

[godwick]

°•°•° dark!rhysand x reader

•°•°• rhysand always gets what he wants. sometimes, it takes longer than others. after finding something of yours, he gets the perfect opportunity to make you his

You never lost your journal. The leather-bound brown notebook was tucked under your pillow, under your arm, or under a loose floorboard in the servant's quarters of Hewn City. That morning, you put it safely under the floors at the base of your small bed. It had every horrible thing you'd done, every ill-thought, and worst of all, how much you hated Prince Rhysand. As his personal servant, you knew more than you should about him. You criticized him, his friends, his sexual escapades with males, females, lesser fae, and High Fae alike.

Hewn City was not kind. Even less so for the servants. Born into it, there was never any chance for you to do anything else with your life. From the time you could walk, it was decided that you would take over for your mother once she decided to step down. She'd had you in her later years, far past the point expected for females to carry. Her own father had put her in a life of debt, and she was expected to work it off. She wouldn't have children until it was dead and gone. She wouldn't put that kind of strain on you.

But, shit happens.

Now, here you were, standing over the open floorboard, the space empty. Your fingers clenched into a fist, nails digging into your skin. You thought you should just leave while you can. High Lord Rhen would take it as an act of treason. For writing those things about his son, he'd surely take a finger. Maybe even your tongue. Whoever had it wouldn't hesitate to turn it in.

Oddly, you felt numb. For now, there was shock, the full scope hadn't hit you. You thought you were clever. You thought no one would find it.

That calm feeling didn't last long. Not when he started reading in a low, mocking voice. Ice practically filled your heart. He found it. Maybe this was the worst outcome of all. "He thinks we all don't laugh at him, that even though we may be beneath him, we will never have to live with his shame and disgrace–"

You cut him off with a whimper, whirling around finally to stop him. He leaned against your wall, sleeves rolled up his arms. His hair had been messy, alcohol wafting off him. His purple eyes tracked you, a predator looking at its prey moments before it strikes. When he did, you knew it would land. Gods, you didn't think you would survive it.

He snapped the journal closed, holding it above his head. Against all rhyme or reason, you lunged for it, body pressed against his as you clawed for it. With ease, he has the two of you swapped, hand on your throat with your back against the wall. You blinked, gasping, as you wondered if he had winnowed or if he was simply that quick.

His wings appeared, spreading wide. The tips just barely missed the walls of your room. It efficiently cut you off from the rest of the room. Light didn't peek above his shadows. It was like Rhysand has suctioned all the light and warmth from around the two of you.

He was furious.

You held your chin higher. So be it. Those words you wrote were true. Maybe if Rhysand were a better male, you would've been able to tell him what you thought. If he were a better male, then maybe he never would've been snooping in his private servant's room.

Rhysand could be good when he wanted.

He could be even crueler when he felt like it.

"Be done with it," You said finally.

His lips pulled upward, his smirk sending chills down your spine. "I'm not going to kill you, darling. Rather, I'm going to make you regret every fucking letter you wrote. Be in my room tonight at midnight," His wings flared once more before they vanished entirely.

He laughed, grin pulled wider like he'd gotten the best idea. "Don't be late. Hell, maybe you should. What's one more thing I get to punish you for?"

[moonlitstoriess]

Unseen, Unheard, Unloved- Rhysand x fem!Reader (1/2)

Summary: She had given him everything—her heart, her trust, and now, the child growing within her. But as Rhysand’s attention drifts elsewhere, as excuses pile up, and as whispers of a mortal girl turn into something far more dangerous, she begins to wonder: Was she ever truly seen? Was she ever truly heard? Or had she been unloved all along?

See masterlist

Part 2

Warnings: angst, pregnancy, cheating, mentions of intimate scenes at the start but nothing explicit or smutty, clearly rhysand and feyre's whole mating plot was changed in some ways to suit the story

A/N: I'm back at doing what I am best at, which is making people cry lol. Please do consider the warnings mentioned before proceeding with the story. Thank you for reading<33

For fifty years, Velaris had been hers to protect.

Fifty years of waiting. Fifty years of silence. Fifty years of ruling in his absence, of forcing herself to wake up every morning in an empty bed, of standing strong for a court that had been left bleeding in the wake of its High Lord’s capture. Of holding Mor, Azriel, and Cassian together, when they had lost the most important piece of their family.

Fifty years without him. Without Rhysand.

She had not always been a ruler, had never even imagined herself becoming one. She had once just been a child, born to a father who had been a decorated Illyrian general and a mother who had been little more than an offering—a female from a lesser noble family of the Night Court, forced into a marriage she had never wanted. She had inherited her father’s sharp instincts, his love for battle, his stubbornness. And she had inherited her mother’s mind, sharp as a blade, her ability to wield words like weapons.

Her childhood had been spent in the Illyrian war camps, a place where females were taught their place—to be weak, to be silent, to bow. But she had never bowed. Not when they sneered at her for trying to train, not when they mocked her for thinking she could ever be as strong as a male, not when her father had died on the battlefield and left her mother widowed, forced to return to her family’s estate.

And she had not been alone.

She had met Rhysand before he had become the feared High Lord of the Night Court. Before he had been anything other than a cocky, silver-tongued boy who had hated the camps just as much as she had. And with him had come Cassian—wild and brash and unbreakable, a bastard warrior who had nothing to his name but his own strength—and Azriel, silent and shadowed and broken in ways none of them had yet understood.

They had been inseparable. Training together. Fighting together. Growing up together.

And somehow, in the midst of all those years, she had fallen in love.

Rhysand had always been hers. Not in the way of mates, not in the way that fate had written in the stars, but in the way that mattered most. In the way of choice.

There had never been a confession, never been a grand moment of realization. It had been a slow, inevitable thing, woven between stolen glances and lingering touches, between the nights they had spent lying beside each other in the grass, staring up at the endless night sky. It had been in the moment they had first kissed, hesitant and unsure, before turning into something desperate and consuming. It had been in the way they had promised—young and foolish and certain—that even if they ever found their mates, it wouldn’t matter. That they would never leave each other.

And for nearly three hundred years, that promise had held true.

Until the moment Rhysand had been taken.

She had known it was coming. Had felt the sheer, unrelenting terror in his mind as Amarantha’s spell had wrapped around him like chains. Had heard his voice in her head—his final words before he had been utterly ripped away from her.

"I love you."

Then, silence.

And silence had been all she had known for the next fifty years.

She had ruled Velaris in his absence, had kept its people safe, had ensured that the city remained untouched while the rest of Prythian burned. She had fought for her court, for her friends, for the family they had built together. And yet—she had spent every night wondering if he was still alive. If he was suffering. If he still thought of her.

Now, after five decades of waiting, of hoping, of wondering if she would ever see him again—he was finally coming home.

She stood on the balcony of the townhouse, staring out at the city below.

The Sidra was quiet, its waters gleaming under the light of the stars. The city still hummed with life, filled with people who had no idea that their High Lord was finally returning after half a century of being held captive under a tyrant’s rule.

Mor stood beside her, arms crossed over her chest, her golden hair gleaming in the moonlight.

“He’ll be here soon,” Mor said softly, though her voice was strained, as if she barely believed it herself.

She swallowed, gripping the stone railing. “I still don’t know if this is real.”

Mor reached over, squeezing her hand. “It is.”

And then—she felt it.

The familiar pulse of power in the air, the sudden, breathless pull in her chest.

And before she could even take a step forward, the night itself seemed to shift, the world bending—

And then he was there.

Rhysand.

For a moment, she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

He was real. He was here.

And then she was running.

He caught her in his arms the moment she crashed into him, burying his face in her neck, his body shaking violently. She was crying, sobbing into his chest as she clung to him, as if he might disappear all over again.

His hands trembled as he cupped her face, as he pressed their foreheads together, his breath ragged and uneven.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.”

She kissed him. Hard and desperate and aching, pouring every ounce of longing, of love, of grief into it.

He kissed her back just as fiercely, as if he was trying to memorize her all over again, as if he couldn’t believe she was real.

Mor was crying. Azriel and Cassian had appeared, standing frozen in the doorway, their own faces filled with raw, unfiltered relief.

But all she could focus on was him. The male she had spent fifty years waiting for.

Rhysand was finally home.

And yet, she had no idea that this was only the beginning of everything that would break her.

That night, neither of them could bear to be apart.

After fifty years of longing, of aching, of waiting for this moment—she couldn’t let go of him. And he didn’t let go of her either.

He had carried her inside, through the halls of the townhouse, past the murmured voices of their family who knew, who understood, and who let them go without a word. They had disappeared into their room, the door shutting softly behind them, and then—

Then she had kissed him again, with all the desperation that had been building in her for five decades, all the grief and rage and sorrow and love she had bottled up in his absence.

Rhysand kissed her back just as fiercely, his hands shaking as they skimmed over her body, as he memorized her again, piece by piece, as if he was afraid that if he didn’t, she would disappear.

She should have noticed it then.

The slight hesitation in his touch. The way his body tensed in certain moments, as if something inside him was resisting, as if he was fighting some invisible battle.

But she had ignored it. Had convinced herself it was just the weight of what he had endured, the lingering ghosts of his time Under the Mountain clinging to him like a curse.

She had whispered his name, had pulled him closer, had kissed away his pain. And for that night, and the nights that followed, she had let herself believe that love was enough to banish the shadows that haunted him.

The days blurred together in a haze of passion and tenderness, of stolen touches and whispered confessions.

She and Rhys could not keep their hands off each other. Every moment was filled with longing, with the desperate need to make up for lost time.

He had barely left their bed that first night, had spent hours worshiping her like she was the only thing that could tether him back to reality. His lips traced every inch of her skin, his hands roaming over her as if trying to prove to himself that she was real, that she was still his.

And she had taken him apart just as much, had kissed away the pain in his eyes, had murmured how much she loved him, how much she had missed him.

It didn’t stop after that first night.

They could hardly go an hour without touching—without pressing against each other in dark hallways, without his hands finding her waist as she stood by the window, without her lips brushing against his neck when he passed by. They were insatiable, consumed by each other, as if making up for every second of those fifty years apart.

But she noticed it.

Even in their most intimate moments, she felt it—that lingering hesitation in him.

It was subtle, almost imperceptible. A slight pause before he kissed her. The way his grip sometimes faltered. The distant, lost look in his violet eyes when he thought she wasn’t watching.

And through the bond, she could feel it—the echoes of something unspoken, something buried deep within him.

Regret. Shame. Guilt.

She had asked him about it once, had touched his face in the quiet of the night and whispered, What’s wrong?

He had only shaken his head, had kissed her slowly, deeply, as if trying to erase the question from existence.

And she had let him.

She had told herself that he just needed time. That whatever haunted him, whatever had broken him, he would tell her when he was ready.

She didn’t push. Didn’t demand answers.

Because the thought of losing him again, of disrupting the fragile peace they had rebuilt—it was too terrifying to face.

So she convinced herself that love was enough.

That if she just held him closer, if she just kissed him harder, if she just loved him more—then whatever was haunting him would fade away.

But then, everything changed.

It started with the exhaustion.

At first, she had brushed it off as nothing. After all, it wasn’t unusual for her to feel drained after everything that had happened.

She had been running on adrenaline since Rhys’s return, had barely given herself a moment to rest, too consumed by the need to be with him, to make up for lost time.

But then, the exhaustion turned into something else.

Dizziness.

Moments where the world tilted around her, where she had to steady herself against a wall, gripping the edge of a table as she tried to catch her breath.

And then—

The nausea.

A deep, rolling sickness that crept up on her at the most unexpected moments, that had her pressing a hand to her stomach as if she could will it away.

The realization should have come sooner.

But she had been so caught up in Rhys, in the way they couldn’t seem to stay apart, that she hadn’t let herself think about it. Hadn’t let herself believe it was possible.

It wasn’t until Mor had walked in on her one morning, pale and weak and barely able to stand, that she had been forced to acknowledge the truth.

“You need to see Madja,” Mor had insisted, her voice laced with worry.

She had tried to argue, had tried to wave it off as simple exhaustion, but Mor wouldn’t hear it.

So she had gone.

And when the healer had placed a gentle hand over her stomach, when she had closed her eyes and let her magic sweep over her body—

The words that followed shattered her entire world.

“You are with child.”

Silence.

She had just stared at Madja, her mind unable to process the words.

With child.

She was pregnant.

She barely remembered leaving the healer’s chambers. Barely remembered making it back home.

The moment she stepped into the townhouse, everything hit her at once.

A child.

She was going to have Rhys’s child.

A shaky breath left her lips as she pressed a trembling hand to her stomach, as if she could already feel the life growing inside her. A laugh—disbelieving, breathless—escaped her.

She was pregnant.

With Rhys’s baby.

And for that moment, nothing else mattered.

The doubts, the hesitations, the unspoken fears—she shoved them aside, blinded by the sheer joy that swelled in her chest.

She imagined Rhys’s reaction, the way his eyes would widen in shock before softening with love, imagined the way he would drop to his knees and press his hands to her stomach, imagined the way he would whisper in awe about their future, about the family they were about to have.

She thought about telling Mor, about seeing Cassian and Azriel’s faces when they found out. She thought about the child itself—what they would look like, what kind of power they would have, what kind of life they would give them.

She was foolishly blind.

So utterly oblivious.

So caught up in her happiness, in the overwhelming joy of this moment, that she didn’t stop to think.

Didn’t stop to question.

Didn’t realize—

That Rhys might not react the way she expected.

That this child, this beautiful, miraculous child, might not fill him with the same joy it filled her with.

That the shadows in his eyes, the ghosts that haunted him, the things he had kept buried since the moment he had returned—

They weren’t just going to disappear.

The moment she found him—standing by the window, looking out over the city she had known, the city they had fought for, the city they had built together—she could feel her heart racing in her chest.

“Rhys,” she called softly, her voice warm, her smile bright.

He turned, his gaze lighting up when he saw her, but something in his eyes—something flickered. Just a moment, barely noticeable. He covered it quickly, replaced it with the mask he had become so skilled at wearing.

“YN,” he said, his voice warm but not quite as soft as she remembered. “You’re home.”

She approached him slowly, the news she was about to share making her pulse quicken with excitement. She stopped a few feet away, pressing her hand to her stomach as if to still the fluttering sensation there.

“I have something to tell you,” she began, watching the way his eyes followed her every movement. He seemed alert, even eager, but there was something else—a tension, barely concealed behind the polite smile he wore.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice smooth, controlled.

“I’m pregnant,” she said, her heart leaping in her chest. She almost wanted to laugh at how simple it sounded, how easy it was to finally say it aloud. “We’re going to have a child, Rhys.”

The room fell quiet.

For a brief moment, she swore she saw something in his eyes—something like disbelief, or maybe even fear—but it was gone before she could truly register it.

Then, he smiled. It was a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“That’s... wonderful,” he said, his words too rehearsed, too empty. “I’m so happy for you, YN.”

But it didn’t sound like he was happy.

It sounded hollow.

For you. Not for us but....for you.

She felt the bond between them—felt the way it seemed to shudder in response to his words. There was something off, something wrong. But she couldn’t place it, not in that moment, and not with the whirlwind of excitement that was consuming her.

She laughed lightly, shaking her head. “You’re not even going to ask how I’m feeling? Not going to pick me up and twirl me around like we used to do when we had good news?”

He chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m just processing the exciting news,” he said again, though his words seemed forced, like he was trying to convince both of them.

Her smile faltered for just a moment, a flicker of doubt creeping into her chest.

He wasn’t happy. Not in the way she expected.

She could feel it—through the bond, through the way his aura flickered with shadows of guilt and hesitation. But she pushed it aside, thinking that perhaps he just needed time to process. Perhaps he was still adjusting to everything that had changed, everything that had happened in the last few days.

“I know this is a lot,” she said softly, stepping closer to him, her voice gentle, “but I know we can do this together. We’ve always been a team, Rhys.”

He nodded, but his gaze flickered away from hers, his eyes focusing on the farthest corner of the room.

“Of course,” he replied, but the words were quiet, almost too quiet, as if he wasn’t fully hearing them himself.

“Rhys,” she whispered, her voice trembling just slightly, “it’s a gift. A miracle. And I know... I know we’ve been through so much. But now we have a chance to build something beautiful together. You and me. A family.”

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, finally, he nodded, his smile returning. It was better now, more convincing. But to her, it felt like a mask—a fragile mask that threatened to crack at the smallest touch.

“I’m sure it will be beautiful,” he said, his voice steady, but still... empty.

She watched him for a long moment, her heart thundering in her chest. She wanted to ask him what was wrong, wanted to demand to know why he wasn’t truly happy, why he wasn’t sharing in her excitement. But something inside her—some small part of her—whispered that it wasn’t the time.

He had just returned from being gone for so long, from everything they had fought for. He would come around.

She would make sure of it.

So, instead of confronting him, instead of asking the questions that were starting to swirl in her mind, she simply stepped forward, closing the space between them.

“I know you’re still processing everything,” she said, her hand resting gently on his arm, “but we’ll be okay. We’ll figure this out. Together.”

And though a small voice in her mind screamed that she was being foolishly blind, that she was ignoring the cracks in his facade, she smiled up at him, brushing the doubt aside once more.

For the moment, she was content to pretend that everything was perfect.

The evening air in Dawn Court was crisp, filled with a gentle hum of conversation. YN stood at the balcony, gazing out over the land. Her pregnancy, now just over two months along, was starting to show. Her once slender figure had softened, the slight curve of her bump a reminder of the life she was carrying, but there was something else—an unease. Rhysand hadn’t been the same lately.

It was almost as if he was a ghost, always present but never truly there. For weeks, his absences had become longer, his late-night disappearances even more frequent. She would lie in their shared bed at night, waiting for him to return, only to find him standing at the edge of their balcony, staring into the distance as if lost in his thoughts. His gaze was distant, unseeing, and every time she tried to reach for him, to pull him back into the present, he would retreat even further.

And then, when he would return, it was as if nothing had happened. He would smile, hold her close, kiss her forehead—but the bond felt... strained. It wasn’t the same. She could feel him slipping away, piece by piece, yet she didn’t want to admit it. She had tried to tell herself it was just the weight of the recent events, that he needed space to adjust to his newfound freedom—but deep down, she knew that wasn’t the only thing eating at him.

Tonight, however, was different. The High Lords had gathered in Dawn Court for the first time since the defeat of Amarantha, and there was an air of relief in the room, mingling with the light buzz of excitement. Rhysand had promised that they would attend together, but as the evening wore on, he had yet to appear at her side.

“YN,” Mor’s voice brought her back from her thoughts, a knowing look in her eyes. “Don’t worry. Rhys will be here.”

YN smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I know. He’s just... busy, I suppose.”

Mor didn’t buy it, but she said nothing more. Instead, she looped her arm through YN’s and led her back to the table. Most of the High Lords were mingling, some enjoying the informal dinner gathering, others discussing more pressing matters. Cassian and Azriel stood near the corner, deep in conversation with a few of the other soldiers. Kallias, the High Lord of Winter, stood off to the side, talking with Helion, but his gaze kept returning to YN. She felt a flicker of warmth in her chest when their eyes met.

Her bump was noticeable now, and the looks of congratulations and smiles from the lords were a welcome distraction from the silence between her and Rhys. Baron, of course, didn’t even acknowledge her presence, as usual, but the others were kind.

“You look radiant tonight, YN,” Kallias said, stepping toward her with a warm smile. He had always been one of the more reserved High Lords, his icy demeanor a product of his powers and his personality, but tonight, there was something in his eyes—gentleness, kindness. He reached out, carefully taking her hand in his, and she was surprised by how warm it felt, how soft his touch was. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” she replied, smiling at him, feeling a slight flutter in her stomach at his concern. “It’s been a long couple of months. Thank you for asking.”

“You’re carrying something precious,” Kallias said quietly, glancing down at her bump before his eyes returned to hers. “I can only imagine the strength it takes to bear such a responsibility.”

YN didn’t know why, but his words hit her in a way that made her feel seen. So often, Rhysand’s attention had been diverted, and it felt as if she was carrying this burden alone. But Kallias... Kallias made her feel like she wasn’t invisible. Like she was more than just the woman carrying Rhysand’s child. She was YN, strong, capable, and worthy of attention, of affection.

She had never spoken much with Kallias beyond the formalities of the courts, but there was something about him tonight—something different. He was engaging with her, making her feel important, something that Rhys had failed to do in the last few weeks.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice soft, almost shy. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear those words. “That means more than you know.”

Kallias gave her a smile—gentle, understanding, and somehow... safe. “You deserve to be treated with kindness, YN. You’ve been through so much.”

She couldn’t help but smile back at him, the warmth of his words melting some of the icy isolation she’d been feeling.

“YN, there you are,” Rhysand’s voice broke into the moment, and she froze. He had arrived, but there was something about his tone that immediately made her stomach tighten. He was smiling, but it was tight, forced.

His gaze flickered briefly to Kallias before locking onto her, and the change in his demeanor was subtle, but YN noticed it all the same. The possessiveness in his eyes, the way his posture stiffened just a fraction, how his jaw tightened. But when he smiled again, it was almost too wide, too practiced.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said, wrapping his arm around her waist in a gesture that felt more for show than genuine affection. His touch was tight, as if he was trying to hold her in place, but there was no warmth in it.

Kallias, ever perceptive, caught the slight shift in the atmosphere. “It seems like you’ve found her,” he said with a polite smile, but there was something in his voice that held a hint of challenge.

YN tried not to let the tension in the air affect her, but it was hard to ignore. Rhysand didn’t seem happy, and Kallias—despite his icy demeanor—had made her feel something Rhys hadn’t in weeks: seen. Rhys, however, took a step closer, his voice turning more possessive. “YN, you look stunning tonight. But if you’re done here, I think we should head back.”

Her heart squeezed at his words. She had expected joy, happiness—maybe even a little pride in his eyes, but all she saw was discomfort, an undercurrent of guilt. She could feel the hesitation through their bond, like he was holding something back from her, something important.

“I’m not ready to leave yet,” YN said quietly, her tone firm but gentle. She looked back at Kallias, who nodded his understanding, and for a moment, she felt like she was stepping into unknown territory, like the simple act of asserting herself was both thrilling and terrifying.

Rhysand’s smile faltered just slightly, and his eyes narrowed. “I think it’s time, YN. We’ve been here long enough.”

YN didn’t answer him immediately. She knew what she felt, what she had felt for months now. Rhysand wasn’t the same, and no amount of pretending could make her blind to it any longer. But as she turned back to Kallias, she saw the genuine concern in his eyes, the way he watched her with a sense of admiration that was foreign in Rhysand’s presence. It made her feel seen, and it was like a balm to a wound she didn’t even realize had been open for so long.

Finally, she nodded, but not to Rhysand. She nodded to Kallias.

“Thank you,” she whispered to him, before turning back to Rhysand. “Let’s go.”

But even as they left, Rhysand’s arm tightened around her waist, his silence growing heavier. And YN could only wonder what was truly going on behind his eyes.

It was a quiet evening in the House of Wind, the air crisp and fresh as the last remnants of daylight slipped behind the mountains. YN was curled up on one of the many plush armchairs in the sitting room, her hands resting gently on her slightly visible bump, her mind swirling with thoughts she couldn’t quite untangle.

But there was a coldness in the air tonight. A quiet tension that had settled in the room, and it was growing.

YN had been lost in thought when the sound of footsteps broke the silence. Rhysand appeared in the doorway, his presence as commanding as always, but tonight there was something off. His face, usually open and warm when he looked at her, was guarded. There was no smile, no greeting. He simply stood there for a moment, his gaze sweeping over her before he stepped further into the room.

But then, as quickly as he entered, he froze.

It was like the world itself stopped. His eyes went unfocused, his shoulders tensed, and before she could ask what was wrong, he disappeared—winnowed—with such suddenness that it took YN a moment to even comprehend what had happened.

She sat there, stunned, her heart thumping erratically in her chest. What had just happened? What could have caused him to leave without a word? Without a single explanation?

She rose from the chair, her hand instinctively moving to her stomach.

“Rhysand?” she called softly into the silence, but there was no answer. Nothing. It was as if he had never been there at all.

Her mind raced as she tried to understand what was going on.

She could feel it now more than ever—his discomfort, his uncertainty—but it was more than that. There was something else. She just didn’t know what.

The minutes stretched into what felt like hours before Rhysand reappeared, winnowing back into the room. He was disheveled, his hair tousled, his jaw tight with frustration. His eyes, though, were what struck her the most—they were shadowed with something unfamiliar, something that made her stomach twist in apprehension.

“Rhys, what happened? Where did you go?” She couldn’t hide the concern in her voice. The distance in the bond was suffocating, and she needed to understand.

He barely looked at her. “I—had something to take care of. Don’t worry about it.”

His tone was short, dismissive, and it stung more than she expected. Before she could respond, Cassian’s voice broke in, cool and calm, though his eyes were filled with something darker, like he could sense the tension in the room.

“Rhys,” Cassian said, standing up from his spot near Y/N. “You alright?”

Rhysand’s gaze flicked to his brother briefly, then away. He didn’t answer right away, and the silence grew thick, almost suffocating. Finally, with a flick of his hand, Rhys spoke again, but his voice was still clipped, irritated. “I’m fine, Cassian. Just... some things to sort through. I’ll be back later.”

YN opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, Rhys was already striding toward the door, his back to them. “Excuse me,” he muttered, his words a little too sharp.

Cassian watched him go, his gaze lingering for a moment before he turned to YN. There was a look in his eyes, one that was almost apologetic, but his words were kind. He moved closer, resting his hand gently on her bump.

“Don’t worry,” Cassian said softly, his voice low and reassuring. “Rhys is... he’s just got a lot on his mind. But you—” He looked down at her belly and then met her eyes. “You’re not alone. None of us are, alright?”

YN nodded, though the confusion and worry gnawed at her. “I just don’t understand. He’s been distant lately. I don’t know what’s happening.”

“You’ll figure it out, YN,” Cassian said, giving her a small smile. “He’s a stubborn one. But you know Rhys—when it’s important, he’ll come to you. Just give him time.”

But time had already passed. And the longer it stretched, the more YN wondered if the distance between them was something that could be repaired—or if it was already too late.

The next day, the atmosphere in the House of Wind was strangely subdued, everyone waiting for Rhysand’s announcement. Mor and Azriel had come by earlier, and there was a quiet sense of anticipation hanging in the air. Even Cassian seemed to be on edge, though he hid it well.

It wasn’t until dinner that evening, when the Inner Circle was gathered around the table, that Rhysand finally spoke.

“I have a special guest joining us for dinner tomorrow,” Rhysand said, his voice lighter than it had been in days, though there was a hint of something... genuine in his smile. “Feyre will be joining us.”

There was a moment of silence before the room erupted into murmurs of surprise. Feyre, the mortal-turned-Fae, the one who had helped free them all, the one who had played a key role in the downfall of Amarantha. YN felt a sudden lump form in her throat, but she swallowed it down.

The room filled with questions, comments, congratulations—though most of the attention was on Rhysand.

“So, Feyre’s finally coming to Velaris?” Azriel asked, his tone neutral, though there was a certain curiosity in his eyes.

Rhysand nodded, his smile widening. “Yes, she’s been through so much, and I thought it was time she saw the city. I can’t think of a better place for her.”

There was genuine warmth in his tone when he spoke of Feyre, and it hit YN harder than she expected. She hadn’t realized how much he had changed since their first meeting, how much he admired Feyre.

“You must be excited,” Mor said, her smile both kind and knowing. “I’m sure Feyre will love it here.”

YN forced a smile, but it felt hollow. She felt as though the room had shifted, as if Rhysand was now fully enveloped in the idea of Feyre’s arrival. She hadn’t even noticed how much he’d changed until that moment. How much he had changed.

She glanced down at her hands, the light from the candles flickering in her vision. Feyre—the girl who had saved them all. The girl who had freed Rhysand from Amarantha’s cruel reign.

The girl who had, it seemed, somehow taken her place. But at the time Y/N was too oblivious to notice that.

The night carried on, with Rhysand now more animated than ever, speaking freely of Feyre’s arrival and plans for their dinner. But YN couldn’t shake the feeling that something—someone—was about to come between them in ways she never expected. She had been blind, so foolishly blind to the changes in Rhysand. But maybe, just maybe, it was time to confront what had been lingering beneath the surface for far too long.

The evening had come, but Rhysand still wasn’t home. The rest of the Inner Circle was gathered around the fireplace in the House of Wind, the warmth of the flames not quite enough to chase away the coldness that seemed to settle in YN’s chest. She was perched on a plush sofa, her hands once again resting on her slightly rounded belly, her gaze fixed on the crackling fire. The rest of them—Azriel, Mor, Amren, and Cassian—were scattered around the room, engaged in light conversation, but YN couldn’t bring herself to join in.

She felt the space between her and Rhys more keenly than ever.

Azriel, ever perceptive, moved closer to her. He sat down beside her, his posture gentle as he placed a hand on her back, his touch comforting but not invasive.

"You've been quiet tonight," Azriel said softly, his voice like a balm to her frayed nerves.

YN sighed, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the fabric of her dress. "I don't know, Az. Something’s wrong. Rhys… he’s so distant. It’s like I’m not even here for him anymore."

Cassian, who had been perched by the fireplace, took a step forward, his usual jovial demeanor subdued. His eyes softened with concern as he noticed the way YN was slumped into the cushions, her shoulders tense.

“He’ll come around,” Cassian said, trying to sound reassuring, but his voice lacked the usual certainty. He knew Rhysand better than anyone, and even he couldn’t deny the shift that had been happening.

But YN just shook her head, her voice quiet, barely above a whisper.

“No,” she replied, her eyes downcast. “It’s more than that. I’ve seen him these last few days, Cass. He’s not just distracted. He’s hesitant. Like he’s somewhere else entirely, even when he’s standing right in front of me. His smiles don’t reach his eyes anymore. He looks at me, but he doesn’t see me.” Her voice trembled as she spoke the words she had been trying to ignore, trying to pretend weren’t happening. “I try to soothe him, I try to be there for him, but I can feel the distance growing.”

Mor, who had been listening quietly, crossed the room and sat next to YN, her arm wrapping around her in a rare show of tenderness.

“I know it's hard,” Mor said softly, her tone filled with understanding. “But Rhys is... he's always had a lot on his shoulders. You know that. He’s the High Lord. And even when he has us around, some things he keeps locked up.”

“But this?” YN asked, her eyes wide with hurt. “It’s more than just the weight of the throne, Mor. He’s gone, even when he’s here. I feel it in the bond. It’s like he’s slipping away.”

Azriel leaned forward, his voice gentle but firm. “He’s not slipping away, YN. Rhysand is just… processing something. There are things he needs to work through. It’s not about you.”

“Isn’t it?” she whispered, feeling a knot of doubt twist in her stomach. “I’ve seen him shut down before, Az. But this time? It’s different. I don’t know how to fix it. I’m not even sure if he wants me to fix it.”

Cassian’s face darkened, his protective instincts flaring as he moved closer to her. He crossed his arms over his chest, his voice stern as he looked at YN. “Listen to me, YN. You’re doing everything you can. And you’re not alone in this. I’m not going to let you go through this by yourself. None of us are.” He shifted his gaze to her stomach. “You’re carrying something precious, and I’ll be damned if I let anything—” he stopped himself and softened, “I’ll be damned if you don’t get the care you deserve.”

YN blinked at him, the unspoken concern for her growing more tangible with every word.

“When was the last time you ate properly?” Cassian asked, his tone turning gentle but insistent. “When did you last sleep through the night?”

YN faltered, looking down at her lap. “I... I’m fine, Cassian. It’s just... I’m not hungry, that’s all. Rhys—”

“No.” Cassian’s voice cut through her words. “You’re not fine. You’re carrying Rhysand’s child, and he’s not here right now. But I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. You need to eat, you need to sleep. And we’re all here to make sure you’re taken care of.”

Azriel nodded in agreement, his hand still resting lightly on her back. “Cassian’s right, YN. We’re not going to stand by and watch you push yourself too hard. If Rhys doesn’t notice, we do. And we’ll make sure you’re okay. We’ll talk to him, too.”

YN swallowed hard, blinking back tears that had no business being there. “It’s just hard,” she admitted, her voice thick with emotion. “He’s not the male I knew anymore. And I’m scared, Az. Scared that maybe... maybe he never really was the male I thought he was.”

Before anyone could say more, the sound of wings flapping loudly outside interrupted the conversation. The group turned, and in the blink of an eye, Rhysand landed gracefully on the balcony, holding Feyre in his arms.

YN’s heart clenched at the sight of them, her thoughts a storm of confusion. She stood up from the sofa, but her feet felt heavy, reluctant. It was almost like she couldn’t move. She knew Feyre—had heard so much about her, the mortal-turned-Fae who had helped free them all. But seeing Rhys so effortlessly carry Feyre, with that smile that she’d only ever seen directed at her... it hit YN in a way she hadn’t been prepared for.

Mor stood by her side, watching as Rhysand approached the door with Feyre. Her hand on YN’s arm was gentle, a soft reassurance that YN was thankful for.

“Go on,” Mor said quietly. “You’re just as important here, YN. You don’t need to be scared of what’s happening. We are here for you.”

YN nodded, drawing in a deep breath as she moved forward, her steps uncertain but steady. As Rhysand and Feyre entered the room, she saw the way Rhys looked at Feyre—softly, protectively, and with an affection that, for the first time, made YN feel like she was no longer at the center of his world.

Feyre smiled at YN as Rhys gently set her down on her feet. There was a kindness in her eyes, a warmth that reminded YN of the girl who had sacrificed so much for them all. YN’s heart softened, and she stepped forward, reaching out.

“Thank you,” YN said, her voice thick with gratitude. “For everything. You—” She paused, her emotions overwhelming her for a moment, before she pulled Feyre into a tight embrace. “I know it’s because of you that we’re all here. That Rhys is here. I don’t know how to thank you for that.”

Feyre hugged her back just as tightly, her voice warm and kind. “I didn’t do it alone,” Feyre said, pulling back with a small smile. “But I’m happy to be here. With all of you.”

The group settled around the dinner table as the conversation turned to lighter topics. Feyre was kind and gracious, a perfect guest, while Rhysand sat with a rare relaxed air, laughing and joining in with the others. But YN, despite the smiles and easy conversation, couldn’t shake the feeling of being on the outside looking in.

She smiled when it was needed, nodded at the right times, but inside, she felt the gap between her and Rhys grow larger. The more they talked about Feyre—her kindness, her bravery, her role in their world—the more YN couldn’t help but feel that she was losing Rhysand to someone else.

It hurt in ways she hadn’t anticipated. But she kept her face calm, her composure intact, and though the knot in her chest tightened, she smiled through it all.

The night stretched on, filled with laughter and stories. But as they all ate, YN sat back, her thoughts swirling. Rhysand was no longer just the man who loved her; he was someone different, someone who had room in his heart for another. She could see it in the way he spoke of Feyre, the way his gaze lingered on her.

And YN? She was simply standing on the sidelines, trying to hold onto a love that seemed to be slipping through her fingers.

The night was long. But YN would fight for her place in Rhys’s heart—for their future. Even if it meant facing what she was most afraid of.

he House of Wind had become more than just a home for Y/N over the past few weeks; it had become a place of quiet, uneasy observation. At first, everything had felt like a blur—busy days and nights spent adjusting to the changes. Feyre’s arrival had been a shock, an unexpected whirlwind that shifted the delicate balance of their lives. Yet, it was not Feyre’s presence alone that unsettled Y/N. It was Rhysand’s shifting attention, his sudden and unnerving detachment from her.

Y/N had noticed it first in the small things—how he would spend hours in the study with Feyre, teaching her new things, showing her how to control her magic, his voice soft, patient. His lessons went on for hours, and there were times when Y/N would sit in the grand hall, reading, waiting for him to return to her, but he never did.

It was as if Feyre needed him now more than she ever had, and Rhysand was more than willing to give everything he had to her. She didn’t understand it—why did he need to give her so much of himself? Why did his lessons stretch on endlessly, late into the night, when there were so many other things to focus on, things that they could share as a couple, as soon-to-be parents?

Even when he wasn’t with Feyre, Y/N couldn’t reach him. When the day would finally end, and Rhysand would return to the House of Wind, he would often retreat to his office instead of coming to her side. He slept there for hours, the door to his office often left ajar, his figure slouched over piles of paperwork and forgotten responsibilities.

Y/N would lie in their bed, her growing belly pressing into the soft sheets, feeling the absence of her mate more profoundly with each passing day. She knew that Rhysand’s duties as High Lord were demanding, but surely, surely he could make time for her, especially now that she was carrying his child. But no. It was always Cassian, Azriel, Mor and Amren who hovered over her, their concern for her health and wellbeing growing each day. Cassian was the first to notice when she had trouble getting out of bed in the morning. Azriel was there, always in the background, quietly ensuring that she was okay. Amren and Mor took on the roles of mothers, watching over her, their comforting presence a constant reminder that she was not alone, even when Rhysand was distant.

She would often ask, “Have you spoken with him? Does he seem different to you?” and Azriel would only look at her with that familiar shadow of confusion in his eyes. “I don’t know,” he would say, his voice low, thoughtful. “Rhys has never been like this before. It’s like he’s refusing to talk about whatever’s bothering him.”

And Y/N? She tried to convince herself that it was just a phase. Maybe it was the pressure of ruling, the stress of keeping Velaris safe. Maybe Feyre’s arrival had triggered something deep inside Rhysand, something she couldn’t understand. It was foolish of her to think that she could make it through this journey unscathed. But deep down, she felt the sting of it. The weight of his neglect hung heavy on her chest.

She would tell herself that Feyre needed him. Feyre had gone through so much in her life—losing her family, fighting in the war, carrying burdens Y/N could never comprehend. Maybe it was only fair that Rhysand focus on her, that he be there for Feyre while she healed. Maybe she needed his support more than Y/N did.

The thoughts tasted like poison on her tongue, and she tried to swallow them down, but they kept coming back, lingering like a bitter aftertaste.

One evening, when Rhysand returned from another long day with Feyre, Y/N found herself staring at the door to his office, waiting for him to come to her. She could hear the sound of his footsteps in the hallway, and she tried to steady her breath, but when he didn’t knock on her door, when he didn’t even acknowledge her presence, her heart sank deeper.

Later that week, she overheard Rhysand telling Feyre that he would be taking her to the Illyrian camps. It was dangerous, he said, but necessary. They would stop at the Weaver’s house on the way, and Y/N couldn’t help the knot that twisted in her stomach. She tried to smile, to seem supportive, but when she asked, “Why? Why are you taking her there? That’s so dangerous,” Rhysand’s expression was distant, his gaze hard.

“I need her to retrieve something for me,” he explained curtly, but there was no warmth in his voice. He didn’t meet her eyes.

Y/N stood there, shocked, trying to process what he had said. She watched them leave, her heart heavy with the feeling that she was losing him, that whatever connection they had once shared was slipping through her fingers.

As Rhysand and Feyre made their way to the Illyrian camps, Y/N couldn’t shake the sense of betrayal that had begun to grow inside her. She would wait for them to return, but she wasn’t sure what she would find when they did. Would Rhysand still be the same, or would Feyre’s presence in his life change everything forever?

The house was quieter than it had been in weeks. The absence of Rhysand and Feyre had left a void, and the walls seemed to echo with silence. Y/n sat near the window, the early evening sunlight casting a golden glow across the room, her fingers gently tracing the curve of her swollen belly. She had been waiting—waiting for Rhysand’s return, for any sign of the distance between them to close. But all she had received was space. The quiet ache in her chest gnawed at her.

Amren, ever watchful, sat across from her, her expression unreadable. But Y/n noticed the tension in her gaze, the way she kept looking at her with something close to concern. It didn’t help that the others had been distant too—Azriel, Cassian, and Mor, all acting like they were hiding something, exchanging too many knowing glances and hushed conversations. It only deepened her sense of unease.

Today, however, was different. Gifts had arrived for her—thoughtful, generous tokens from several of the Highlords in honor of her soon-to-be motherhood. She’d been expecting them, but still, the small mountain of neatly wrapped parcels in front of her filled her with mixed emotions.

"Open them," Amren said softly, as if sensing her hesitation. "

Y/n nodded, the familiar rustle of paper comforting her in its simplicity. She picked up the first gift, a small, elegant box wrapped in a deep shade of red with a ribbon that shimmered like morning sunlight. She carefully untied the bow, lifting the lid to reveal a delicate silver bracelet, studded with tiny moonstones that glinted softly in the fading light. It was beautiful, simple, and elegant. She smiled softly, imagining it wrapped around her wrist as she cradled her baby.

"Oh, Helion," she murmured, the thought of the Highlord of Day bringing a warmth to her chest. She ran her fingers over the cool stones, letting out a sigh as she admired the craftsmanship.

"He's always been a thoughtful one," Amren remarked with a raised brow, as if she too had felt the affection Helion had for Y/n.

Y/n smiled faintly, placing the bracelet to the side. There were other gifts to open. She picked up the next parcel, this one wrapped in soft blue paper with intricate golden designs. It was from Thesan, the Highlord of Dawn, a court known for its refined beauty and grace. When she opened it, she was greeted by a set of hand-painted ceramic dishes, each piece vibrant with delicate patterns that seemed to glow with a warmth that reminded her of sunrises.

Thesan had always been attentive, and she smiled as she imagined the quiet, regal Highlord choosing each piece carefully. She couldn't help but appreciate the thoughtfulness, the way he considered her comfort and her child’s future.

But it was the third gift that captured her attention.

The parcel from Kallias, the Highlord of Winter, was wrapped in dark, rich purple paper. She carefully untied the ribbon, her heart beating a little faster, and opened the box inside. What she found inside was far beyond anything she could have expected.

A small, intricately carved wooden box. It was no larger than the palm of her hand, and as she ran her fingers over its smooth surface, she noticed delicate snowflakes and swirling designs etched into the wood. There was something magical about it, something that made her chest tighten. Inside, nestled among soft velvet, was a small crystal vial filled with a silvery liquid that shimmered like moonlight on snow. Alongside it was a small letter, written in Kallias’s elegant handwriting.

"To Y/n, with warmth and hope for the future. May this gift be a reminder of the strength within you, and the serenity you will find in the stillness of winter’s embrace. You are not alone, not ever."

Y/n’s breath hitched in her throat as she held the vial gently, the words from Kallias sending a ripple of warmth through her. His gift was not just thoughtful—it was deeply personal. It felt like an invitation, a message from someone who saw her, truly saw her, even when the others had become distant.

"He really thought of everything," Y/n whispered, her fingers tracing the small vial.

Amren watched her with a quiet expression, her eyes flicking between the gifts and Y/n’s reaction. “He did,” she agreed softly. “Kallias is a good male. He knows the value of compassion.”

Y/n nodded, her heart swelling with gratitude. The tension in the room was still palpable, but this small gesture from Kallias made her feel seen, reminded her that she wasn’t invisible in the midst of the growing chaos.

Before she could say anything further, a sharp knock echoed from the door.

“Rhysand and Feyre,” Amren muttered, already standing up. “I suppose the moment has arrived.”

Y/n’s stomach tightened, both with excitement and dread. She wasn’t sure what to expect.

As the door swung open and Rhysand stepped in, with Feyre at his side, something immediately shifted in the air. Rhysand’s usual confident demeanor was different—sharper, perhaps, but there was a sense of something unsaid between him and Feyre, an energy Y/n couldn’t quite place. Feyre’s smile was brighter than she’d seen in ages, but there was a newness in her eyes—a quiet certainty.

Y/n’s breath caught as she noticed their shared glances, the unspoken bond between them that hummed through the air like an invisible thread. She stood, feeling the weight of the moment settle into her bones.

“Well, look at you both,” Y/n said, forcing a smile, though it felt hollow. “Feyre, you look well. I hope the journey wasn’t too hard.”

Feyre smiled warmly, though there was a hint of something private behind her eyes. “We managed,” she said, the way she said it making Y/n’s heart clench. “And you, Y/n? How are you feeling?”

Y/n’s gaze flickered to Rhysand, his expression unreadable. “I’m getting there,” she said softly, and though it was true, it felt like an answer far too shallow for everything else she wanted to express.

As the evening wore on and everyone gathered around the table, Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong—something had shifted, and no one, not even Rhysand, seemed to want to speak the truth of it.

But she noticed the way Rhysand’s eyes lingered on Feyre, the way their quiet exchanges seemed to carry a weight that hadn’t been there before.

And she wondered, in the deepest part of her heart, if she had lost something she hadn’t fully realized was slipping through her fingers.

Y/n’s eyes fluttered open as an uncomfortable wave of pain stretched across her back, her large belly shifting uneasily beneath the blankets. The room, once warm and familiar, now felt suffocating, the walls closing in around her as she tried to shift positions. Her heart thudded a little too loudly, and the silence only amplified the emptiness in the space. Rhysand had not been by her side for hours, and at this point, it was becoming a familiar absence—one she couldn’t ignore.

A deep sigh escaped her lips as she sat up, the strain of carrying their child weighing heavily on her. She hadn’t wanted to wake him, but something inside of her yearned for the quiet solace of a midnight walk—anything to soothe the tightness in her chest. She slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Amren, who still slept soundly beside her. Y/n made her way to the door and stepped out into the cool, moonlit halls of the House of Wind.

As she walked down the corridor, her mind buzzed with a thousand questions. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed between her and Rhysand, even before he left for the war. The secretive looks exchanged between him, Feyre, and the others had only deepened her suspicions. The change in his demeanor when he’d returned had been subtle, but it was there. She just didn’t know what to make of it. Yet.

The soft sound of footsteps ahead caught her attention. Cassian.

He froze when he spotted her, his eyes briefly flickering with a flash of surprise before he tried to hide it behind a strained smile. “Y/n… What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice a little too high-pitched, like he’d been caught off guard.

Y/n raised an eyebrow at him, her hand resting against her rounded belly. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d make myself some tea,” she said, trying to act nonchalant. “Is something wrong?”

Cassian’s smile softened, his shoulders visibly relaxing. He eyed her for a moment before speaking in a quiet, almost tender voice, “Well, wouldn’t want a lady like you wandering these halls alone at this time of night.” His voice dropped lower as he added, “Let me join you.”

Y/n felt a sense of comfort in his words, the warmth of his easy-going nature wrapping around her like a blanket. She smiled at him, the bond they had forged over the years making this moment feel… safe, in spite of the turmoil in her heart.

They started walking together, Cassian keeping pace beside her. The halls seemed endless as they made their way to the kitchen, but the familiar company made the journey less isolating. Their conversation flowed easily, the lull of their voices filling the air between them.

“Have you had time to rest?” Cassian asked, glancing over at her belly. “You should take it easy, you know.”

Y/n chuckled softly, rubbing her belly. “I’m fine. The little one is kicking up a storm tonight. Can’t quite settle down.”

Cassian’s grin was easy, but there was a flicker of something else behind his eyes, something unspoken, as he leaned slightly toward her, trying to offer her comfort. “Don’t let anyone tell you that you shouldn’t take it easy. You’ve been through a lot.”

She tilted her head at him. “You’re always so kind, Cassian,” she said, almost teasing. “I appreciate it.”

“Anything for you,” he replied, with a wink that made her laugh. “But don’t get any ideas. I’m not looking for trouble.”

Y/n smirked. “Me? Trouble? Never.”

They continued talking, weaving through the halls, discussing small things—how the weather had been, how the training had been progressing with the armies—and the more they spoke, the lighter Y/n felt. It was like a brief escape from the gnawing uncertainty she carried.

But then, as they reached a corridor near Feyre’s room, Y/n noticed something strange.

A small light was spilling out from beneath the door.

She froze mid-step, and Cassian’s eyes narrowed. “That’s odd,” he muttered, glancing at her. “Feyre should be asleep by now.”

Y/n frowned. “Should we check on her? She might need something.”

Cassian hesitated but gave a tight nod. “I’ll be right back.” He took a few steps forward, his large form blocking the door as he cracked it open. But before he could slip inside, he froze.

Y/n, not one to stand idly by, took a small step forward, peering around him. “Cassian?” she whispered, her voice unsure.

But Cassian, his face hardening in a way she hadn’t seen before, quickly turned to her. “Y/n,” he said softly, his voice laced with concern, “please… Let’s go back. It’s—”

Before he could finish, Y/n pushed past him, her heart thundering in her chest. She entered the room, and in the dim light, her gaze locked on the sight before her.

Rhysand and Feyre. Together.

Rhysand had Feyre pressed against the wall, their lips locked in a passionate kiss, the intensity of their connection undeniable.

Y/n’s heart stopped in her chest, the air thick with the realization crashing over her. She blinked, disbelieving. This was not happening.

“Rhysand,” she whispered, her voice breaking as her legs threatened to give out from under her.

Rhysand’s eyes widened, and he immediately pulled away from Feyre, both of them frozen in shock. Feyre’s face flushed with guilt, but it wasn’t enough.

Y/n’s hands trembled, her thoughts spiraling as she processed the sight. All the doubt, all the pain, everything she’d tried to ignore—it was true.

Without another word, Y/n turned and fled, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. She didn’t even hear Cassian call after her, his voice full of anguish. All she could hear was the thundering of her own heartbeat and the sound of her feet pounding down the halls.

She was halfway down the corridor when she felt Cassian’s hand on her arm, pulling her back gently. “Y/n, please,” he said, voice low. “You don’t have to do this.”

But Y/n, in her shock, yanked her arm away. “Don’t touch me, Cassian!” she shouted. “How long? How long has this been going on? How long have you all been hiding this from me?”

Her voice wavered, breaking with every word. Her emotions were a storm. She didn’t care who saw it anymore. She’d been blind.

Cassian took a step back, his eyes filled with regret. “Y/n, please—”

Her hands trembled, but her words were sharp, cutting through the hall like a blade. "Why didn’t you tell me? Why?" She stepped forward, her gaze locked onto Rhysand, the male who had once been everything to her. "You made me believe in you. We built a life together! A family! And now… now I’m supposed to just accept this?" Her voice cracked as she swallowed the lump in her throat, the weight of it all almost suffocating her. "We have a child, Rhysand! You will be a father!"

Rhysand flinched as if her words had struck him harder than any physical blow. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He reached for her, but her eyes hardened, her heart already too far gone for him to reach.

"Are you not ashamed of yourself?" she shouted, her voice growing louder, desperate for answers. The anger poured out of her like a flood, drowning everything in its path. "Is that it? You just gave it all up? How could you do this to me? To us?" She gestured between herself and her stomach, the child growing inside of her. "I gave you everything. I gave you my trust. My heart. And this is how you repay me? This is the price I pay for being so blind?"

Feyre took a hesitant step forward, her face filled with guilt, but Rhysand’s protective instinct flared. His hand shot out, catching Feyre behind him, his posture stiff and defensive. His eyes flickered with regret, but they held the painful truth.

For a split second, Y/n thought she might lose herself completely, but then the bitter laugh escaped her. It was harsh, mocking—disbelieving.

Because that was when it hit her.

These two were mates. Mates.

"So mates, huh? Is that what this is all about?" she scoffed. "I guess I should’ve known. I should’ve seen it coming, shouldn’t I?" Her voice was dripping with sarcasm now, the anguish inside her turning to venom. "But of course, you would protect her, wouldn’t you?" She looked at Feyre with contempt, shaking her head. "You didn’t even have the decency to tell me the truth."

Rhysand’s jaw clenched, but he remained silent. The pain in his eyes was evident, but he didn’t speak. He couldn’t, not when he knew the words he needed to say would only make things worse. His heart ached for her, but he had no idea how to fix what he had broken.

Y/n’s body shook with anger, the injustice of it all weighing down on her chest. She turned on her heel, ready to storm away, but that’s when it happened.

The sharp pain slammed into her abdomen, and her knees buckled. She gasped, her breath catching in her throat as her vision blurred with pain.

Azriel--who appeared out of nowhere--was at her side in an instant, his arms steadying her, but her body betrayed her. She clutched her stomach, her body wracked with pain that seemed to come from nowhere.

"Y/n?" Azriel’s voice was filled with concern as he tried to steady her, but she could barely hear him through the intensity of the agony. Cassian was on the other side, his hands gently gripping her arms, trying to keep her upright.

"Madja!" Cassian barked at Rhysand, his voice filled with anger and venom, "Be responsible and get Madja now!"

But Y/n didn’t hear him. All she could focus on was the agony coursing through her, the pain so sharp and overwhelming that it consumed her. She didn’t care about Rhysand anymore. She didn’t care about Feyre. She didn’t care about anything except for one thing: their child.

Her breath came in shallow gasps as she cradled her stomach with one hand, feeling the life growing inside her, the precious little one she had been so determined to protect.

"Please," she whispered weakly, her voice breaking as she looked at Rhysand. "Please don’t take this from me."

Cassian and Azriel exchanged a frantic glance, both of them moving into protective mode as they kept her steady. Y/n’s eyes were locked onto Rhysand now, her fury mingled with a desperate need for him to understand. To feel the weight of what he had done.

But it was too late. The damage was done.

Rhysand stepped forward, his hand reaching out to her, but Y/n jerked away from him, the sudden movement only worsening the pain in her abdomen. She gasped again, clutching her stomach as a new wave of agony hit her.

“Y/n, please—” Rhysand’s voice was low, broken, but she couldn’t listen. Not anymore.

"No," she choked out, her voice hoarse. "No more excuses, Rhysand." Her hands trembled, her body trembling, and she couldn’t hold back the flood of emotions any longer. She was done.

The pain continued to tear through her, her thoughts scattering, spinning out of control as she cradled her stomach tighter. The tears she had been holding back finally spilled, but they weren’t just from the physical pain. They were for everything she had lost in that one moment. The trust. The love. The future they were supposed to build together.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she sobbed, her voice breaking. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?” She glanced at Feyre, her eyes hard, but her voice trembled with more than just anger. “How could you—how could you do this to me?”

But before anyone could respond, another wave of pain shot through her, and she screamed, her body collapsing into Cassian and Azriel’s arms. Her mind was a blur, only one thing clear—she needed help. She needed them to save the child.

Azriel's voice was low and commanding, filled with urgency. "Cassian, hold her. I’ll get Madja." He turned and moved swiftly toward the door, his wings brushing against the wall as he flew out into the night.

“Please, Y/n,” Cassian murmured, his voice soft but filled with fear. “Please, hold on.”

Y/n’s vision was swimming. She barely registered the words, the frantic chaos around her, her body failing her. All she could feel was the tight grip of the pain as it dragged her deeper into the darkness.

Rhysand stood there, torn between the desperate need to run to her side and the instinct to protect Feyre. He was lost. He had lost her. And in that moment, Y/n’s shattered words echoed in his mind:��We have a child, Rhysand... You will be a father... Are you not ashamed of yourself?

And for the first time in his life, Rhysand had no answers.

Y/n slowly regained consciousness, the dull ache in her head reminding her of the storm that had passed through her body. She blinked against the bright light, her vision blurred for a moment before it cleared. The soft, cool sheets beneath her, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, it all felt so distant and overwhelming.

Madja's voice cut through the haze. "You're awake," she said softly, her tone warm but firm. "Good thing no harm was done to the baby, but you're under a lot of stress. I can feel it in your body, the strain on you."

Y/n turned her head slowly, seeing Madja standing next to her, the healer’s face filled with concern. Azriel was by the window, his posture tense, while Cassian hovered near the foot of the bed, his face a mixture of guilt and concern. Amren, ever stoic, stood off to the side, her eyes watching with an unreadable expression.

"Your baby is fine, Y/n," Madja continued, placing a hand lightly on Y/n’s arm. "There’s no danger of premature birth. Just take care of yourself, try to rest, and the baby will be fine. But your stress levels... they’re far too high." She gave them all a pointed look. "All of you."

With that, Madja stepped back, her eyes lingering on Y/n for a moment longer before she turned and left the room. There was a silence that followed, one that stretched out far too long for Y/n's comfort. Cassian was the first to speak, though his voice was unsure, quiet, the weight of his earlier actions heavy in the air.

"Y/n, I—" he started, but Y/n lifted her hand weakly, signaling for him to stop.

"How long?" she whispered, her voice fragile but steady with the hurt of it all. "How long have you all known?"

Azriel stiffened, and Amren rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "Girl, don’t involve me in this mess," she said with a scoff. "I had no idea either. Though, it was kind of obvious." She glared at the two males as if daring them to argue.

Cassian ran a hand through his hair, looking down at the floor, his voice laced with regret. "We thought it would be best to wait until after the birth to tell you. We didn’t want to put you or the baby at risk."

Y/n's eyes flickered between them, too weary to say anything but the truth. "And that plan went to shit."

Azriel exhaled sharply, stepping closer to the bed. "Y/n, I am so sorry," he said, his voice raw with regret. "Rhysand told us all—told us that she was his mate after the journey. Feyre was mad at him, and... and then Rhys finally came clean to all of us. Told us everything." His eyes were filled with sincerity. "We should’ve told you sooner."

Y/n closed her eyes, shaking her head. "I trusted you all. All of you. And you kept this from me. You should’ve told me the moment you knew." Her voice cracked, but she didn't back down. She would not back down from this.

"I know," Cassian said quietly, his voice filled with shame. "We thought it was for the best. But you’re right. We should’ve told you. I should’ve told you." He ran a hand through his hair again, frustration flashing in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Y/n. I should've trusted you."

The room was thick with emotion, a painful silence hanging in the air when, suddenly, a piece of paper appeared in Y/n’s lap, its crisp edges catching the light. She blinked, a small smile pulling at her lips as she grabbed the letter. Her gaze softened as she read it, the others leaning in, confused.

"What’s this?" Cassian asked, his voice low. "Who’s it from?"

"Kallias," Y/n murmured, her fingers brushing over the letter’s surface with a sad smile. "The High Lord of Winter."

Everyone froze, their eyes widening as they processed the name. "Kallias?" Azriel repeated, his brows furrowed. "What’s he writing to you for?"

Y/n’s smile turned bittersweet as she looked up from the letter, her eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and something more resolute. "I wrote to him a week ago, asking if I could visit Winter. I needed a change of scenery. And he..." she trailed off, her smile growing faint. "He’s more than happy to have me."

The others stared at her, stunned into silence. The room felt as though it had shifted in an instant. "You... You’re going to Winter?" Amren asked, her voice tinged with disbelief. "Why now?"

Y/n’s smile faltered, but she didn’t hide it. "I already knew I’d leave sooner or later," she whispered, her hands trembling slightly as she folded the letter. "Just... not this soon. I guess my leave will be permanent."

The room erupted into chaos.

"Y/n, no," Cassian said, stepping toward her, his voice filled with desperation. "Please, you can’t—"

"Please," Azriel added softly, moving to her side. "Don’t go."

But Y/n held up her hand, silencing them all. There was a moment of stillness, a tension hanging in the air as they all waited. Slowly, Y/n swung her legs off the side of the bed, her movements slow but deliberate. She pulled her bag from underneath the bed, her gaze focused on the task at hand. "I need this," she said quietly, as though it was an understanding only she could see. "I’ve always needed this."

"Y/n, please," Cassian pleaded again, his voice rough with emotion. "You don’t have to do this."

Y/n’s gaze softened, but she was firm. "I do," she replied, her voice steady. "I do have to."

The room was quiet now, the weight of her words settling over them. It was clear there was no changing her mind.

"Now," Y/n said, turning to Amren, "will you please help me get changed?"

Amren’s expression softened slightly, but she gave a small nod. "Get out, all of you," she said, her tone more gentle than usual. "I’ll help her. And I’ve got advice for her."

The others left reluctantly, Cassian lingering at the door, his eyes heavy with unspoken emotions. Y/n caught his gaze and held it for a moment, before she turned back to Amren, the two of them sharing a quiet understanding.

Amren helped her get dressed, the quiet advice coming in fragments. "Take care of yourself, Y/n. Don’t let them hold you back. You deserve this peace. You deserve to find what you need. The rest will follow."

Y/n nodded, a weak but grateful smile on her lips. "Thank you, Amren."

When she was finally ready, Azriel appeared in the doorway, his expression unreadable. Y/n took a deep breath before moving toward him. Cassian, Mor, and even Amren stood back, their eyes heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Before she left, Y/n moved toward Cassian first. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close for a moment, her face buried in his chest. "I’ll miss you," she whispered.

Cassian hugged her back, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. "Please take care of yourself," he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion.

Next, she turned to Mor, who embraced her with a tight, brief hug, her expression just as conflicted. "I hope you find what you need," Mor said softly.

Lastly, Y/n stepped toward Amren, who looked at her with a strange blend of pride and sorrow. "You’re stronger than you think," Amren said with a faint smile, before she too turned away, leaving Y/n to face her own path.

Y/n gave one last glance at the room before stepping outside. Azriel was waiting for her, his hand outstretched. Without a word, she took it, and in a flash of blue light, they vanished, leaving the shadows of the past behind.

And though Rhysand’s presence was absent, Y/n’s resolve was clear. She was moving on. She was taking the first step toward healing. Toward a future she would shape on her own terms.

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

[olive-main]

oooo if you’re interested would love to see your take: reader is Azriel’s mate, nobody knows. The inner circle keeps trying to set him up with females (including Elaine & Gwyn). They like reader but don’t view her as an option for being his partner. Lots of angst, she’s hurting, she overhears them saying she’s not an option for him. Up to you what happens for her and Azriel. Loved your last story, and that you wanted more angst ideas!! And if this isn’t what you’re looking for, all good!

Between Us Alone

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel’s mate overhears a conversation that shakes her confidence in their hidden bond, but he reminds her that love, even in shadows, is unbreakable.

Wc: 1.2k

A/N: Annndddd welcome back to our regularly scheduled programming. This time I come with the gift of some fluff (with angst ofc bcs duh—who do y’all think I am?) Enjoy the happy endings while they last…..evil laugh

Masterlist

——

The corridors of the House of Wind were quiet, save for the faint hum of conversation that drifted from Rhysand’s office. You’d gone looking for Azriel, hoping he might steal away from his “boys’ night” early and join you at your shared apartment.

A secret, the two of you. Hidden in plain sight. Quite fitting for Rhysand’s spymasters.

It was exhilarating at first—the quiet smiles across rooms, the fleeting brushes of hands, and the stolen glances when no one else was looking. But there were cracks now, small fissures of insecurity that made you wonder if keeping the bond private had been the right choice.

Your footsteps slowed as you neared Rhys’s office, voices clear now, though you didn’t mean to eavesdrop. You were about to knock when you caught the sound of Cassian’s boisterous laughter.

“Oh, come on, Az,” Cassian said, his tone teasing. “You’ve been spending all that time with Gwyn. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

“Gwyn’s sweet,” Rhysand added. “And she clearly enjoys your company. You’d make a good pair.”

Your heart clenched painfully, the words hitting you like a physical blow.

Azriel’s reply was quieter, almost unreadable. “Gwyn is a friend. I’m not looking for… that.”

Cassian scoffed. “You say that now, but it’s been centuries, Az. When was the last time you even tried to let someone in? Gwyn’s perfect for you—kind, strong, clever. She gets you.”

“She’s not the only option,” Rhys said smoothly. “There are others. Nesta’s mentioned a few priestesses who would be good matches.”

Cassian nodded in agreement. “There’s also Y/N.”

You pressed your hand to the doorframe, your breaths shallow as you heard Cassian say your name.

“No, I don’t see them together. They rarely speak to each other outside of missions and a few shared words at dinners.” Rhysand says with a shake of his head as if the thought of you and Azriel together was the most unlikely thing he could think of.

You shouldn’t have stayed, shouldn’t have listened, but you couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. They didn’t mean to hurt you—you knew that. You’d always been on the periphery of their circle, a friend but never a true equal in their eyes. Azriel’s shadows had been your sanctuary, his quiet love a solace you cherished.

But to hear them speak so casually, as if you weren’t even a possibility…

Azriel’s voice cut through, firm and unyielding. “I don’t need you to play matchmaker. I can handle my own life.”

“You’re avoiding the question,” Cassian said, clearly amused.

“Drop it,” Azriel snapped, his tone brooking no argument.

The room fell silent after that, but the damage was done. You turned and fled, the ache in your chest twisting tighter with every step.

—

The space you shared with Azriel was small but cozy, tucked away in a quiet corner of Velaris where no one thought to look. It was your haven, the only place you could truly be yourselves without prying eyes or whispered questions.

But tonight, it felt suffocating.

You sank onto the couch, wrapping a blanket around yourself as the doubts clawed at your mind.

This charade was necessary. You both knew that. If they ever found out you and Azriel had been together for months—years, now—it would complicate everything. Not just for him, but for you.

As Azriel’s partner, you worked in the shadows as he did, your work as vital and delicate as his own. Secrecy was second nature to you both, and you’d agreed early on that revealing your bond—to anyone—was too risky.

You’d thought you could handle it. But moments like this, when they talked about Azriel’s love life like you didn’t exist, like you weren’t his, made you question how much more you could endure.

You told yourself it wasn’t Azriel’s fault. He hadn’t encouraged them. He’d even told them to stop. But the weight of their words lingered, stirring fears you’d tried so hard to bury.

What if they were right? What if Azriel deserved someone like Gwyn, someone who could stand beside him without the need for secrecy?

You didn’t hear the front door open, too lost in your thoughts to notice the familiar sound of Azriel’s footsteps until he was standing in front of you.

“Something’s wrong,” he said immediately, his hazel eyes scanning your face. His shadows swirled around him, restless and sharp. “What happened?”

You shook your head, forcing a smile. “It’s nothing. Just tired.”

His brow furrowed, and he crouched in front of you, his hands resting gently on your knees. “Don’t lie to me.”

The sincerity in his voice nearly broke you. You looked away, your throat tightening as you tried to hold back tears.

“Y/N,” he said softly, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. “Tell me.”

You hesitated, the words sticking in your throat. But you couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“I went to Rhys’s office,” you admitted quietly. “I was going to find you, but… I heard you all talking.”

Azriel stiffened, his jaw tightening. “What did you hear?” He already knew. There was only one part of the conversation that could’ve had you so distraught.

You swallowed hard. “They… they were trying to set you up with someone. Gwyn, mostly. Rhys mentioned others.” You laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. “They said I wasn’t even an option.”

Azriel’s eyes darkened, his shadows curling tighter around him.

“They didn’t mean it to hurt me, I know that” you added quickly, seeing how Azriel was ready to go back and pummel his brothers. “They don’t know about us. But… it still hurt.”

He exhaled sharply, standing and pacing the room. His hands curled into fists at his sides. “They had no right—”

“They care about you,” you interrupted. “They want you to be happy. And maybe they’re right. Maybe you’d be better off with someone like Gwyn. Someone who—”

“Stop.”

The word was a command, sharp and unyielding. Azriel crossed the room in an instant, kneeling before you again. He took your hands in his, his grip firm but gentle.

“Don’t you dare doubt this,” he said fiercely. “Don’t you dare doubt us.”

Tears spilled over, and he reached up to brush them away, his touch achingly tender.

“You are my mate,” he said, his voice breaking. “You. Not Gwyn, not anyone else. You are the only one I want, the only one I will ever want.”

“But they—”

“They’re idiots,” he said flatly. “I’ll deal with them. But don’t let their ignorance make you doubt what we have.”

You searched his face, finding only unwavering certainty in his eyes.

“I love you,” he said, his voice softening. “More than I thought I was capable of. And I don’t care if they don’t see it. I see it. I feel it.”

A broken laugh escaped you, relief washing over you like a tide. “I love you too.”

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he could shield you from the world.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I never wanted you to feel like this. I thought keeping the bond private would protect us, but if it’s hurting you—”

“It’s not,” you said quickly. “Not really. I just… I needed to hear this. To hear you.”

He pulled back just enough to press his forehead to yours. “You’ll never have to doubt me again.”

——

Aren’t they just so sweet *sigh*. Thank you for reading <3

Requests are still open ;)

[surielstea]

A Warriors Heart

Based on a request.

Pairing: Virgin!Azriel x Virgin!Reader

Summary: Azriel and Reader have been mated for a long time but have yet to act on it. What happens when alone in a house together?

Warnings: Smut | Minors DNI | tender | loss of virginity | fingering | praise kink | creampie

A.Note: Sooo the original request asked for an Experienced!Reader but I was struggling writing a dynamic like that so here’s this, hopefully it’s okay. Also, Rhys and Reader are half-siblings!

6.2k word count.

The house was silent. A rare occurrence. Even when the three Illyrians weren't crowding it with their banter and heavy footsteps, Rhysand's mother's soft humming usually drifted from the kitchen, accompanied by the clatter of pots and pans. That noise, that life, filled every corner of our home, like a heartbeat.

But tonight, the silence felt heavier. My brother and Cassian were away on an overnight expedition to another war camp, and Rhysand's mother had been summoned to the Night Court by my father. It was just Azriel and me. Alone.

I had known Azriel was my mate since I was eight years old, the bond threading between us as easily as a ribbon slipping through fingers. I had accidentally accepted it when I was fifteen, too young to understand the weight of what I'd done. We'd made a pact soon after, two awkward teenagers fumbling to make sense of the unshakable connection between us. Friends could be soulmates, we told ourselves. We swore to keep the bond platonic, to navigate it without letting it define us.

But no matter how much I tried to ignore it, the bond shimmered between us like sunlight on a blade, sharp and undeniable. Azriel's protective nature—his tendency to linger closer than necessary, to bristle when someone dared flirt with me—had always been my undoing. And while he could command a room with a single glance, I had no doubt he saw me as nothing more than the sister of his closest friend.

It was why I'd spent the last seven years pulling away, trying to temper the ache that came from unrequited feelings. Even now, with all the years and distance between us, I didn't know how to act when it was just the two of us.

I didn't hear his footsteps. I never did. But his voice, soft and steady, broke the silence as I stirred the stew on the stove.

"Smells good."

I jumped, whirling to find Azriel leaning casually against the doorway, his hazel eyes glinting with quiet amusement.

"Gods," I exhaled, clutching the wooden spoon to my chest like a lifeline. "You have to stop sneaking up on me."

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, a rare, fleeting thing that made my heart skip. "Can't help it," he replied, shrugging one broad shoulder. "Your reaction is worth it every time."

I rolled my eyes and turned back to the stove, determined to ignore the warmth creeping up my neck.

Azriel moved closer, his steps silent, until I could feel the faint heat of him behind me. He leaned in, just enough for his breath to brush the back of my neck as he peered over my shoulder.

"Stop looming," I muttered, swatting at him half-heartedly with the spoon.

He pulled back with a low chuckle, the sound curling in my chest and settling there, stubborn and unrelenting.

As he retreated to the sitting room, I focused on the stew, determined not to let my racing heart betray me. But even with his back turned, I could feel him—his gaze like a tether, steady and unyielding.

I hummed a tune under my breath, one my mother always sang while cooking. The melody was soft and familiar, a distraction from the weight of the quiet house and the man watching me from across the room.

By the time I ladled the stew into bowls, the tension in my chest had coiled tight. I turned, the bowls in hand, and froze.

Azriel was leaning back on the couch, his legs stretched out before him, wings draped lazily over the sides of the cushions. But his eyes were locked on me, dark and burning, as though he could see straight through me.

"Ready," I murmured, more to break the silence than anything, nudging a drawer closed with my hip as I grabbed two sets of silverware.

I set the bowls on the table and slid into my chair, pretending not to notice the way Azriel settled into the seat beside me instead of the one across. The scent of him—night-chilled mist and cedar—washed over me, and I busied myself arranging the utensils just to keep my hands from shaking.

He started eating without a word, and I followed suit, though each bite felt like a struggle under the weight of his presence.

It was almost odd watching him eat food I made, so reminiscent of how mates accept the bond. Even if the tether between us was always at the back of my mind, nights like these brought them front and center as if laid out on the table in front of me.

"Thank you," he said after a few minutes, his voice low. Almost shy.

I glanced at him, startled. "It's no bother," I replied quickly, brushing off the gratitude. "I know you've been training all day. You needed it."

Azriel tilted his head, studying me with a look that made my stomach flip. For a moment, I thought he might argue, but he only nodded and returned to his meal.

"I'll make you breakfast in the morning," he said finally, the promise simple but weighted.

I blinked at him, a small smile tugging at my lips despite myself. "Deal."

We ate in silence after that, though it wasn't uncomfortable. The sound of silverware against bowls filled the space, grounding us. But I couldn't ignore the way his gaze kept flicking toward me like he was holding back something he didn't know how to say.

Finally, I set my spoon down and looked at him directly. "What?"

His lips curved into a faint smirk, the kind that always made my pulse stutter. "Nothing."

"Az," I warned, dragging his name out like a thread.

His smirk deepened, but his eyes softened, the light in them catching like a spark in the dim kitchen. "I missed this. Just the two of us."

Heat crawled up my neck. "Is it so different than when Rhys and Cass are here?"

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "You tell me." He smirks. "You don't usually stare at me so much when they're around."

The words struck something deep, a soft ache I hadn't realized was there. I looked away, focusing on my bowl. "Maybe you just haven't been paying attention."

His wings shifted slightly, a rustle of leather against wood. "I always pay attention." The quiet conviction in his voice made me pause, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it. "You seem so busy avoiding me that you don't realize how often I'm watching you."

I dared a glance at him, and the way he was looking at me—like I was something worth watching, worth knowing—stole the breath from my lungs. "Now you just sound obsessed with me," I replied, attempting to keep my tone light.

"And if I am?"

I quickly dropped my gaze, grabbing my spoon like it could anchor me. But the tension in the air didn't ease, and I knew—no matter how many years we'd spent pretending otherwise—that the bond was still there, pulling us closer with every passing moment. "Then I'd tell you to find someone else," I say, my pulse fluttering.

"No," he added casually, "you'd miss me if I wasn't here to keep you company."

I snorted, rolling my eyes to mask the sudden skipping in my chest. "You mean to annoy me, right?"

"Same thing." He grinned, his rare smile brightening his usually stoic face, dimples softening his features and making my stomach knot.

I shook my head, trying not to laugh as I resumed eating. "You're unbelievable."

"C'mon, admit it. You'd be so lonely in this house without me as entertainment." His voice was softer now, and when I glanced at him, his expression had shifted. The teasing was still there, but beneath it was something warm, something real.

I swallowed hard, the knot in my chest tightening again. "I hate to ruin your fantasy but you're not exactly a great source of entertainment."

"Do you want me to be?" he said, and the way his voice dipped sent a shiver down my spine.

We fell back into silence after that, but it wasn't the same quiet as before. This time, the air between us felt charged, every glance and shift of movement loaded with something unspoken.

As we finished our meal, Azriel leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he studied me. "So, what's for dessert?"

I scoffed at him. "Dessert?"

"Yes, dessert," he said, as though it were obvious. "You cooked dinner, so dessert is next. That's how it works, isn't it?"

I gave him a flat look. "You're awfully demanding for someone who just promised to make me breakfast."

"I like to think of it as balancing the scales," he replied smoothly. "Besides, I'm in the mood for something sweet."

The way he said it made my stomach flip, though I tried to keep my expression neutral. "Well, unless you're planning to bake something yourself, you're out of luck."

He sighed dramatically, resting his chin in his hand. "What a shame. Guess I'll have to settle for your company instead."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," I said, standing to clear the dishes, though I couldn't keep the grin off my face.

"Who said I was flattering you?" he called after me, his voice laced with amusement.

"You can clean up dinner then, I'm going to go read," I say with a taunting smile.

"So I can't have dessert or your company?" He argued as I began retreating down the hall.

"I'll be in my room if you need me, shadow singer."

"Yes, ma'am." But his tone was anything but obedient. I reached my door, and when I glanced back at him, his smirk was firmly in place, his gaze following me like one of his shadows. I entered my room and closed my door with a finalizing shut.

I leaned against the door, letting out a shaky breath. My chest felt tight, the warmth of Azriel's gaze still lingering on my skin. It was always like this with him—subtle, unspoken, charged. And yet, neither of us ever dared to cross that invisible line.

Until tonight, maybe.

The sound of dishes clinking in the kitchen echoed faintly through the house, proof that he had actually listened to me. I smirked to myself, shaking my head as I moved toward my bed.

I plucked my book from my nightstand, letting his gaze and words fizzle away, forcing myself to focus on the story in my hands.

It was hard not to think of him, he was technically a part of me after all. The tether between us was dusty and untouched, but somehow pulsing with life. I hadn't meant to, but I tugged on that bond, and the noise in the kitchen halted entirely.

Before I could weigh the fallout of my actions there was a knock on my door, soft and hesitant.

I slipped from the bed, still clutching my book just for something for my hands to do. I opened the door before I could second guess myself, revealing Azriel leaning against the frame of it. "You finished with the dishes already?" I say with a tilt of my head.

"No, I—you called me in here," He said with a crease in his brow.

"I didn't say anything?" I mutter.

"But you did, the bond," He attempts to explain and I cringe, hating to watch him fumble around this.

"I didn't mean to," I confess with a slight smile.

I stepped back instinctively, letting him into my room before the vulnerability of the moment could choke me. Azriel hesitated at the threshold, his broad frame nearly filling the doorway. His shadows coiled restlessly around his shoulders, mirroring the tension in his jaw. Finally, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

"You didn't mean to," he echoed, his voice low, almost disbelieving.

I shook my head, gripping the book tighter. "I've been doing well, haven't I? Not tugging on it? Not pulling you into something you didn't ask for?"

Azriel's gaze snapped to mine, sharp and unyielding. "Something I didn't ask for?" His wings shifted slightly, the leather whispering in the quiet. "You think I don't feel it, too? That I haven't felt it every day since I was sixteen?"

I blinked, his words striking me like a lightning bolt. He took a step closer, and the air between us charged, crackling with everything we'd been avoiding for years. "You think you're the only one pretending this doesn't exist? That it doesn't rip me apart every time I'm near you?"

The rawness in his tone stole the breath from my lungs. "Az... I didn't know. You—" I swallowed hard. "You've always seemed so controlled, indifferent to it."

He let out a low, humorless laugh, the sound cutting through the room. "Because I had to be. Because if I wasn't, I'd—" He stopped himself, dragging a hand through his dark hair. His wings flared slightly as if he was fighting the urge to pace. "You have no idea what you've done to me. And when you pulled on the bond just now, well it's a shock I can even find words despite the aching in my heart."

My heart thundered in my chest, the bond between us humming, alive and insistent. "Azriel," I murmured, barely able to meet his gaze. "I didn't mean to—"

"Stop apologizing," he interrupted, stepping closer again, his hazel eyes burning into mine. "Don't you understand? I want you to pull on it. I want to feel you. To be near you."

My lips parted, but no words came out. He was so close now, his heat wrapping around me like a second skin. The scent of him—cedar and night-chilled mist—was intoxicating, pulling me under, but I was far from drowning.

"I thought you wanted me to ignore it, and I tried my best," he continued, his voice quieter now, trembling with restraint. "But then you went out of your way to keep your distance. And it drove me insane. Do you know how hard it is to love who doesn't feel the same?"

My breath hitched, his confession settling over me like a second bond. "You—what?"

He smiled faintly, but there was no humor in it. "Don't make me say it again."

My knees felt weak, my grip on the book tightening to keep from falling. "I thought..." I shook my head, a bitter laugh escaping me. "I thought you only tolerated me because of my brother."

Azriel's wings flared again, a sudden, restless movement. "Rhys has nothing to do with this. He never has."

I stared at him, my heart racing, my mind a whirlwind of confusion and hope. "Azriel," I whispered his name a prayer, a plea.

He reached for me then, his hand hesitating before brushing my cheek. His touch was warm, grounding, and the bond between us thrummed in response, a living thing that refused to be ignored.

"I'm done pretending," he murmured, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw. "If you don't want this that's fine, I'll distance myself. But if you do—"

I didn't let him finish. I dropped the book, my hands finding the soft material of his shirt as I yanked him closer, crashing my lips to his.

Azriel let out a surprised noise, a deep, guttural sound that sent heat pooling in my stomach. His wings flared wide, his shadows scattering as he kissed me back with a ferocity that stole my breath. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I melted into his warmth, into the strength of him.

I gasped when his lips left mine, trailing down my jaw to the sensitive spot just below my ear. "Just us," he whispered the words sacred, a vow.

"Us," I breathed, threading my fingers into his hair, tugging gently. "Always."

He lifted me then, his hands firm on my thighs as he carried me to the bed. He laid me down gently, his body pressing against mine as he kissed me again, slower this time, reverent.

My hands roamed over him, tracing the hard planes of his chest, the ridges of his muscles. He shuddered under my touch, his wings trembling as they curled protectively around us.

"I've never—" he murmured against my lips, his voice ragged as I cut him off.

"Neither have I," I whispered, arching into him. "I trust you, Az."

Something in his eyes softened at that, the love and need in them so intense it made my chest ache. Then he kissed me again, and there was no more room for words.

Just us. Just this.

We were a fumbling mess, equally awkward as we were clueless. But I wouldn't have changed anything about it. Because I finally had him, his lips were on mine and his hands held me.

I wrapped my arms around the back of his neck, pulling at the back of his shirt, yanking it up, needing my hands on his bare skin. He pulled away from the kiss to get it over his head, discarding it on my bedroom floor.

His body hovered over mine, his wings curling inward like a shelter, cocooning us in a space where only we existed. My hands roamed the expanse of his bare chest, marveling at the strength there, the warmth that radiated from him. His muscles tensed and relaxed under my touch, a shiver rippling through him as my fingers explored.

He dipped his head, brushing his lips over mine again, this kiss softer, slower. "Are you sure?" he murmured, his voice a low rasp against my mouth. The vulnerability in his hazel eyes made my chest ache.

I cupped his face, smoothing my thumbs over his sharp cheekbones. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life." My voice trembled, but it carried the weight of truth. "It's always been you, Az."

Something in him broke at my words. His forehead dropped to mine, his breath shuddering as he let out a soft laugh, tinged with disbelief. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this."

"I think I've got some idea," I whispered, my hands slipping to the nape of his neck, tangling in his hair.

His lips found mine again, but this time, there was no hesitation, no restraint. His kiss deepened, his tongue brushing against mine as his hands began to explore, sliding down my sides, tentative but firm. Each touch sent a jolt of heat through me, my body arching into him instinctively.

When his hand skimmed under the hem of my nightgown, his fingers tracing the bare skin of my waist, I gasped against his lips. He stilled, pulling back just enough to meet my gaze. "Tell me if I—if you need me to stop," he said, his voice a strained whisper.

I shook my head, a soft smile tugging at my lips. "Don't stop. Please, Az."

He exhaled shakily, his hands more confident now as he lifted my nightgown. I helped him pull it off, and he paused to take me in, his gaze sweeping over me like a caress. "You're beautiful," he murmured, his voice filled with awe, as though he couldn't believe this moment was real. His fingers brushed over my collarbone, down to my ribs, and I trembled under his touch.

"You're allowed to touch me," I said softly, my cheeks warming under his intense gaze. "I want you to."

His shadows curled around my wrists, feather-light, as though they couldn't resist the temptation of me either. "You're, soft," he murmured, an uneasiness in his eyes that made me realize why he was so hesitant. I took his hand in mine, running my thumb over a scar.

"Touch me, Az." My voice was a breathless plea as I guided his scarred hand to my covered breast, craving the feel of him everywhere. His breath hitched, but the hesitation in his eyes melted away as his hands explored my sides, fingertips trailing heat over my waist. His thumbs brushed against the underside of my bra, and my breath faltered. He froze, his gaze meeting mine, searching for any sign of doubt.

When he found none, his lips tilted in a barely-there smile, reverence written across his features. He reached behind me, his fingers fumbling with the clasp, his brow furrowing in concentration. When the garment finally slipped free, I flushed, exposed under his gaze.

His wings trembled, his eyes darkening with barely restrained desire. "You're perfect," he whispered, the words soft, as though they were meant for no one but himself.

I swallowed, my heart thundering as I reached for him, pulling him down until our bodies met. The heat of his skin burned against mine, a delicious contrast that sent sparks through every nerve. His lips found my neck, pressing kisses along my skin that grew wetter and hotter as he made his way down. My head fell back as he trailed lower, his mouth closing over my breast.

A soft cry escaped me, my fingers tangling in his hair, tugging lightly. He froze, pulling back just enough to look at me, concern flickering across his features. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," I whispered, my voice shaky but insistent. "It—it feels good, Az."

Relief flooded his expression, and his lips curved into a small, teasing smirk. "Good," he murmured before returning to his task, his tongue flicking experimentally, his teeth grazing gently as he learned what made me gasp and arch into him.

My hands explored the expanse of his back, the muscles beneath his skin flexing and rippling under my touch. I dragged my fingers lower, to the base of his wings, earning a low groan from him that vibrated through my chest.

"You're sensitive there," I noted, a teasing lilt to my voice.

He let out a shaky laugh, his breath fanning across my skin. "You have no idea."

I grinned but left the spot alone for now, my hands sliding to his shoulders to pull him back up. Our lips met again, his tongue brushing against mine, tasting me, exploring me. His kiss was consuming, and I let myself sink into it, reveling in the way he took control, how he kissed as though he'd waited lifetimes for this.

I trailed my hands down his chest, my fingers mapping every ridge and dip of muscle until I reached the waistband of his pants. My hand slipped beneath the fabric, but his scarred fingers covered mine, halting my movements.

"Are you sure?" His voice was hoarse, his forehead pressed against mine, his breathing uneven.

"Yes," I murmured, one hand tugging gently on his hair to pull him closer. "I want all of you, Azriel. I've always wanted you."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, the vulnerability in his eyes stealing my breath. "It'll hurt," he warned softly, his voice laced with worry.

"I know," I said, cupping his cheek with one hand, my thumb brushing over the sharp line of his jaw. "But every time after this will be perfect," I added, a quiet promise in my voice.

His eyes softened, a flicker of something unspoken passing between us. He exhaled deeply, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Every time after this," he echoed, his tone laced with awe.

Still, his hand didn't release mine. "We have to get you ready first," he said, his voice gentler now, the determination in his gaze sending a thrill through me.

My face burned, but I nodded, moving my hand to his shoulder and digging my nails into his back as he slid my panties down my thighs. The cool air kissed my heated skin, but it was nothing compared to the intensity of his touch.

He started slow, his fingers sliding through my folds, teasing, testing. My hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more, but he gripped my thigh with his free hand, holding me in place.

"Azriel," I breathed, his name leaving my lips like a prayer.

"Here?" His voice was dark, teasing, as his thumb circled my clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through me.

"Yes—there," I gasped, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.

I slapped a hand over my mouth, desperate to stifle the noises spilling from me, but his shadows coiled around my wrist, pulling my hand away and pinning it above my head.

"No, love," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "I'm done imagining what you sound like screaming my name." His breath ghosted over my skin as he pressed a kiss to my neck, finding the sensitive spot that made my body tremble. "Let me hear you," he uttered, his voice rough with desire.

A shaky exhale escaped me, and when he slipped a finger inside me, crossing a line that sent a burst of pleasure through my body, I did exactly as he'd imagined.

"Azriel," I moaned, my head tilting back into the pillows.

"That's my girl," he praised, the words making me clench around him.

His scarred fingers moved in a slow rhythm, in and out, each stroke deliberate, teasing. I could feel myself unraveling, the tension building in my core threatening to snap.

"I—I'm close," I whimpered, my voice barely audible.

"I know," he whispered against my neck, his teeth scraping over the sensitive skin.

His shadows tightened their hold, pinning me further into the mattress as he placed his thumb on my clit, circling it hard. His mouth returned to my breast, his tongue working in tandem with his fingers.

Pleasure surged through me, and I cried out his name again, my legs trembling as he pushed me closer to the edge.

"That's it," he murmured, his voice like velvet, thick with want. "Let go for me, love."

And I did.

The tension snapped, and I shattered beneath him, pleasure crashing over me in waves. My body arched into his touch, and his name spilled from my lips in a breathless chant. He slowed his movements, coaxing me through it, his lips pressing gentle kisses to my skin.

When I finally came down, my chest heaving, I opened my eyes to find him watching me, his expression raw, reverent.

"My girl," he murmured again, his voice thick with emotion.

I reached for him, pulling him down until his forehead pressed against mine. "Azriel," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I'm ready."

His jaw tightened, eyes flicking over me once more but he nodded. His eyes didn't leave mine as he removed his pants and everything beneath it.

He hovered above me, his chest rising and falling with measured breaths as he shed the last of his clothing. My gaze followed the lines of his body, drinking in the powerful, carved planes of him. Shadows danced across his golden skin, softening the hard edges, but nothing could diminish the raw, unyielding strength that he carried.

"I've waited for this," he said finally, his voice hoarse. "For you."

Emotion swelled in my chest, tangling with the heat that still coursed through me. I placed my hand over his, pressing his palm more firmly against my face. "Then take me, Azriel. I'm yours."

Something broke in him then, the raw vulnerability in his gaze giving way to a feral hunger. He lowered himself onto his elbows, caging me beneath him. His wings flared slightly, a protective shroud as his forehead pressed to mine.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmured, his voice softening as his lips brushed mine. "I'll stop if you ask me to."

I nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. He kissed me then, slow and tender, as though sealing a promise.

When he positioned himself at my entrance, his gaze found mine again. His wings quivered as he asked one last, silent question. I answered by wrapping my legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

The first press of him was exquisite—a stretch that burned but didn't break. My breath hitched, and Azriel froze, his hand gripping my hip as though anchoring himself.

"You alright?" he asked, his voice strained.

"Yes," I said, my hands finding the base of his wings, the sensitive area so soft beneath my touch. I stroked gently, hoping to soothe the tension coiling in his body. "Keep going."

He nodded, his jaw clenched as he eased into me, inch by torturous inch. My body adjusted to him, the burn fading into a fullness that made my breath catch. Azriel buried his face in the crook of my neck, his breath hot against my skin.

"Gods," he groaned, his voice breaking. "So fuckin' good."

I tightened my hold on him, my fingers slipping into his hair as I whispered, "Please, more."

He sunk in further, and once I was certain I couldn't take anymore he pushed in another inch. I moaned into his shoulder, relishing the burn of it, the pleasurable pain that sent me spiraling. Deeper, so deep. I lost words as he finally bottomed out, his hips meeting mine.

Tears shone in my eyes but I didn't tell him to stop, didn't want him to. It took me a moment to adjust, to so much as catch my breath. He lifted one of my legs up, shadows tethering it there, allowing the foreign stretch to lessen.

"Okay," I say shakily. "Mm, you can move." I nod, placing my hands on his shoulders.

He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, telling me he was here if I wanted him to stop. Then, he began to move, slow and steady, his hips rolling in a rhythm that built a delicious friction between us. Each thrust was deliberate, controlled, as though he was determined to make me feel every moment of my very insides molding to him, fitting around him and only him.

The pain faded entirely, replaced by waves of pleasure that built with every movement. I moaned his name, my nails digging into his back as he drove deeper, his wings trembling on either side of us.

"Look at me," he rasped, lifting his head. His eyes burned, molten with desire and something deeper, something that made my heart ache. "I want to see you."

I met his gaze, unable to look away as he moved inside me, his name spilling from my lips like a prayer. The connection between us deepened, an unspoken bond that seemed to tighten with every thrust, every shared breath.

Azriel's hips maintained their slow, deliberate rhythm, each thrust sending a delicious ripple of heat through my body. His wings trembled above us, shadows curling and twisting around my raised leg, holding me in place. The stretch still burned faintly, but it was a sweet ache, one that was quickly drowned out by the mounting pleasure.

“You're so tight," Azriel groaned, his voice hoarse, breaking on the words. His hand came up to cradle my cheek, his thumb brushing over my lips. "So perfect for me."

I whimpered, my chest heaving as I struggled to keep my eyes locked on his. It was hard—gods, it was so hard when he was staring at me like that, his hazel gaze molten, filled with a hunger that set me ablaze.

"Az," I breathed, his name a plea I didn't fully understand myself.

"What do you need, love?" he rasped, lowering his forehead to mine. His breath mingled with mine, his lips brushing against my mouth but never pressing fully. "Tell me. I'll give you anything."

I couldn't find the words, so I arched into him, my nails dragging down his back, the feeling of his muscles tensing beneath my hands enough to make me shiver. He groaned low in his throat, his hips stuttering before he caught himself, slowing once again.

"Careful," he murmured, his lips ghosting over my jaw. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You're not," I managed, my voice trembling as his next thrust hit something deeper, sending a jolt of pleasure straight through me. I gasped, my fingers tightening in his hair.

Azriel's smirk was dark, dangerous. "There?"

I nodded, unable to do much more than whimper as he shifted his angle slightly, rolling his hips in a way that made my entire body arch off the mattress. The pleasure was overwhelming, a slow, torturous build that had me teetering on the edge without ever quite falling over. "Faster," I begged, needing him to abuse the spot.

He did as told, quickening his pace, learning what made me gasp, what made my nails bite into his skin. His shadows curled around me, their cool touch a stark contrast to the heat of our bodies. They skimmed my sides, my thighs, whispering over my skin like a lover's caress.

"So beautiful," Azriel murmured, his voice filled with reverence. He dipped his head, his lips brushing over my collarbone, then lower, until his mouth closed over my breast yet again.

I cried out, my back arching as his tongue flicked over my sensitive peak. He lavished attention on me, his hand coming up to knead the other breast, his thumb teasing the hardened peak.

"Azriel," I moaned, my hands roaming over his back, his shoulders, desperate to anchor myself as he continued his slow, torturous rhythm.

"Say it again," he demanded, his voice rough as he nipped at the delicate skin of my chest.

"Azriel," I whimpered, my voice breaking on his name.

He groaned, his hips snapping harder against mine. The sudden force sent a shockwave through me, pleasure and pain twining together until I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

"Good girl," he murmured, his lips trailing back up to my neck, finding that sensitive spot beneath my ear that made me shiver. "You take me so well."

I couldn't respond, couldn't think past the way he filled me, the way his body moved against mine. My free leg tightened around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer.

Azriel's pace quickened further, just slightly, enough to make my breath catch. His wings flared, the powerful appendages framing us, blocking out the world until there was nothing but him.

"Gods," he groaned, his voice breaking as he buried himself deeper, his hands gripping my hips so tightly I was sure there would be bruises. "You're going to ruin me, love."

I cupped his face, bringing his lips to mine in a searing kiss. He kissed me harder, his movements growing more desperate.

His pace grew more erratic, his hips snapping into mine with an urgency that sent waves of pleasure crashing through me. His ministrations worked me mercilessly, every thrust pushing me higher until I felt like I might break apart entirely.

"Azriel," I gasped, my voice trembling as my nails raked down his back, desperate to ground myself against the storm building inside me.

His lips brushed my ear, his breath hot and uneven. "Let go, love," he rasped. "I've got you."

His words were my undoing. The coil inside me snapped, and I shattered, my body arching off the bed as the pleasure tore through me. I cried out his name, gripping his shoulders as the waves rippled over me, again and again.

"Fuck," Azriel groaned, his thrusts faltering as my body clenched tightly around him. I felt him tremble above me, his restraint slipping with every broken sound that left his lips.

Through the haze of pleasure, I reached for his wings, running my fingers along the sensitive ridges where they flared above us. His reaction was immediate—a sharp intake of breath, his entire body shuddering.

"Gods," he ground out, his head dropping to my shoulder as I stroked the base of his wings, teasing the place I knew would unravel him completely. His hips snapped forward, deeper this time, and the broken groan that spilled from him sent another thrill through me.

"Az," I whispered, pulling him closer, my lips brushing his ear. "Inside.."

His head shot up, his molten gaze locking with mine as he searched my face. His jaw clenched, his restraint hanging by a thread as he rasped, "Are you sure?"

"Yes," I breathed, my fingers threading through his hair, pulling him down to me. "I want all of you, Azriel."

The last thread of his control snapped. With a low growl, he buried himself inside me to the hilt, his wings flaring wide as his release took him. His body tensed, a shuddering groan spilling from his lips as he gave me everything. I held him tightly, my hands stroking the base of his wings as he rode out his climax, his hips jerking with the aftershocks.

"Gods," he whispered hoarsely, his forehead pressing against mine as he struggled to catch his breath. "You're everything, love."

I smiled softly, brushing a strand of dark hair from his damp forehead. "And you're mine," I whispered, my voice steady despite the emotion swelling in my chest.

Azriel's lips found mine in a kiss so tender, so reverent, that it stole the breath from my lungs. He stayed inside me, his body pressed tightly to mine, as though he couldn't bear to let go just yet. And I didn't want him to.

Not now. Not ever.

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[mahalachives]

The Truth Serum Incident

pairing: azriel x fem!reader

summary: Mor, ever the troublemaker, accidentally spills a powerful truth serum into Azriel’s drink at a casual dinner with the Inner Circle. At first, it’s hilarious—Azriel openly admitting he once caught Cassian flexing in the mirror and cried laughing. But then, things get interesting when he starts blurting out the cheesiest, most romantic things about you.

genre: fluff, cute

Dinner at the River House had been normal—until Mor happened.

"You accidentally spilled it?" Feyre repeated, rubbing her temples as she glared at Mor, who looked suspiciously unbothered.

"It was one tiny drop," Mor said, swirling her wine.

"A drop of truth serum," Rhys deadpanned.

Cassian, meanwhile, was losing his entire will to live as he clutched the table, gasping for air. Because Azriel—broody, secretive, terrifying Shadowsinger Azriel—had just said, with the most serious expression:

"I once caught Cassian flexing in the mirror for four whole minutes, and I had to leave the room because I was laughing so hard I almost passed out."

Cassian choked. "YOU—YOU WHAT?!"

Azriel blinked, his face completely blank. "You made finger guns at yourself. Twice."

Cassian screamed. Nesta looked like she was about to frame this moment and hang it above their bed.

Rhys pinched the bridge of his nose. "Mor, exactly how strong was this serum?"

Mor grinned. "Oh, you know… regular strength."

"You are lying," Feyre accused.

And then—disaster.

Because Azriel, under the influence of the truth serum, turned his head.

To you.

His mate. His beloved. His greatest weakness.

And then—**in the deepest, most emotion-filled voice ever—**he said.

"I am so in love with you."

Silence.

Cassian choked on his drink. Mor slammed her hands on the table.

You?

You blacked out for a second.

"Az—" you started.

"You smell like summer and sugar and everything good in this world." His voice was deadly serious.

Cassian fell out of his chair. Nesta cackled like a damn witch.

"I—" You opened your mouth, panicking.

"Your hands," Azriel continued, completely lost to the serum, "are so perfect I could write odes about them."

Nesta wheezed.

Cassian, from the floor, screamed into the void. "Odes?! MOTHER ABOVE, THIS IS GOLD!"

"Mor," Rhys hissed, dragging his hands down his face. "Fix this. Now."

"Why would I fix this?" Mor said, grinning like a lunatic. "This is the best thing to ever happen to me."

Meanwhile, you were still struggling to breathe because Azriel—the most secretive male in existence—was looking at you like you were the stars themselves.

And then—your vision blurred.

Your head spun.

You gripped the table.

And in that moment, realization hit you like a drunk Illyrian at a tavern fight.

"Wait," you whispered. "I think I drank some too."

Rhys and Feyre's heads snapped toward you.

Cassian gasped. "Oh, this just got better."

And then—you felt it happen.

That horrifying pull of the serum forcing your deepest secrets out.

You tried to fight it.

You failed spectacularly.

"I sniff your leathers when you’re gone."

Silence.

PURE. DEAD. SILENCE.

Then—

Cassian detonated. He literally collapsed.

Mor was screaming. Rhys looked like he was debating whether to exile you from Velaris. Nesta was taking mental notes.

Azriel?

Azriel froze.

His hazel eyes blinked. His lips parted.

"You—" His voice was so soft. So utterly bewildered. "You do what?"

You slapped a hand over your mouth, mortified.

Nesta leaned forward, gleeful. "Oh, this is good."

But it was too late.

You couldn’t stop.

"I stole one of your shirts and hid it in my closet because it smelled like you."

Cassian WHEEZED.

Azriel, staring at you like you’d just told him he was High Lord, whispered, "Which one?"

And yet—you weren’t done.

The serum wouldn’t LET you be done.

"I—" You tried to fight it. You really did.

"I also—uh—kissed your pillow once."

Cassian SCREAMED SO LOUD that an actual plate fell off the table.

Nesta was wiping tears from her eyes. Mor was face down, dying.

Azriel, watching you combust in real time, slowly smirked.

SMIRKED.

It was over for you.

"You like my scent that much?" he murmured, voice pure sin.

"I—"

The serum refused to let you live.

"YES," you blurted. "IT’S NOT MY FAULT YOU SMELL LIKE NIGHT AND SAFETY AND—"

You slapped both hands over your mouth.

Cassian, on the floor, WHEEZED.

Azriel, grinning like he’d won a war, tilted his head. "Huh."

You prayed for the Cauldron to take you.

Rhys, waving his hands wildly, stood up. "Alright, that’s it! Dinner’s over!"

Cassian rolled on the floor. "No, wait—this is the best night of my life—"

Azriel, smug as hell, leaned in.

"So…" he whispered, right in your ear.

"Which shirt did you steal?"

You made an undignified noise and YEETED YOURSELF OUT OF THE ROOM.

Cassian?

Absolutely lost it.

Mor?

Tears. Actual tears.

Nesta?

Taking notes for future blackmail.

Azriel?

Azriel just sat back, looking insufferably pleased, and took another sip of his wine.

And somewhere in the distance, you could already hear Cassian yelling, "I NEED A POEM ABOUT THE HANDS! GIVE ME THE HAND ODES!"

MORAL OF THE STORY: NEVER. TRUST. MOR.

[ladylokilaufeyson5]

Rhys: You look gorgeous, Y/n

Y/n: You're not even looking at me

Rhys: I know, but Azriel's heart just started beating faster

Azriel:

Y/n:

Azriel: Fuck you

[dumb-ster-fire]

Azriel x fem!reader - Just a dress

Summary: While shopping with Mor, Y/N is asked to model a beautiful wedding dress for a bridal shop in need of a last-minute replacement. She agrees, enjoying the fun of it—until Azriel, her mate, sees her. His shadows tighten, his gaze dark and intense. It’s just a dress… so why does it feel like something deeper?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N glanced at Mor, who was already grinning like she had won the lottery. “Oh, you have to do it,” Mor urged, practically bouncing on her heels.

The shop attendant clasped her hands together. “It’s a simple favor—just try on the dress, walk around a little, and in return, we’ll compensate you.” Her gaze swept over Y/N’s tall, elegant frame. “You’re perfect for it.”

Y/N tilted her head, considering. It did sound fun. And it wasn’t every day she got to play dress-up in a gown fit for royalty.

“Alright,” she said with a smirk. “Let’s do it.”

The attendant beamed and led them inside, where Y/N was soon whisked into a dressing room. The gown was decadent—intricate embroidery shimmering in the light, a full, sweeping skirt, and delicate lace detailing. When they placed the diadem on her head and finished her makeup, she barely recognized herself in the mirror. She looked… ethereal. Regal.

Mor’s gasp as she stepped out confirmed it. “Holy shit, Y/N.” Her eyes widened with something between awe and mischief. “Azriel is going to pass out when he sees you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the little flutter in her stomach at the thought.

She had agreed to walk around the boutique and outside for a bit, letting potential customers see the dress in motion. And of course, Mor was already plotting.

Y/N smirked. “Just don’t let Az see it.”

Mor’s wicked grin only widened. “Oh, no promises.”

Y/N gracefully walked alongside the shop representative as they guided her to the designated path where she’d be showcasing the dress. The streets of Velaris, always lively, now had curious onlookers pausing in their steps as she passed. Some whispered, some openly admired, and more than a few stopped in their tracks entirely.

Mor strolled beside her, looking far too pleased with herself, hands clasped behind her back like she was completely innocent.

Unbeknownst to Y/N, she had already reached out to Rhys through their mind link.

You need to get your asses down here. Now.

Rhys’s response was immediate. What did you do?

Mor barely contained her excitement as she side-eyed Y/N, who was completely unaware of the unfolding scheme. Not what I did. What Y/N did. She’s walking through Velaris in a wedding dress.

There was a moment of stunned silence before multiple voices chimed in at once.

Cassian: YOU’RE JOKING. WE’RE ON OUR WAY.

Rhysand: This I have to see.

Amren: Hah. Poor Azriel.

Azriel: …What?

Mor grinned but kept her expression neutral as she turned to Y/N, who was still elegantly making her way through the street, oblivious to the storm about to descend.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

Y/N, completely unaware of the chaos she’d just unleashed, continued walking with effortless grace, the luxurious wedding gown flowing around her like stardust. The diadem atop her head caught the light, making her look every bit the ethereal, untouchable bride. People on the street kept stopping to watch, whispering amongst themselves. Some even clapped in admiration.

Mor, biting her lip to keep from outright laughing, linked arms with her as they neared the end of the walk. “You know, you look obscenely good in that dress.”

Y/N smirked. “Of course I do.” Then, with mock seriousness, “It’s a shame no one I know is here to see it.”

Mor nearly snorted. If only Y/N knew.

Because right at that moment, Cassian, Rhys, Amren, and—most importantly—Azriel appeared at the edge of the street, blending into the crowd.

Rhys, hands in his pockets, took one look at Y/N and let out a low whistle. Damn.

Cassian, on the other hand, was losing his mind. “OH. MY. GODS.” He practically bounced on his feet. “I knew this was gonna be good, but this—this is better than I ever could have imagined.”

Amren crossed her arms, eyes flicking between Azriel and Y/N with amusement. “He’s going to combust.”

And Azriel—Azriel was frozen.

The moment his eyes landed on Y/N, everything else blurred into insignificance. The gown, the diadem, the way she moved with such natural confidence—it was lethal. She was breathtaking on any given day, but like this? Like this?

It took everything in him to school his expression, to keep himself from storming over, yanking her against him, and demanding when exactly she was planning to tell him she looked like that in a wedding dress.

Mor, watching all of this unfold, casually said through the mind link, Enjoying the view, Az?

His shadows curled tighter around him. You knew about this.

Obviously.

Cassian, watching Azriel’s battle for control, leaned over and whispered, “So, when’s the wedding?”

Azriel shot him a look so sharp it could have gutted a man. Cassian only grinned wider.

And then—Y/N finally noticed them.

Y/N, still blissfully unaware, turned her head slightly, about to make some offhand comment to Mor—when she spotted them.

Her steps faltered for a split second as her pale green eyes locked onto the group of familiar faces. And then—she saw him.

Azriel stood slightly apart from the others, his wings half-flared, shadows coiling around him in a way that told her everything. His expression was unreadable, but the intensity in his hazel eyes burned hotter than the sun.

“Oh, fuck,” Y/N muttered under her breath.

Mor cackled.

Cassian was barely holding in his laughter, whispering something to Rhys, who was just standing there, smug as all hell. Amren, as usual, looked more entertained than anything.

And Azriel?

He stalked toward her.

Y/N straightened automatically, an instinctive reaction to the sheer force of his gaze. As he closed the distance, she could practically feel the possessiveness rolling off him in waves, feel the weight of it in the way his jaw clenched, in the way his shadows swirled around his boots like they, too, were ready to drag her close and never let go.

She tilted her head, offering a smirk despite the sudden racing of her heart. “Well, hello there, shadowsinger.”

Azriel stopped right in front of her, his gaze sweeping over everything—the gown, the diadem, the way the silk hugged her curves just right.

“You didn’t think to mention this?” His voice was low, edged with something dark, something claiming.

Y/N’s smirk widened. “I didn’t think I needed to.”

Azriel let out a slow breath, his wings twitching slightly before he reached out, fingers brushing along the delicate embroidery on her sleeve. His touch was light, reverent—dangerous.

“This,” he murmured, eyes flicking up to hers, “is unfair.”

Y/N hummed, enjoying the heat in his gaze far too much. “Oh? Why’s that?”

Azriel’s lips parted like he was about to answer, but Cassian—because of course he did—ruined the moment.

“So,” the general called, grinning like a madman, “should we just start planning the wedding now or—”

Y/N turned sharply. “Cassian.”

Cassian held up his hands. “I’m just saying! You’re already in the dress—”

“I will fight you.”

“I’d like to see you try in that gown.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, you absolute menace—”

But before she could launch herself at him—before she could even move—Azriel’s hand curled around her wrist, tugging her back toward him, his chest brushing against hers.

“You do look stunning,” he murmured, quiet enough that only she could hear.

Y/N blinked up at him, momentarily thrown off by the softness in his voice, by the intensity in his eyes.

Her breath hitched.

For once, she didn’t have a clever response.

Azriel’s fingers skimmed up her arm, a featherlight touch that sent a shiver through her. His eyes were still locked onto hers, intense, unreadable, drinking her in like she was something rare, something his.

Y/N swallowed. “You—” She cleared her throat, grasping for something smug to say, something to lighten the heat pooling in her stomach. “You keep looking at me like that, and I might think you’re planning something.”

Azriel’s lips barely twitched, his only response a slow, deliberate glance down the length of her. “I’m definitely planning something.”

Mother above.

Mor, meanwhile, was enjoying this way too much. “I have never seen you look so—” she wiggled her fingers dramatically in Azriel’s direction “—feral.”

Azriel didn’t even acknowledge her.

Rhys was still grinning, arms crossed, looking like he was storing this entire moment away for blackmail later. “I have to say, I didn’t expect this today.”

Y/N scoffed. “Neither did I, to be fair.” She gestured to the decadent gown. “It was supposed to be fun, not—” She flicked her eyes back to Azriel, whose expression hadn’t softened in the slightest. “—whatever this is.”

“This,” Azriel echoed, voice quieter now, though no less intense.

Y/N arched a brow. “You don’t like it?”

Azriel huffed a breath, stepping even closer, until she could feel his warmth, until his wings partially wrapped behind her like he was shielding her from everyone. His fingers skimmed the side of her waist, grazing the delicate fabric.

“I love it,” he admitted, so quiet only she could hear. “And I hate that everyone else can see you in it.”

Oh.

Y/N’s breath caught.

Azriel’s lips tilted up slightly. “You knew this would drive me insane.”

She grinned, regaining some of her composure. “Did I?”

His fingers flexed on her waist. “You did.”

Cassian clapped his hands. “Alright, lovebirds, before you two start making out in the middle of the street—”

Y/N threw him a glare, but he only smirked.

Amren, ever the voice of reason, just sighed. “Can we go now?”

Y/N huffed, shooting one last glance at Azriel before stepping back. He let her go—reluctantly—but his shadows still curled around her ankle as if refusing to let her slip too far away.

She smirked. “If you behave, shadowsinger, maybe I’ll wear this just for you later.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened.

Cassian whistled.

Mor lost it.

And as Y/N strode past them, chin held high, she could feel Azriel’s eyes still burning into her, still tracking her every movement, still plotting ways to make her pay for this little tease.

Maybe I should keep the dress.

Y/N felt the weight of Azriel’s gaze long after she had passed him, heat crawling up her spine as she tried—tried—to keep her composure. The gown, the diadem, the makeup… it was all just supposed to be fun, something ridiculous and lighthearted. But now?

Now she was very aware of the fact that she had just paraded down the street looking like a bride, while her mate—her dangerously possessive mate—stood there looking like he was barely restraining himself from throwing her over his shoulder and flying them straight home.

Mor, still at her side, was cackling. “You’re evil for that.”

Y/N grinned. “I know.”

Cassian strolled up beside them, shaking his head. “You do realize you just gave him about a hundred new fantasies, right?”

Y/N snorted. “As if he didn’t already have them.”

Mor hummed. “True, but now? Now it’s personal.”

A shiver trailed down her spine, but before she could hink too much about it, the bridal shop representative rushed over, delighted by all the attention Y/N had drawn. “Oh, this was perfect!” The woman beamed. “You looked exquisite—so poised, so regal. And your mate—Mother above, his reaction was exactly the kind of passion we want associated with our dresses.”

Y/N barely held in a laugh. If only they knew.

The woman clapped her hands. “Would you consider modeling for us again in the future?”

Mor lost it, clutching her stomach as she doubled over in laughter.

Y/N smirked. “I’ll… think about it.”

She could feel Azriel’s shadows still lingering near her, like they refused to let her out of their sight. Good. Let him suffer a bit.

Still, as she walked back to the shop to change, she sent a whisper through the bond.

Did you enjoy the show, shadowsinger?

A pause. Then, a voice like a dark promise.

You’ll pay for that, starlight.

Y/N’s stomach flipped.

Maybe she would keep the dress.

Y/N grinned wickedly as she stepped back into the bridal shop, Mor still laughing beside her. The moment the door shut behind them, she pressed a hand to her chest, her heart hammering as Azriel’s words lingered in her mind. You’ll pay for that, starlight.

Oh, she knew that tone.

And she absolutely planned to drag it out for as long as possible.

“Did you see his face?” Mor wheezed, wiping at her eyes. “Y/N, I swear to the Mother, I have never seen him like that before. He looked like he was this close to starting a public riot.”

Y/N smirked. “I was hoping for a reaction.” She turned, admiring herself in the massive mirror. “Didn’t expect to look this good, though.”

The gown was decadent—pure white with intricate silver embroidery that shimmered under the light. It clung to her curves, cascading in elegant folds, and the diadem in her long hair only added to the illusion of royalty. She looked like she belonged in an ancient, otherworldly court, a queen stepping out of legend.

And Azriel had seen it.

Y/N felt the heat of his gaze even now, the intensity that had burned through the crowd. Her smirk deepened.

Mor nudged her. “You have to keep this dress. I mean, come on. You look like some celestial queen.”

Y/N hummed. “You just want to see Azriel suffer more.”

“Absolutely.” Mor grinned. “And so do you.”

She didn’t even bother denying it.

After a few more minutes, Y/N reluctantly stepped back into the dressing room to change. The moment she pulled the heavy gown off, she exhaled, shaking her head at herself. She had just been playing along with the whole thing, but now, a deeper thought crept in.

Marriage.

She and Azriel hadn’t talked about it, not really. But standing out there, with the entire Inner Circle watching, with him watching, the thought had settled in a way it hadn’t before.

Would she marry him?

The answer struck her as effortlessly as breathing. Of course. She was his, just as he was hers. There was no question about it.

But still, the idea of it—the reality of a ceremony, of wearing a dress like this with intention—sent an unfamiliar feeling curling in her chest.

Excitement.

A little bit of fear.

And a lot of amusement, because she knew Azriel was still reeling.

By the time she stepped out in her normal clothes again, Mor had already sent another message through the bond link. Y/N raised a brow.

Mor just winked. “You’ll see.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but when they finally stepped out of the shop, she did see.

Or rather—she felt it.

Azriel.

Leaning against the wall just outside, shadows curling around his frame, golden skin taut with restrained tension. His hazel eyes—burning—traced over her, head to toe, like he was still seeing her in that gown.

Y/N’s breath caught, but she smirked. “Came to pick me up, shadowsinger?”

His voice was dark silk. “Had to make sure you weren’t planning to run off and get married without me.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, stepping close, just enough to taunt him with her presence. “Now, where’s the fun in that?”

Azriel’s eyes flickered with something dangerous. He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear as he murmured,

“You will pay for that, starlight.”

Y/N’s stomach flipped. Again.

Mor stifled a laugh behind them.

Y/N just tilted her chin up, meeting his smoldering gaze with a challenge. “Looking forward to it.”

[prythianpages]

A Light That Never Goes Out | Azriel

Azriel x Rhysand's sister (reader) | The aftermath of Azriel kissing you in front of everyone in the Court of Nightmares.

warnings: angry Rhys, angry High Lord, brief mention of Tamsand, mating bond snapping

word count: roughly 3K, around 3.5K if you read the bonus scene

a/n: This is a part two to this but can be read as a stand alone. I had fun writing this but I worry this sounded better in my head. I was tempted to turn this into a crack fic bc of this trending tiktok sound.

Azriel kisses you, consequences be damned. His hand slides from yours to the nape of your neck, drawing you closer. You kiss him back with the same intensity, years of longing and love pouring into this single moment. Your mind and thoughts tangling with his, the bond between you surging with emotion. Desire and hope. He’s still in disbelief that tonight was the first night he told you he loved you.

But in truth, Azriel had been telling you all along—in every glance, every touch, every kiss that held more than words ever could.

Azriel’s shadows recoil as the two of you pull apart, breathless. The Court of Nightmares had faded away, the two of you lost in each other. It’s just you and him, as it is meant to be…Until the distinctive footsteps of your father approaching echoes throughout the ballroom. Your eyes are wide, too many emotions swirling within their depths. 

But Azriel is relieved that regret is not one of them.

“Azriel.”

The High Lord’s voice is calm and collected but the fury flickering in his violet eyes is unmistakable. He stands no more than two feet away, the authority radiating from him as cold as it is absolute. Beside him, Rhysand watches, his expression unreadable. 

Your father lifts a hand, wisps of darkness and starlight spilling from his fingertips. The orchestra resumes under the silent command and driven by some invisible force, the guests resume dancing and drinking. As if nothing had happened. 

“Come with me,” your father says, his tone leaving no room for argument. His command is directed solely at Azriel. “I’d like to have a word.”

 You try to hold on to Azriel, to keep him close, but he slips his fingers from yours, bowing his head in quiet submission to your father. Without another word, he follows after him. And though his command had been directed solely at Azriel, the weight of the situation falls on the both of you. 

So you step forward, determined to follow after them. But just as you step outside the ballroom, Rhysand grasps your arm, forcing you to a stop.

“You stupid, foolish…,” his voice trails off in frustration. “What have you done?”

You spin on him, eyes flashing with anger as you yank your arm out of his hold. “What have I done? What about what have you done? Planning marriage alliances behind my back? Like I’m some pawn on your chessboard?”

Rhysand’s gaze softens for a brief moment. “Y/n, I–”

“No.” You interrupt sharply, starlight beginning to swirl from the fingertip you point at him. You don’t want to hear his excuse, whatever justification he thinks will make this right. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Cassian and Mor making their way toward you, slipping through the dancing couples and out of the ballroom. 

The starlight seeping from your fingertip glows brighter, ready and poised to attack. However, it’s your words you speak into his mind that make the blow instead.

“You know, if you love that runt from Spring so much, why don’t you marry him yourself?”

Rhysand’s eyes widen, his brows furrowing as the meaning of your words hit him. The revelation that you know his secret. Where he’d sneak off to some nights. Why the scent of crisp rain and earth lingered on him when he’d return. You and Azriel had pieced it together after Cassian had mentioned that his book on Illyrian training and methods suddenly went missing. Given your secret, you and Azriel had kept that information to yourselves, waiting for the moment Rhysand would feel comfortable to tell you himself. 

It takes him a moment to regain his composure, for his gaze to harden again. His lips curl into a snarl–a warning.  “Y/n.”

He leans in forward but you take a step back and winnow away, only one thing on your mind. Finding Azriel.

**

The walk to the High Lord’s private office in the Court of Nightmares is silent but the sense of foreboding is nearly deafening. Azriel is tense, his shadows quiet and burrowing into his leathers. Too many possibilities and consequences storm through his mind, each one more damning than the last.

Does he regret kissing you in front of everyone? No.

That kiss was the first honest, uninhibited thing he’d allowed himself to do in years. It was freeing, exhilarating to be able to show everyone, especially the sons of Spring and Autumn that you were his and he was yours. He could face death for this—for touching the High Lord’s daughter. For kissing you so openly, so brazenly, in front of the entire court.

But why? Why should it be so wrong for him to love you? Because of his birth? The scars of his past that marked him as unworthy? He’s served loyally. Bled for this court.Tortured for this court. 

He’s watched from the shadows as lords and sons, full of false charm, have circled you like vultures, eyeing you as nothing more than a prize to be claimed.  And yet, when he—who knows you, who cherishes you—shows his love, it is considered a crime.

It isn’t fair. But Azriel has never been afforded fairness. 

The heavy doors to the High Lord's office swing open with a wave of his hand, and Azriel steps inside. The air is thick with tension, and every muscle in his body tightens. The High Lord gestures for him to sit, but Azriel bows his head, respectfully declining. Standing feels safer. Less vulnerable. He wonders if his refusal will anger the High Lord further, but the single shadow curling at his ear reports no rising fury.

He can feel the weight of the High Lord’s gaze—it’s heavy, scrutinizing, like the cold press of a blade against his skin. He keeps his eyes forward, even though his heart pounds in his chest. If there’s punishment to be had, Azriel will accept it.

The High Lord moves to his desk, positioned beneath an oculus, where moonlight spills through and dances across his features. He gazes up at the starlit sky as if searching for answers—or perhaps, waiting.

“Normally, this is the part where people like you should be begging for forgiveness, for a way to rectify your mistake.”

Azriel’s jaw tightens. “I haven’t made a mistake.”

“No?” The High Lord’s gaze snaps back to him, piercing as if he could peel away Azriel’s very skin to lay bare his soul. Azriel wonders, for a brief moment, if your daemati powers had been inherited from your father. Could the High Lord see into his mind, his thoughts? Have kept this power to himself all these years as a secret weapon? 

“You sound so sure of yourself,” the High Lord continues, his tone sharpening. “Tell me, how long has this... affair been going on?”

“For decades.” Azriel admits, knowing that there was no use in lying. The truth was already written in the way he kissed you, in the way he looked at you as you broke away from the kiss.

“For decades?” The High Lord repeats, his expression darkening, violet eyes narrowing. “You took my daughter’s first dance tonight of all nights.”

Azriel’s silence says everything. Both of them aware that Azriel had taken more than dances, more than a kiss.

“You’ve taken her innocence. You’ve ruined her…” The High Lord continues to seethe in that cool, unnerving tone.

Azriel’s fingers twitch at his sides, fighting the urge to reach for his dagger. Not to defend himself, but because it’s his only comfort in moments like these.

But this is not a battle to be fought with daggers or swords. This is a battle of love, of politics, of status. One he’s had no training for yet one he’s willing to fight. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d fight against all odds.

“Whether she marries Spring or Autumn, she will become a lady of the highest esteem and forge a strong alliance with my court. Laden with all the riches and wonders only a High Lord can offer. What can you offer? You don’t even have a proper last name to give her, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel swallows thickly, the weight and shame of his low-born status crashing into him like the violent current of Illyria’s river. It feels like he’s sinking under it, drowning in it. He knows he can’t offer you what any son of Spring or Autumn could. He had reminded you of that—again and again. 

It’s as if you can feel his doubts creeping back in, the poison of guilt and worthlessness seeping in. Your presence—soft, warm, and steady—enters his mind. You bring forth the memory you had shared with him moments ago on the dance floor again.

“I can’t give you much,” his voice had dropped to a whisper, barely a rasp as he leaned his forehead against yours. His nose brushed against yours, his lips hovering just over your own. “But I can give you everything I have.”

“That’s all I’ll ever need,” you had replied, the words echoing now in his mind, like an antidote to the venom of doubt. That’s all I’ll ever need, that’s all I’ll ever need, that’s all—

“I asked you a question, Azriel.” The High Lord’s sharp voice cut through the memory, yanking him back to the cold, oppressive reality of the Court of Nightmares. “What can you offer in exchange for my daughter?”

Azriel’s knees buckle beneath him before he even realizes it. He drops to the floor, bowing his head low. His shadows stir, swirling around him in a frenzy, urging him to stand. To stop him.

“My life.”

“Your life,” The High Lord muses. He lets out a dark, humorless chuckle. “You love my daughter enough to give your life for her?”

“Yes,” Azriel says, his voice firm and steady, even as his shadows coil tighter around his arms, trying to pull him back from this path. But he stays rooted to the floor. His life, his soul—it all belongs to you anyway. What was it worth, if not to protect you? To be yours?

The High Lord’s eyes narrow as he studies the swirling shadows, dark and restless, wrapping themselves around Azriel’s form. Shadowsingers are rare. Their power is precious. They can see and hear things others can’t. The only known living one kneels before him now. 

Despite his low born status, the Shadowsinger had also proved himself a formidable, Illyrian warrior. A Carynthian. It’s why he appointed Azriel as the Night Court’s spymaster.  

And now this powerful and strong male is offering his life.

To have a Shadowsinger as his spymaster is rare, a gift in itself. To have Azriel’s loyalty, his strength, his skills bound by magic for life. A weapon of mass destruction, at his beck and call. No room for betrayal, no worry over him leaving his court for another.

 All in exchange for your hand in marriage? 

Now, that sounds like a deal.

He lets out a thoughtful hum, voicing his consideration. He could give Azriel a title, raise him from his bastard status. At his will, darkness begins to rise from the floor. The power of the bargain hovers in the air between them, ready to etch itself into both their skins. 

 Azriel finally lifts his head, meeting the High Lord’s eyes with no fear. Only the light of determination. He is willing to give his life to your father if that’s what it takes to be by your side. 

The cloud of darkness begins to separate, its dark tendrils moving toward him, the binding magic poised to seal his fate, to chain him to this bargain for the rest of his life.

But before it can touch his skin, before the deal can be made, a bright light erupts in the room. A sharp hiss escapes the darkness as it recoils, retreating back into the shadows where it had come from. Azriel’s own shadows seem to shudder in relief.

Both Azriel and the High Lord’s heads snap toward the source of the light. You stand at the doors, your eyes wide and brimming with unshed tears, your hands glowing with pure, raging starlight.

“No!” you cry, the word trembling on your lips as you step forward, the glow around you growing even brighter. 

Your eyes lock with Azriel’s and something tightens in his chest, crawling up his rib cage. It’s sharp and breathtaking. His hand grabs at his chest and yours does the same. 

”He will not be your slave,” you say, turning to your father with the same determination flashing in your eyes. “There has to be another way.”

The High Lord’s features morph into a scowl. “Another way? My star, he is a bastard—”

“I love him!” 

That tightening in his chest finally snaps and Azriel’s breath catches. He feels that light in your eyes, perfectly reflecting the one in his. It sears into his soul, as fierce and unrelenting as the starlight glowing from your hands.

Your father doesn’t notice the shift in the air, the change in Azriel’s posture, in his chest. Or in yours.

“You think that means anything?” 

Azriel’s shadows whisper a warning into his ears, of an oncoming raging darkness. Different but similar to the High Lord’s. He barely hears his shadows, too focused on you, on the bond thrumming between you. His mind is consumed with you. 

Mate. Mate. Mate.

“You and mother—” you begin.

“Do you think your mother and I love each other?” The High Lord interrupts sharply, his voice cold and cutting. He breaks out into a laugh.

Azriel snaps out of his trance. Anger flares within him at the shock, the devastation that takes over your features. He watches as you shrink back slightly, his instincts roaring to protect you from any harm, whether verbal or otherwise. 

Because he’s your mate. Because he loves you.

 “You think I would marry your mother, a low born seamstress by choice? What your mother and I have is different. It’s complicated. A special bond.  One that gave me Rhysand and you and–”

A sound like thunder crashes through the room, reverberating off the stone walls as darkness swells in every corner. One moment, Azriel is on his knees. The next, he’s slamming into the cold marble floor, the force of Rhysand’s power pinning him down. Tendrils of Rhysand’s darkness coil around Azriel’s form, fighting with the shadows that instinctively rise to defend him.

“How long?” Rhysand's violet eyes blaze as they burn into Azriel.

“And I am beginning to think you both are nuisances to my existence rather than gifts...” The High Lord mutters followed by an exhausted sigh.

“How long have you been fucking my sister?” His words are a snarl as he slams Azriel harder into the floor, advancing toward him with clenched fists.

“Rhysand!” You let out a cry, rushing to the two males to separate them.

Your brother whips around, his anger igniting into something fiercer at the sight of you. “Stay out of this!” he snaps, his hand raising. He’s too angry, too heated. So much that he doesn't even notice the force of darkness he aims your way.

Rhysand’s magic hits you hard, knocking the breath from your lungs. A choked gasp escapes as you stumble backward, struggling to keep your footing. A burst of bright sapphire explodes from each of Azriel’s siphons, a deep and low growl rumbling from his chest. He breaks free from Rhysand’s magic, standing to his feet. His wings flare behind him, shadows swirling like a storm.

The look in his hazel eyes is nothing short of feral, dark and ancient, a fierce and possessive glint that makes Rhysand falter and surprise flash across the High Lord’s features.

You fall to the ground with a thud, palms scraping against the stone and pain flaring in your hands. Rhysand turns toward you, the anger that had been simmering in his violet gaze immediately dissolving into guilt and regret. “Y/n, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t touch her.” Azriel growls, standing in between you and your brother, his shadows forming in an additional protective barrier. Some shadows flutter toward you, helping you stand and bringing you to Azriel’s side. Your hand instinctively seeks Azriel’s, fingers curling into his and you squeeze it, letting him know you’re alright. 

“By the Cauldron…” the High Lord’s voice comes out in a low murmur, his gaze darting between you and Azriel. His eyes narrow as he finally notices the subtle shift in the air, in your scents. The scent of a bond. 

“You two are mates,” he says, tone laced with resignation. Because even he, a High Lord, is not above going against The Cauldron.

It feels like a punch to the gut for Rhysand. His best friend and his sister. Fate’s inevitable design had been right under his nose all along. “What?” Rhysand breathes in shock, chest still heaving from the exertion of his magic.

Azriel’s hand tightens around yours. His gaze softens as he turns to you, the fierce protectiveness from earlier easing into something gentler. And when your eyes meet again, it’s there—the unmistakable light of the mating bond. It shines bright and steady between you. Just like your love for each other does.

 A light that never goes out.

bonus scene

Once the shock of the bond had worn off, the High Lord excused himself, muttering about damage control. “Spring will be the hardest to deal with,” he had said.

Rhysand’s body tensed as his eyes found yours. But you’d only given him a small, reassuring smile. Though it is something you would like to talk about, his secret would remain safe with you.

Your father would soon announce the bond to the Court of Nightmares, already making plans for a grand mating ceremony. You’d much rather have something private, intimate. But a public celebration seemed like a small price to pay for the lifetime you’d get to spend beside the male you loved.

Rhysand turned his gaze back to Azriel, his expression still unreadable. “You never answered my question,” he said, voice calm but edged with something darker. “How long?”

Azriel hesitated before answering, unlike the way he had with the High Lord. This was his best friend standing in front of him. The one he grew up and trained along with, survived the brutality of the Blood Rite with. Rhysand was like a brother to him and he went behind his back for years.

 “A decade.”

“A decade?” Rhysand blinks in surprise. 

A whole decade of secrecy. Of Azriel sneaking around with his little sister. It all made sense now. Why Azriel became more reserved, more private. Why Azriel no longer indulged himself with the pleasures of the females at Rita’s or the Illyrian camps like he and Cassian did. Why you spent more time at the Moonstone palace, instead of the House of Wind, where you had grown up and been raised by a handful of Priestesses. It hadn’t been to learn about the politics of the courts but to be closer to Azriel.

And then, with no warning, Rhysand swings.

The hit lands squarely on Azriel’s jaw, so swift and unexpected that neither you nor Azriel’s shadows had seen it coming. Azriel takes the blow without protest, silently commanding his shadows to stand their ground and not fight back. 

“Rhys!” you snapped, your brows furrowing into a scowl. 

Rhysand huffs, shaking out his hand from the impact. “That’s for going behind my back,” he says. He pauses for a second and then, he lets out a low chuckle. Full of disbelief and relief.

“I’m still angry at both of you,” Rhysand admits, and Azriel lowers his head, bracing for more. “Not because it’s you—though I’ll admit, seeing you together is... strange. But because you kept it from me for so long, putting both of your lives at risk.”

Then Rhysand’s voice softens, his gaze following. “But I’m glad it’s you.”

Azriel lifts his head back up in surprise as Rhysand holds out his hand.

 “You’re a good male, Azriel. Better than most. And I know you’ll protect her. Love her in a way no one else can.”

Azriel stares at Rhysand’s outstretched hand before finally clasping it, the tension between them easing. Your chest warms at your brother’s sincerity.

The sound of footsteps, heavy and hurried, echo through the stone walls. They grow louder with each passing second and moments later, Cassian and Mor appear at the entrance of your father’s study. Cassian braces himself against the doorframe and Mor leans on him, their chests rising and falling rapidly.

It’s clear they’re winded from the endless stairs they must’ve taken to reach the floor of your father’s private study. It was located between the Court of Nightmares and Moonstone Palace, warded so that only those of his bloodline could winnow directly inside.

Their eyes dart between the three of you. 

“What did we miss?”

a/n: hope you enjoyed! here’s a little HC (idk what to call it?) of Rhys’s sis & Az if you’re curious 💙

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

fic tag: @noisyinfluencerstrawberry, @tothestarsandwhateverend, @tulipbite, @kylaisra, @stressed-reader

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Could you write Rhys x ambivert reader? In case you don’t know what that is, it just means a person who has a personality with both extrovert and introvert features.

Ambivert

I think this would just mean you and Rhys are practically the same. Because as much as our beloved high lord is extraverted, he too enjoys his time away from everyone.

This would come down to Rhys learning your social battery capacity. He knows you enjoy a good night out. Drinking and dancing with your friends and family. Singing with Cassian and laughing so hard your eyes sting. But he equally as much knows that there are days where any, even the smallest interaction, makes you feel like your brain might explode.

So Rhys is always up for whatever you may come up with. You stroll into his office, saying, "Cass said he can be the last man standing if we go out to drink aged fairy wine. Want to prove him wrong?" And Rhys is snickering because, of course, it's you who's trying to call out Cass on his bullshit. "You think you can beat him, darling?", he would purr, making your eye grow wide, "You didn't just side with your brother..." Rhys laughed slightly, raising to his feet so he could step closer to you, "I'm always on your side, my sweet sweet girl".

He still ends up carrying you home while you're dead drunk. Muttering over how Cassian is a cheater and how Rhys should never trust him with his secrets because if that man found out about your secret snack stash. Oh, you all would be doomed.

But then there are days where you are curdled on the little sofa in Rhys's office. Your maté's presence is the only thing your overstimulated head can handle. You hear a light knock on the door. Instantly moving to cover your head with a blanket. If you can't see them, they can't see you, right?

Rhys watches you shrink into your safe cocoon. Before he mutters a quick, "Come in". It's Azriel, who is quick to read the room. His shadows twirl to try to look beneath the blanket but he pulls them back. "Wrong timing?", the spymaster asks. Rhys just smiles softly, making Azriel nod, "Well, the rest of us are going to Rita's. Thought I would ask", his voice is low and calm. You think about popping up from beneath the blanket but you just can't pull enough strength to do so. "We appreciate the offer", the velvet sound of Rhys's voice fills the air, "But we'll decline this time. I think it's more a tea and biscuits in bed kind of night". Azriel chuckles lightly. You push your hand out to show them both a thumbs up.

"Right... well you two enjoy it", Azriel says before leaving the room. The silence falls upon the room once more. That's until you feel a light tapping of fingers on your shoulder. You push the blanket down your face slightly, only to be met with loving velvet eyes. "Long time no see, darling", Rhys says softly, tilting his head slightly. "How about I carry you to bed?", he asks, "What about work?", you ask quietly. Rhys just shrugs his shoulders, "Can wait till morning. Especially when all I can think about is tea and cookies now".

[bluetimeombre]

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ And I wouldn't marry me, either.

You were Azriel's mate, but it took losing you three times for him to realise.

[this is long. i'm talking 5k words long so i've split it into two parts. anyway, azriel is the best bat boy and no i won't hear anyone out. i'm so excited to write for him and hope you enjoy. it's very angsty but that's what i love. i hope i can write more for him and maybe other characters if you like. it's been a while since i've actually read the series so if any information is wrong, do let me know. also it was my first time using the term y/n and yes, i cringed NOT PROOF READ... enjoy]

warnings: references to sexual assault and references to suicide. nothing explicit but please don't read if this is sensitive to you.

Part 2 soon…

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The first, was the worst...

You were Rhys's half sister, the bastard daughter of his father. But when your mother had died giving birth to you, Rhysand's mother took you in and raised you with your brother and sister. You were so little and adorable that your sister loved you at once. Rhys did to, at some point of your life, you were sure he actually cared about you.

But when his mother and sister had died, his eyes shifted, he started to look at you with contempt. After all, you were only his half-sister. The worst half. He only kept you around because it's what his mother would have wanted.

And because there was no way Cassian and Azriel would ever let anything happen to you.

Besides, Rhysand knew when to use you.

Although Azriel was his spymaster, you were pretty good at staying swift-footed too. And you were frankly, very terrifying when you wanted to be.

You tread with power through the war camps, all of them looking at you as you went. All of their gazes wrecked with a predatory gaze. They either wanted to have their way with you, or kill you. Or both.

Rhys had said you could handle it, it was only supposed to be a check in. Cassian hadn't liked it, neither had Mor but it was Azriel who had almost- and for the first time- disobeyed his high lord to accompany you. But no, your brother wanted you to do this alone, so alone you would.

Just to show him you could.

'I can come with you,' Azriel had said, standing in your room as you tied your boots up. 'I won't even have to be seen.' At that, his shadows wrapped up your calf.

You smiled at them, as if they were his own pet. 'I'll manage just fine. Besides, i'm sure that's what Rhys wants, me needing a man.'

It had done nothing to calm your friend. The worry was still stuck between his brows, marring his handsome features. You'd held his cheeks, your wings hiding the two of you. His large ones (enough to swallow the both of you) over-lapped yours.

It was the last time you'd feel your wings.

The war camp wasn't as easy as you'd hoped. It was terror and horror in a place. You'd been to the court of nightmares, you'd gone to the slaughter of the spring court after they killed your family. But this, this was hell of another kind.

You had no idea how many days you'd been locked up, wrists bound in chains and hanging from the cell roof above you. Blood rolled down your arms from the force you'd tried to use to get them out. Your eye was swollen shut and your body trembled in pain.

All because they wanted to know your brothers secrets, and you wouldn't budge.

Your check was only supposed to be a day, but you were sure it had been longer. Days of endless pain and torture. Your uniform hung in rags of stripped material, your hair matted with blood and hiding your face.

You'd used the last of your energy to keep your walls up. You weren't anyone's mate, you didn't have anyone on the other end trying to feel what you felt. But should Rhys come looking (though you doubted it) you didn't want him to feel it. You didn't want anyone in your mind.

The gates opened with a sickening clash.

One of the Illyrian's knelt in front of you, his wings hiding those coming in behind you. 'Listen sweetheart. I don't want to make this any harder than it's about to get. All you have to do is tell us your brother's hide outs.'

You grit your teeth, staring down at the ground.

'So loyal, to a man who doesn't care if you live or die.'

Suddenly, your wings twitched as hands grasped them. Brute hands, the sort you wouldn't want touching any part of you.

Fear spiked in you, horror twisting your gut. 'What are you doing?'

'I told you I didn't want to get things messier, darling.'

You whipped your head from side to side, trying and failing to get a look at the assailants behind you. Your wings were being held apart, no matter how hard you tried to bat them away. You knew the sort of people they were, and what they did to girls like you.

That's when the begging started. 'No, no please. Anything. I'll do anything! Beat me, kill me, rape me, not my wings, please!'

'Anything?' the bastard asked, tongue poking out from his lips. 'Then tell me where your lord's hideouts are?'

You should betray him, you thought. He would never lose his wings for you. Perhaps it was stubbornness that kept you from, or maybe you were clinging to the last bit of love you want from him.

The bastard scoffed, 'anything, she says. Your brother has his own bitch wrapped around his finger.'

That's when they started hacking at your wings.

Your screams tore through your throat, blood spitting and dripping down your chin. Tears soon joined when they hacked away at the bone, the membrane, the flesh of it all. The three of them worked through your screams and your tears and your pain, tearing and cutting at it like it was nothing more than paper.

Not your whole life.

Let them hear you. You hoped your brother heard you, you hoped all and every court heard the pain.

Eventually, even you couldn't keep screaming. The only sound was the hacking away at your wings and the drops of blood.

'Now look at these beauties. I've got a perfect spot on my wall for these.'

They left you after that. There wasn't much more damage they could do. It already felt like they'd destroyed your life. You had never really thought about your wings, they were just part of you, as much as your wit or hair was. But they'd took it and now, you felt empty. Never would you fly with Azriel again, or use your wings to smack Cassian over the head.

Rhys, your dear brother, had took that from you.

The days blended in together after that. You were pooled in your own tears and blood, vomiting up anything they forced down your throat. No, they'd made it very clear they didn't want you dead. They just took pride in making it feel like you were.

At some point, you'd stopped reacting to the gate opening. You let them do whatever they wanted with you. Your wrists were still chained, arms still hanging up, your clothes hanging on your thin body in strips of dirt.

'No...' you heard a mumble. 'What have they done to you?'

Suddenly, the chains gave way and you lurched forward, with no strength to catch you. Luckily, you didn't have to, as strong and warm arms pulled you into his chest.

'Hey, wake up, look at me, dammit.'

Azriel.

You'd know the voice in the darkest days, in the pit of your worst nightmare you'd know.

You try to speak but your head's heavy, your lips are stone and your arms can't lift to hold onto him. You're exhausted, you're dying. The only thing you could do use all your strength to try to open your eyes.

'Please, please, look at me. You have to look at me,'

You were trying, you wanted to tell hm, snap at him, but you couldn't.

You felt Azriel shake, or maybe you were. Then, there was wet drops landing on your cheeks- you flinched.

'I'm sorry, i'm sorry. Rhys! Rhys! hurry up, please!' he was screaming. You'd never heard him scream before.

You heard the rush of feet at the cell doors, you knew it was your brother. You knew it from the presence of him, from the shuffling of feet and chocked sob. Your brother didn't cry, least of all for you.

'Her wings, oh mother, her wings,' said Azriel, his voice barley above that of a whisper.

Your wings. You didn't need reminding. They were gone, long and far gone. You were without a part of you, the very part of your soul that loved to be free. Never would you watch the stars up close or fly over everyone. Never race Cassian or make jokes with Az.

No, this would destroy you.

'y/n,' your half-brother called. 'No, y/n. Can you hear me?'

Your lips parted, mumbling. 'Hurts.'

Azriel's grip on you tightened. 'I know, we're gonna get you out of here, just hold on for me.'

You wanted to tell him you would hold on, you'd always need to hold on to him. That, no matter what he asks, you'd do it. To kill, to live, to breathe, to die.

And that's when it clicked. Amongst all the pain and the doubt. In your blood soaked clothes. In the fear you wouldn't make it, there was a tug. Weak and one-sided, but there. You knew you'd be safe with Azriel, knew you would always be with him.

Mate.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The pain subsided to a dull ache, there and beating but not excruciating. You were warm and covered in a soft material. Nothing like the cell you'd been kept in. Your fingertips sunk into something soft- a bed. Your bed. It was familiar in its lavender scent to you and the silk wrapped around you gave you some semblance of warmth.

Your wings.

Even coming to consciousness was difficult. You were exhausted but light, without the weight of wings holding you down. You'd never realised how much you needed to feel that weight, to feel pulled down in order to be free.

Gone, all gone.

Your hand twitches around something cold, a shadow holding your hand, creeping up your side.

'You're awake, thank the couldron.'

It wasn't Azriel, master of the shadows. It wasn't your mate. Mate. The word replayed like a terrible song in your mind.

How dare the mother do this to Az. How dare he- nothing but loyal and kind- get stuck with a person made in darkness, who bled shadows, who's heart was so full of hate there wasn't room for love. They'd cursed Az, with you.

But luckily it wasn't him, it was Rhysand.

'It really happened,' you whispered, voice hurting from the screams.

He sighed. 'I'm sorry, i'm so sorry. We-we thought you weren't going to make it, you'd lost so much blood.'

In spite of the pain in your shoulders, you made a shift, turning from him as he ranted on about your condition.

'y/n... sister, please,' he said. He'd never called you sister before. He'd always been content to treat you just like you worked for him.

'Leave me alone.' you couldn't bare to look at him, couldn't bare to face him. The shadows at your hand grew heavier, as if more were piling on. You stretched your fingers away from them, trying to get them off you.

'Are you in any pain?' asked Rhys.

'Get out,' you mumbled.

The end of your bed dipped where Rhys settled, hand splayed on the covers, begging for your hand. 'y/n.'

'Get out!' you snapped, body tense and straining. You felt your wounds open up, blood wetting the bandage around you. But you didn't care. You'd happily bleed if you couldn't fly. A part of you, sick part of you wanted to be left there. It would be better than false sympathy.

Be better than your mate being disgusted.

'Get out!' you yelled again, voice tearing through an aching throat.

'I just want to help you! please, let me help you!' said Rhys, standing from your bed and walking around, trying to face you.

'I don't want your help!' you screamed. You reached for the closest thing you could, a jug of water and chucked it toward him. You aim was terrible, marred with pain and exhaustion. 'Get out!'

Though hesitant, Rhysand slowly started walking back to your door. He did it all looking at you, his hands out to show he wasn't gonna hurt you, but you didn't care. You went for the glasses next and chucked them but they landed against the door which he disappeared through.

Before it slid close you caught sight of Cassian , Mor and Azriel. All crowded, all waiting to see you.

You'd be happy if you never let them see you again.

'Can we see her?' you hear Mor ask.

'Give her time,' said Rhys.

The shadows at your hand grew heavier, darker, tighter.

'Go away!' you yelled at them. To anyone else, you probably looked crazy, screaming to darkness. But the shadows understood. They departed, slithering away and under the crack of your door where you could see the shadows of feet.

Tumbling from bed, you stumbled over and locked the door, leaning on it to and catching your breath. Your nightgown was starting to get sticky with blood all over again. When you closed your eyes, you pictured the cell, the rough hands holding you down, the chain keeping you up.

And the pain, it all washed over you. The hacking at your back, the sting of a slap. It hit you like a tone of bricks as you slid to the floor.

There was a knock, rattling the door.

'y/n,' Cassian. 'Please let us in.'

Us. You felt him on the other side. Your mate, his presence lingering. His shadows under the door, wanting to come in but keeping their distance.

He didn't know. It hadn't snapped for him, you could tell. It was one tug on your end, a chord in your heart. At least he couldn't feel what you did. At least you could shoulder it alone.

'Please.' his voice was almost your un-doing. He sounded so sad, so desperate. It hurt you just to think you were hurting him.

Tears streamed down your face as your curled your fingers into a tight fist. You assumed Mor had left with Rhys, leaving you there with the males.

Cass was always like a brother to you. Granted- a brother you had slept with once or twice- but he was your best friend. You'd always been close to him. But you'd always been good, a happy person.

You couldn't be that for them now, perhaps ever again.

It lasted like that for hours. Cassian and Az begging to come in, you curling into a ball with tears down your cheeks and blood down your back.

Eventually, they gave up. You couldn't hear them anymore and the shadows of their boots had disappeared.

Except Azriel's shadows that still lingered under your door. Maybe he'd ordered them to be there while they left you.

Eventually, you managed to find your footing on shaking legs. Your room was large, one of the largest. It was just as much a mess as it was when you'd left for you mission, clothes thrown over the place, books propped open on the pages you'd left them on. Everything was the same but could never be again.

It took you longer than you'd care to admit to get to your windows and throw the curtains close. Candles light at your request, the house looking after you as it had since you were a child.

You caught sight of yourself in the full length mirror. It seemed smaller, everything in the room felt too large and you too small, as if you were being swallowed by the expanse of it.

Your frame was small in the mirror, your hair disarrayed. Your eyes were red and shutting of their own accord from the tears that had drained you. The starving in the cells had made you look weak, made you feel weak.

And your back. There was no more looming black figures there, no more fluttering. There was just nothing. In spite of the ache as you lifted your arm, you felt around your back, feeling the hitch there, the lump from where they'd been torn from you.

You cry. You sob. You scream.

The scars were long and the nightdress was sticking to you by the blood you'd shed. All you could do, was hold yourself up as your body wracked with tears.

A breeze came from your windows, shadows tugging at the curtains.

You felt him before you saw him. You wanted to tell him to leave you but you couldn't talk without chocking. Without feeling like you couldn't breath.

Azriel had you in your arms before your knees could hit the ground. He fell with you, softening your body on the floor. His arms held you into his chest, his legs caging you into his body. His head rested on yours as he held you. He didn't try to talk, he didn't try to help. It was just him, you and his shadows.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Azriel remembered dozing off with you, his head on yours. His arms holding you into him, as if it was up to him to keep the sadness away and take it for you.

Afterall, you were his best friend. He should have been there for you, and he'd failed terribly by letting you get hurt and your wings stolen from you. He could hate himself every day for it, for letting you down. But it would never amount to what you felt for yourself and that killed him.

He could see it in the way you cried, in the way you were already keeping everyone out. He'd rather die than let you go through all the pain alone.

When his hands had been scarred by his brothers, you'd help heal him, tell him about everything he still was and all the power he still held in his hands. In the worst days, when he didn't let anyone touch him, he let you.

It was always you.

Azriel wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep, or how deep. He was sure he was still with you, still in your bed.

His shadows crept up on him, engulfing him slowly and whispering to him. Your name, just your name on repeat. It was enough to lull him back into sleep, to keep him calm.

Gone. Missing. y'n. Roof.

He shot up and ran fastest than he ever had in his life. It was as if he'd never been asleep but had been fighting a battle with the way he raced over.

He burst through the doors, the cold hight air hitting him.

You stood facing the stars, your bloody back to him. It wasn't as much blood as when he'd found you, but it was still enough to put a lump in his throat.

Immediately his shadows fell to you, cascading down your body and wrapping around your waist. There was a breeze in the air, pushing your hair back and exposing more signs of the pain and torture you must have gone through.

'I'm not gonna jump, if that's what you're thinking,' you said. You didn't even have to turn to him. The shadows probably told you enough.

'Why are you up here?' he asked, walking to you slowly and with careful steps. As if every step closer could you push you away from him.

'I'll never feel the win properly again,' you answered.

Azriel gulped down his own pain. You’d never sounded so small. ‘Can you get away from the ledge?’

'I'm not on the ledge.'

'You're too close for my liking.'

'Leave if you don't like it.'

'Don't do this,' he said.

'Do what?' you asked, folding your arms over your chest. You were cold, out in the hight but you wanted to see the stars. Needed to see them.

'Make me leave. Make everyone leave you. I know that's what you're doing. It's what you do every time,' you could feel him dawning closer. His shadows were all around you, almost drowning you.

‘Every time,’ you scoff, stepping down and turning on him. ‘It’s not every day you lose your wings Azriel! But don’t let me stop you from leaving, flap them and go!’ You yelled, unable to stop yourself, no matter how hard you tried. You didn’t want to hurt him, you just wanted to be alone.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

'You jump and I’ll catch you,' he said. He was a step away, he could just reach out and touch, just a gentle caress. 'I swear it, whatever you do, I’ll follow. I’m not letting you get away.’

He watched your back shudder as he reached out, brushing knuckles against your shoulder blade. He heard your sharp inhale follow.

'Don’t think I won’t follow, y/n.'

Finally, you turned around in his shadows. You couldn’t meet his eyes but at least you could face his chest.

His hands were gentle on your shoulder as he rubbed it gently. 'Can I get Madja to clean you up?' He asked.

You nodded as he led you away. You truly did not deserve your mate.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Fifty-two years later...

When Amarantha had trapped the high lords of Prythian under the mountain, it hadn't be a conscious choice to follow your half-brother down. How Amarantha had allowed it, you weren't sure, but perhaps she wanted to use you just like her brother, or she thought it would bring more pain for him to see you suffer under there too.

You and Rhysand had barley spoke the last two years.

It had took you almost two months to heal fully enough to leave your room, another few months to face your family again. But even then, everyone knew something had changed in you. You didn't laugh as loud or smile as wide.

Rhysand was careful to ever let you out on a mission. Mor tried to take you out every night. Cassian spent all day every day with you and Azriel- he'd healed you better than any nurse.

Still, you had not told him he was your mate.

Still, you thought he wouldn't want it.

Still, you cared for your brother enough to not want him to go alone.

But being under the mountain, you could avoid your mate. At a painful price.

Until her. Rhys's mate. He hadn't shut up about her since he first met her, much to your dismay as you had to sit around and listen- having absolutely nothing better to do. And it only got worse when she turned up under the mountain. She was declaring her love for Tamlin- again, annoying your brother, and throwing Lucien into danger- which rather angered you. You had nothing against the ginger.

Rhysand had once sent you to find the girl to summon her as part of a bargain he'd made. He didn't want to go, he didn't want to look too forceful. You'd been lucky enough to find the two tangled up in each other against a cold wall, clothes ripped and hips moving together.

'Well, well well,' you'd intterupted.

Tamlin all but growled at you, but feyre was looking over you- evidently confused. She had no idea who you were. You, in your skimpy outfit that Amarantha kept you in (they all dipped low at your back, showing off your scars) and your eyes that were like a night sky.

'Amarantha's looking for her pet and Rhysand is looking for his. Honestly, i'd be a bit more worried if I were you. You know, considering Lucien still has an eye to lose.'

The two parted with your words as you sent Tamlin back to his master, the high lord glaring at you as you went. While Feyre tried to fix herself.

'Rhysand is over there, better not keep him waiting.' That was the first time you met her, having no idea how much trouble she'd be worth. The family that she'd become.

But Rhysand made sure you knew it all. From when the bond snapped in him and he'd stumbled. He ranted and ranted as they climbed out.

If only you were so talkative about Azriel. If only you could talk about him with your brother. But you'd tried not to painfully think about him. Climbing out of the mountain. It was all you could think of.

Maybe he'd have forgotten you? it had been fifty years. He'd probably realised how happy he could be without having to take care of you.

Rhys was allowed out of the mountain, he'd felt the breeze in his hair but you hadn't in fifty long years. You stood there a moment, bathing in the warmth as everyone left, as everyone ran off for their families and courts and the war that was inevitable. Eventually, Rhys offered you his arm. 'Shall we go home?'

He winnowed you there, on the balcony of your home. In a cloud of black smoke, the two of you appeared.

He went first, slipping through the doors slowly- like it could all be taken from them any minute.

You were hesitant, taking a moment to glance at the landscape behind you. It hadn't changed, not at all. The mountains were still there, everyone was still alive. Your home. In the last years it hadn't felt like home, but how could anywhere ever feel so close in your heart.

When you could find your feat again, you managed to slip through the doors. You were suddenly aware of how little clothing you were wearing, just enough to cover your chest and run down your legs. A chill settled down your back, your scars would be on show. What a way to great them all after fifty years.

Mor had her arms around Rhys's shoulders, crying into his shoulder.

Behind them you caught Amren, with something like tears in her eyes. You were just about to tease her before a body barrelled into yours in a blur of red syphons and your feet were lifted from the ground.

'Cassian.'

His arms tightened around you. You shoulder started to dampen with tears, his tears. The last time you'd seen him cry around you was when he'd seen a dog with only three legs. 'I'm keeping you on a leash from now on, stupid idiot.'

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, a smile gracing your lips. 'Is that a promise?'

He held you longer, tighter, not daring to let you go but at least settling you on the ground. He sighed against your head, controlling himself. 'He's missed you, you know,' he said. He was the only one you'd told, about your mate. 'Now that you're back, tell him. He deserves to know.'

Cassian slowly pulled away, holding you at arms length and smiling at you. He kissed your cheeks and then your forehead before parting to Rhysand.

Mor approached you next, slapping you in the arm.

'Ow!'

'Why would you follow him?' she snapped.

You blinked at her before she took you by the arm she'd slapped and embraced you, like a sister would. You dared not looking over her shoulder to find the one who hadn't come to you. Maybe Cass had got it wrong...

Mor pulled away, wiping at her eyes.

Azriel was as beautiful as the day you left him. His hair was the same length, he was the same height. He was just as you left him. It was hard to tell fifty years had passed on him.

And inside of you, tugging in your soul and heart you felt the familiar string of gold throbbing. But you still didn't feel that tug. You'd hoped it would have faded from you after half a year separated. Or at least have snapped for him. But no such relief.

He approached you, slowly. As if he was scared of scaring you away. But you just stood there.

His arms were delicate and soft around you as he brought you into his chest. He still smelled the same, cedar wood and shadows. Shadows that wrapped around you, shielding you from the rest of the room. They caressed you, head to two.

You held onto each other for what could have been another fifty years, but this time, it wasn't so painful.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Although nobody wanted to part after yours and Rhysand's return, you were exhausted. A trip to Rita's could wait another night or two. The only thing you wanted to do was hide in your room.

Strangely, your room looked lived in. As if somebody had moved in since you'd left. A moment of anger replaced grief. Had they brought someone else and given them your room? but then you smelt it, Az.

Lying in bed that night, exhausted, you couldn't find sleep. You closed your eyes and pictured Amarantha. You'd never been afraid of her, you weren't afraid of anything. But you re-played the horrors. Watching servants beat Feyre, watching Amarantha use your brother and on the occasion, even you. How she flaunted. How the most powerful lords were weak.

Under your door, shadows seeped in, rushing across the room to you. You smiled, watching your hand disappear in their darkness.

'Azriel?' you called.

There was shifting on the other side of the door before he slipped in, clicking it shut behind him.

You sat up in bed, shadows moving with you. 'Couldn't sleep?'

He wondered in, looking around your room. 'Sleeping's been... hard.'

You rolled over, opening the blanket and nodding your head. You couldn't think about the bond, not yet. Not while he looked so.... ruined. Beautiful- the most beautiful person in the world, but sad. As he climbed in next to you, you could see the dark circles under his eyes, his shoulders slumped and his wings too.

His eyes scanned over you. You were in a thin and silk night dress that only brushed your knees, but the way he looked at you, mother you could've been naked. 'Fifty years,' his voice sounded barley controlled. 'Fifty years. You followed your brother down for fifty years? Why would you do that?'

You gulp. 'I would've done it for any of you. Except maybe Amren, she'd probably enjoy the peace for fifty years.'

You go to brush your hair back but Azriel seizes your wrist. He was angry. That's why his voice was rough and his chest rising and falling with barley controlled emotions. Could he feel it? your nerves, your lying?

'You left. You should've stayed, y/n, you know Rhysand didn't want you under there with him,' he said. 'For fifty years I haven't been able to sleep through a night thinking about the pain you must have been going through. After I swore to keep you safe, after I promised to catch you every time!'

'You couldn't have stopped me. You didn't promise, Az.'

His grip grew tighter. 'It went without saying.'

You looked around his eyes, seeing the pain and grief there also. Slowly, you brought your other hand up. He flinched as you took his cheek but eventually settled as your thumb ran over his cheekbone. 'I won't leave again, ok? I promise.'

He gulped, letting go of your wrist and looking down. 'I slept here,' he mumbled, but just loud enough to hear you. 'I couldn't sleep in my room. This was the only place I could rest.'

Your heart stuttered. Your hand dropped from his cheek. This man was your mate. Your mate. Your only love, whether or not the cauldron deemed it.

Azriel took your hesitation. 'I-i'm sorry, you probably didn't want to hear that. I've probably ruined your one place of peace-'

'Stay,' you said, before you could think of what you were asking. 'Sleeping wasn't exactly easy under the mountain either. I just trust I won't have to put a wall of cushions between us.' as if you wanted that. As if you haven't thought about his calloused hands all over you.

Azriel smiled and stayed the night.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The third time he almost lost you, broke him...

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[dawneternal]

now my head's splitting at the seams

✴︎ in the labyrinth of my pain, would you find me?

✴︎ Azriel x Valkyrie reader, platonic Cassian x reader

✴︎ Summary: you miss a few days of training, down with a bad migraine. It turns out Cassian has a few misconceptions about your condition and, possibly, about pain itself.

✴︎ Warnings: mentions of nausea and vomiting (no descriptions), pain, toxic positivity and ableism, internalized ableism, Cassian's a jerk in the first half. Also I'm so sorry for the tense changing back and forth 💀 I would definitely not call this one a masterpiece

✴︎ Word Count: 3.4k

AO3 Link / Writing Masterlist

✴︎ Notes: somehow writing out my feelings about having a migraine turned into something pretentious about pain and ableism. I think a lot about John Green's "pain is the opposite of language" and how much that's changed my perception of pain

Also listen I love Cassian and I have no problems with him but I had to pick someone to take my feelings out on I'm sorry 💛 also just want to acknowledge that everyone experiences migraines differently and it's not a topic I'm an expert on so I'm sorry if you don't feel well represented by this.

Tbh I could write several essays about the way pain and disability are handled in the acotar books but that's for another time.

Letting out a frustrated groan, you squeeze your eyes shut tighter and twist your knuckle into the pressure point at the base of your palm, chasing the momentary relief it'll give you from your nausea. It works for a minute, and you're considering making your way to the bathroom before another wave hits you when your bedroom door flies open.

"You're late," Cassian's voice bellows through the room and he doesn't see you wince. He strides into the room, footsteps booming across the floorboards, and he's left the door open behind him, letting a traitorous amount of light into your dark room. What good were black out curtains if your darkness was going to be invaded like this anyways?

"Oh my gods you've got to talk quieter," You curl tighter around yourself, head clutched in your hands.

"So you're hungover?" He stops near your bed, arms crossed as he towers over you.

"No, I have a migraine."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

You squint up at him, scowling, swallowing every bad word threatening to spill off your tongue. Though maybe he deserves it for coming into your room without asking.

"Please leave," You say quietly, all the venom you could usually imbue into your voice completely swallowed by your current condition.

"You've missed three days of training." He says by way of answering, definitely not following your request to lower his volume. "You can't coddle yourself like this."

His words punch the air from your lungs. Coddle? Something terrible is rising in your gut, along with the desperate thought that you can't deal with this right now.

"I'm not - this isn't - I don't think you understand how much it hurts." You scramble for words, cheeks heated from pain and anger.

"You've gotta push through it," He says, no hint of sympathy.

"Cassian please."

"I'm not leaving until you agree to come with me."

You don't have time to respond before you're running to the bathroom and throwing up whatever you'd managed to keep down last night, head throbbing with every movement.

Breathing hard, you lean back from the toilet and clutch your head in your hands. The silence rings in your ears and you aren't sure if Cassian is still there or if he finally took mercy on you and left, until his voice makes it's way to you, with just a hint of remorse in it -

"I'd better see you up there."

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Cassian did not see you at training that morning, and you're assuming you've bruised his ego because the next day he doubles down.

The thing is, Rhysand knew of your condition. The other priestesses knew. It's only Cassian being out of the loop and if he understood what a migraine felt like, you're certain he wouldn't be dragging you up there. You were used to dealing with people who didn't understand, had worked hard to learn how to give yourself kindness no matter what other people said. But it's like he knew exactly what things to say, what buttons to press to undo all of that progress.

It was like he'd pulled off your armor, piece by piece, leaving you cold and exposed. Going back to that world where weakness was your given name and it hurt worse than stepping into the ring and fighting the pain. If you could prove him wrong, just make it through a couple of hours, you could return to your sanctuary of darkness. And at least then, you wouldn't hate yourself on top of everything else.

So you followed him up to the training ring, struggling to open your eyes all the way in the morning light, hunched over to make the pain down your shoulders and neck just a bit more bearable. You sway on your feet, but Cassian either doesn't notice or doesn't care.

When he moves aside, revealing your small, huddled frame trailing beside him, Gwyn gasps.

"Cassian!" She cries, her tone scathing, and the hint of smug triumph slips from his face. It disappears completely as Gwyn rushes to your side, folding you into her arms to block your eyes from the light. You groan into her shoulder and go limp in her arms, grateful for the support.

Azriel stands to the side, watching with narrowed eyes. His arms are crossed over his chest like Cassian's, but there is no determination or judgment in his posture or expression. There's angry, crackling flames as he watches the redheaded Valkyrie thread her fingers through your hair and murmur soft comfort.

"She missed training all this week," Cassian says, but he's not barking any more. He's feeling a little bit small underneath the glares that pin him where he stands.

"Yeah, we know," Gwyn says, and it's the closest she's gotten to snapping at him in the whole time they've known each other. She turns to you and her eyes soften. "Let's get you back to bed, love."

"No," You murmur, guilt and shame bringing your resolve to the surface once more. You gently push her away to stand on your own, raising your squinted eyes to meet Cassian's. "I can do it. I'll be fine."

She watches you take shaky steps to the nearest mat and begin stretching, body obviously stiff from a few days in bed. You're conscious of all the eyes on you, far too sympathetic for your liking. This is exactly what you hated.

"Are we starting or not?" You let out a stiff laugh, too aware that your words are lightly slurred. That is absolutely not helping the hangover accusations.

The other priestesses shuffle to get into place, bumping into each other as they move to find their positions. There was still a horrible silence, crackling with fierce anger, all rippling in Cassian's direction. He halfheartedly called a few orders, visibly uncomfortable with the energy in the ring.

And you tried. You tried hard. To move your body through the stretches like normal. But your muscles protested every move, threatening to lock back up, sending stabs of pain through your skull. It didn't take long for the nausea to take over, forcing you to the edge of the ring, doubled over and dry heaving.

"This is ridiculous," Gwyn scoffs before she's at your side again. "You're going to back to bed."

"I will not be weak," You growl at her, panting as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, "I am not lazy."

Gwyn's head snaps around to find Cassian, mouth dropped open in fury as she silently dares him to confirm that he may have suggested weakness to you.

"You're not and you know it," She says softly, hauling you up and leading you away from the training ring. “Don't do that to yourself.”

Cassian is feeling like he's surrounded by wolves, all the glares that are being sent his way. He understands by now that he's messed up, and in front of a group that may not be easily inclined to forgive him. He's sure every single one of them has experienced the disbelief that he foolishly shoved your way. For their pain, or for anything else.

He thought you would snap back to your normal self after a bit of warming up, shake off your symptoms with a bit of movement and sunshine. You were strong enough to, if you wanted to. He'd seen it before. He thought you just didn't want to.

A small, firm hand lands on his arm and he finds himself looking down at Nesta. There's sympathy in her expression, but her eyes twinkle with the threat of a nasty bite if he dares to say anything stupid.

"She gets them after particularly bad flashbacks," Nesta says, "Or sometimes they're just random. Madja says there's no fix for the pain but darkness and sleep."

Cassian's stomach twists so terribly he thinks he might puke, too. In the midst of attempting to instill resilience, he's understanding that he knows nothing of this kind of pain. This is something different, something that cannot be conquered in the same way as emotional pain, as every day aches and injuries. You are a soldier in a battle he has no strategy for.

He may understand the concept of emotional resilience, of getting back up and into the training ring when you don't want to. But this is different.

The final blow, the thing that makes him want to cower and hide, is meeting his brother's eyes. Seeing the fire there transports him back in time, sending flashes of a smaller Azriel pushing himself too hard, determined to show the world that he'd never be less because of the damage to his hands. Fighting against words far too similar to the ones his own brother had spouted to you this morning, desperate to become strong enough that no one would ever doubt his pain and live.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

It was not a surprise that Cassian found himself in Rhysand's office later, confessing how thoroughly he'd fucked up, desperate for a little direction in how to fix this mess.

"It has to be their choice," Rhysand is saying, eyes meeting Cassian's over his glass.

Cassian's mouth opens and closes as he tries to conjure a response. He knows that. Of course he knows that. But apparently, his brain had not wrapped around how far that concept might go.

Cassian let out a grunt as he sat back in his chair, arms crossed. Rhysand knew he didn't have to push any further, he recognized the conflict in his brother's eyes. So he sat with him, quiet, while he processed.

"Do you want to know what it feels like?" He broke the since after a while, as the idea came to him.

"What?" Cassian blinked, startled from his thoughts.

"A migraine," Rhys explained, "Do you want to know what it feels like?"

Cassian frowned, studying his brother's expression for anything resembling amusement, but there was none. So he nods.

Not even a full second later, his skull is attacked with throbbing pain, deep in the base of his neck. He hadn't even noticed the fae lights before, but now they overwhelm him, causing a dull pain to surface behind his eyes. Nausea curled up his throat, threatening ruthlessly.

"Oh gods," He leaned forward and clutched his head in his hands, finding that his limbs trembled under his own weight.

"Do you push yourself when you feel like this?" Rhysand asked softly, not taunting. Prompting.

"I don't really ever feel like this," Cassian grumbled out.

"Hm," Rhysand mused, his brows drawing together. He'd experienced episodes like these often, under the mountain. He knew that Azriel struggled with them through his teenage years, like his brain still struggled to process his senses outside of a dark cell.

Deep in thought, he only remembered to ease up on Cassian's mind when his brother whimpered.

"Some say pain cannot truly be described with language," Rhys says, gaze somewhere else as Cassian gulps down air. "And that your pain is one of the few things that is truly yours, that you can never share. Even if you manage to describe it, it will never be felt by anyone else."

"I thought she was just hungover," Cassian says, but he's not defending himself. Rhysand knows.

"What if she was, though?" He tilts his head to the side, watching his brother carefully.

And that is the thing that had begun to unfurl within Cassian as he stood surrounded by the priestesses he'd wronged. He understood that having true control of your body meant that dictating how pain is handled had to be yours, too. He understood that pushing someone to deal with pain in his own way was a violation in and of itself. He had stepped into the world that you had carefully balanced and re-built around your condition and dared to tell you that you may have done it wrong.

"Will she get better?" He asks, thinking of the agony he'd just experienced for a few short minutes. The same one that you'd been experiencing for three days, now.

"It's hard to say," Rhysand shrugs, "Madja says she will likely experience these off and on for the rest of her life, but she may have some periods of remission."

He tilts his head at his brother again, "You know that a majority of the priestesses have an invisible disability of similar kinds, right? They won't get better. They will be in pain every day until they die."

Rhysand sighs, thinking of the hundreds - possibly thousands - of tins of salve that Azriel has gone through, numbing the pain of his nerve damage. Trembling hands hidden in black gloves, tucked into his body and away from the world. And that is the reason he's bothering telling Cassian of any of this. Otherwise, he might let him figure it out on his own.

"But the healers-" Cassian begins.

"Are there to help them cope with their emotional pain and trauma," Rhysand nods, "But some of them, a lot of them, were disabled as a result of what they went through and will never get better. Like Clotho.”

Oh.

It clicks in Cassian's mind, then. Who else Rhys meant. Who else Cassian had insulted. He had never barged into Azriel's room, insisting that he still train even when he could not flex his fingers without wincing, without trembling too hard to hold a glass of water. But he'd done it to you, in front of him. And that pinned his disbelief on Azriel all the same.

Azriel's pain, your pain, were enemies that neither of you could defeat. And here he was, shoving a sword into your hands, and insisting that you try.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

A soft knock sounds against your door, so quiet you almost don't hear it. You stare at it, wondering if you should pretend that you didn't. But then the knob turns slowly and it opens just a crack, and a soft voice is saying into the darkness,

"Hey, it's Azriel. Can I come in?"

Your breath catches in your throat, and you watch his shadows dancing back and forth through the thin wedge of light he's letting in.

"Sure," You say, moving quickly to smooth your rumpled clothes and tangled hair before he steps in. You're not exactly sure what he thinks of you after this morning.

He steps inside and closes the door behind him. His eyes seem to glow in the darkness, an amber-honey color, and somehow you can still see his shadows, like they're even darker than your room with no light.

"I just wanted to check on you," He says, crouching down beside your bed so you don't have to sit up.

"I'm okay," You say, still getting over the surprise of the Shadowsinger in your space. It's true, though, you suppose. You're used to all of your other symptoms by now, and your heart hurts worse than your head.

"He's an idiot sometimes," Azriel says, basically spits. A smile begins to spread on your face so he continues, “Like, sometimes he's just an asshole, straight up. But this time, believe it or not, I think he actually meant well and was just an idiot.”

“I know,” You give him a sad smile and all of the anger melts from his face.

“I think he went to buy flowers if that makes you feel any better,” He sighs. You know he's just as mad at Cassian as you are, maybe even more mad. But he still can't help vouching for him. It's definitely going to take more than flowers to forgive him, but it's a good start. You also appreciate that Azriel has bothered to warn you ahead of time, in case you wanted to avoid Cassian's apology.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, so quietly. And you wonder who else has earned this tenderness from him.

“It's not too bad right now,” you say truthfully, though you know that sitting up or going outside might be pushing your luck.

“Still hurts?”

“Yeah. Still hurts.”

He nods. “I can try something that helps me, sometimes.”

You search his eyes for a moment, then nod.

“Can I touch your face?” He asks, almost a whisper.

Your heart leaps into your throat and you fight to keep your face neutral as you nod again, no idea what he's planning to do with you.

Slowly, leaving enough time for you to stop him, he reaches out. He's not wearing gloves, like usual, and in the dark you can just barely make out the uneven silhouette of his dimpled, scarred hands.

His fingers land gently on your forehead, and he presses his thumb between your brows. Gently at first, and then harder, circling a tender point under your skin. It makes the pain in your head sharper, and you let out a hiss.

“I know,” He says, “Bear with me a minute.”

You close your eyes, biting back a whimper, but after a moment the pain begins to ease. He keeps going for a few minutes and you feel your whole body relax, pain free for the first time in days.

You don't realize how much you've leaned into his touch until he gently pulls away and you find your head falling forward with him.

“What is that?” You open your eyes and blink at him.

“A pressure point,” He grins, and it almost looks like he's blushing.

“That's magical,” you say. You hesitate for a moment, and then, “you can sit on the bed if you want.”

Azriel smiles and straightens, and you move your pillow to the side to make space for him. He slides off his boots and sits on the bed next to you, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. You place your pillow next to his lap and settle back into it.

“Thank you,” You say, your body feeling lighter than it has in days.

“Of course,” he says.

A silence settles, but it's not uncomfortable. There's something in it that you understand. He's just keeping you company. Here to sit with you in your pain.

It's easy to relax in his presence, between his calm aura and the pain relief he's offered you. And you find yourself spilling the question that's been circling though your mind since this morning.

“What if I can't fight, someday? What if I can't be a Valkyrie anymore?”

Azriel stills beside you. It's a long moment before he says anything. You're tense beside him, and it makes you flinch when he brings his hand so gently to rest on your head. Not moving, just resting.

“First,” He says, in the same soft voice, “You'll always be a Valkyrie. Because you cut the ribbon. Because you sisters will never let you go. And because I know for a fact that the Valkyries did not strip their warriors of their title if they became disabled by an illness or an injury.”

“Really?” You breathe.

“Mhm,” He hums in affirmation. You forget sometimes that he knows the Valkyries from more than history books.

“And second,” His voice drops lower, like he's sharing a secret with you. His hand moves, fingers slipping gingerly through your hair. And it makes you realize that he came here with his hands uncovered as an offer of solidarity. Combing his scarred fingers through your hair, he is offering you vulnerability, like recompense for what you bared this morning. A trade. A truce.

“If you cannot fight,” He continues, “Then you will show the world that a formidable woman can be made from more than fighting skills. You will still be - will always be - something incredible.”

Tears prickle at your eyes, form a lump in your throat. You reach up to grasp his hand, the only thank you that you can manage in the moment, and he lets you.

There's another silence, as he holds your hand in the dark.

“Who helps you?” You ask, turning to look up at him. He watches your eyebrows knit together, so serious, and he swallows a smile.

“What do you mean?” He says.

You bring one finger up to tap the space between his own eyebrows.

“With your pain? Who helps you like you helped me?”

“Um,” He shrugs, “Sometimes Rhys if he has time. Otherwise, no one.”

That's what you thought, but it still makes your heart twist in your chest. It takes a deep breath before you have the courage to say the next words out loud.

“You should tell me next time you're in pain. And I'll help.”

Azriel stares back at you, something bewildered in his eyes. Because he sees your suggestion for what it is. The same thing he offered you. A trade. A truce.

A beginning.

“Yes,” He whispers into the dark, and his hand closes around yours. “I will.”

[moonlitstoriess]

Unseen, Unheard, Unloved- Initial Rhysand, Eventual Kallias x fem!Reader (2/2)

Summary: She had given him everything—her heart, her trust, and now, the child growing within her. But as Rhysand’s attention drifts elsewhere, as excuses pile up, and as whispers of a mortal girl turn into something far more dangerous, she begins to wonder: Was she ever truly seen? Was she ever truly heard? Or had she been unloved all along?

See masterlist

Part 1

Warnings: none I think

Azriel winnowed them inside the grand entrance hall of the Winter Court’s palace, and the instant her boots touched the icy marble, Y/n felt the air shift. Cold, crisp, and biting—but not in an unwelcoming way. No, it was different from Velaris’ warmth, different from the suffocating tension that had clung to her like a second skin. This was clean. It was fresh. It smelled of snow and pine, of something untouched and unburdened by the weight she had been carrying for weeks.

But her body was still heavy. Exhaustion curled in her bones, her limbs aching from both the winnowing and everything leading up to it.

Azriel set her bag down beside her, his movements careful, precise—as if handling something fragile. Which, she supposed, she was. But she wouldn’t break. She couldn’t break. Not anymore.

Before she could even take in more of her surroundings, a familiar, cool voice broke through the silence.

"Welcome to Winter, Y/n."

Kallias stood a few feet away, dressed in pristine white and silver, his platinum hair gleaming under the grand chandelier’s light. His sharp, glacial blue eyes softened as he took her in, as he noted the weary set of her shoulders, the way she clutched the front of her coat as if holding herself together.

Y/n tried to muster a smile, something resembling a greeting, but all she managed was a tired nod. “Kallias.”

The High Lord of Winter stepped closer, his gaze scanning her as if committing her presence to memory. “You must be exhausted.” It wasn’t a question.

Before she could answer, Azriel’s voice cut through, softer this time. “I’ll be checking up on you.”

She turned to him, the words lingering in the air between them. It wasn’t a warning, wasn’t a demand. Just a quiet promise. She swallowed hard, a lump forming in her throat. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling—gratitude, maybe, or guilt, or just a strange sadness that this moment, this transition, was real.

Still, she nodded. Then, before she could think too hard about it, she took a small step forward and wrapped her arms around Azriel, pressing her forehead against his shoulder.

Azriel stilled for half a second, then exhaled quietly, his own arms tightening around her in a silent promise.

"Bye, Az."

Her voice was barely a whisper, but it made his grip on her tighten. “Take care of yourself, little ghost.”

She let out a quiet breath. He hadn’t called her that in a long time.

He pulled away first, his hazel eyes flickering to Kallias.

A silent conversation passed between them. One that Y/n wasn’t fully privy to but felt in the tense set of Azriel’s jaw, in the unreadable shift in Kallias’ expression. It was an understanding. A warning. A promise.

Then, Kallias broke the silence, his voice cool but edged with something pointed.

“As long as she is with me, she will always be cared for.”

It wasn’t a simple reassurance. It was a statement. A reminder. And perhaps, a veiled jab at the one who had failed her.

Azriel’s lips pressed into a thin line. But he only nodded, only gave Y/n one last lingering glance before he winnowed away, the shadows swallowing him whole.

And just like that, it was real.

She was here.

Truly, fully here.

Silence stretched between her and Kallias before he exhaled softly. “Are you hungry?”

Y/n hesitated. “I—”

His gaze sharpened slightly, sweeping over her frame. His lips pressed into a frown. “Have they not been feeding you properly there?”

She blinked, startled by the question.

And before she could think of a response, he added, “I can see your collarbones.”

It was true. The months of stress, of sleepless nights and overthinking, had left their mark on her body. She had eaten, of course—but only enough to function. Only enough to get through the days.

But she couldn’t say that.

So she just shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

Kallias’ frown deepened. And then, to her surprise, he reached out, placing a warm, steadying hand on her shoulder. Not forceful, not imposing—just a firm, grounding presence.

“Y/n,” he said, his voice softer now. “You’re pregnant. Carrying another life, giving your energy to them. Of course, you being well-fed is of the utmost importance.”

She opened her mouth, but he was already picking up her bag. “Come,” he said smoothly. “Let me show you to your rooms personally.”

She blinked. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” There was no room for argument.

So she followed.

The halls of the Winter Palace were as grand as she remembered—tall ceilings, intricate carvings of wolves and swirling ice patterns adorning the archways. Everything gleamed in shades of silver, white, and blue, but it wasn’t an unfeeling cold. There was warmth woven into the design, into the soft glow of faelights lining the corridors, into the thick, plush rugs muffling their footsteps.

“You’ve made a few changes since I was last here,” she noted, her voice quiet but steady.

Kallias glanced at her. “Somewhat.”

"Somewhat?" she echoed, raising a brow. "There's an entire new wing on the east side."

His lips twitched slightly. "You noticed."

"I notice everything."

Kallias hummed. “It was necessary. We needed more space.”

Y/n huffed a quiet laugh. "For what? Ice sculptures?"

Kallias chuckled, the sound low, but real. “For expansion. Winter has been growing stronger these past few years.”

Something in the way he said it made her glance at him. “Stronger how?”

He slid a look her way, something amused but serious in his expression. “We’ve been securing better alliances. Strengthening our borders.”

Y/n tilted her head slightly. “So, politics.”

“Politics,” he agreed. Then, after a pause, “Which you’ve never had much patience for.”

She scoffed. "No, I just never had patience for stupidity in politics."

Kallias smirked. “Fair enough.”

A comfortable silence settled between them.

And then, more gently, he added, “You never answered my question.”

She frowned. “Which one?”

“If they were feeding you properly.”

Y/n exhaled, already tired of this conversation. “I ate.”

“That’s not an answer.”

She looked away. “It’s the only one I’m giving.”

A quiet beat.

Then Kallias murmured, “You don’t have to pretend with me, you know.”

Her breath caught for a moment.

She didn’t respond.

Instead, she focused on the hallway ahead—on the set of ornate doors that Kallias pushed open, revealing her chambers.

The room was beautiful—bathed in soft hues of silver and white, with a fireplace already crackling in the corner. The bed was large, draped in plush blankets that looked like they had been crafted from the softest furs. A seating area was arranged near the balcony doors, the windows opening up to a breathtaking view of the snowy mountains in the distance.

Y/n exhaled, the tension in her chest loosening just a fraction.

Kallias set her bag down by the bed. “If there’s anything else you need, you only have to ask.”

She turned to him. “This is… more than enough. Thank you, Kallias.”

He held her gaze for a long moment. Then, finally, he gave her a small nod. “I’ll send some servants to help you get settled in and bring you food.”

She wanted to argue, to say she could handle it on her own. But the truth was—she didn’t want to. She was tired. So, instead, she just nodded.

Kallias lingered for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he turned toward the door.

“Rest, Y/n.” His voice was softer now, quieter. “You are safe here.”

And then, with a final glance, he left.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, she let out a breath that didn’t feel like it was suffocating her.

The first thing Y/n did after Kallias left was sit on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing. The exhaustion in her bones was unbearable, but her mind wouldn’t let her rest. The quiet of Winter was so different from Velaris, from the ever-present hum of the city, the laughter of people she had once called family. Here, there was only silence, save for the distant howl of the wind outside her window.

The room was warm, but she still felt cold.

She had barely unpacked when the servants arrived, bringing trays of food—warm soup, roasted meats, fresh bread. Everything smelled rich and comforting, but the moment she sat at the small table and lifted a spoonful of soup to her lips, she set it back down. Her stomach twisted at the thought of eating.

The exhaustion finally won over the overthinking. She stripped out of her clothes, slipped into a nightgown the Winter servants had left for her, and slid under the thick blankets. The mattress was plush, the warmth inviting. Still, it took her a long time to sleep.

When she did, her dreams were filled with shadows and echoes of the past.

The soft sound of footsteps stirred Y/n awake. At first, she barely registered it, the warmth of the blankets anchoring her to the bed, her body still sluggish with exhaustion.

Then came a gentle knock at the door, followed by the quiet creak of it opening.

"Lady Y/n?"

Y/n forced her eyes open, the dim morning light filtering through the frosted windows. A young female stood at the threshold, her hands folded neatly in front of her, eyes bright but cautious.

"I apologize for waking you," the maid said, stepping further into the room. "But I was sent to assist you in getting ready for the day."

Y/n blinked, mind still sluggish from sleep. "Getting ready…?"

The maid offered a small, polite smile. "High Lord Kallias has requested to see you. He wishes to personally show you the palace grounds."

That woke her up.

Y/n sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. "Me?" she asked, voice raspy from sleep.

"Yes, my lady."

Y/n stared at the maid, confused. Kallias wanted to show her around? Personally?

Her first instinct was to decline. To stay buried in the warmth of the bed, to avoid whatever this new world was trying to offer her. But then she remembered Azriel’s quiet words before he left.

"Take care of yourself, little ghost."

The thought of him was enough to make her sigh, her reluctance softening just slightly.

"Alright," she murmured.

The maid nodded, moving to help her out of bed. Y/n accepted the assistance, stretching her limbs carefully before allowing the female to guide her toward the dressing screen.

"The High Lord wanted you to be comfortable, so he had clothes prepared for you," the maid said as she unwrapped a fresh set of winter garments.

Y/n hesitated before reaching out to feel the fabric. It was soft, warmer than anything she’d ever worn before, and lined with fur along the collar and sleeves.

"It’s beautiful," she admitted quietly.

"Everything in Winter is made to withstand the cold," the maid explained as she assisted Y/n into the outfit. "And with your condition, the High Lord was adamant that you have only the warmest materials available."

Her condition.

Y/n looked down at her stomach, her hands instinctively brushing over the swell of it. She had almost forgotten—almost.

A child. Rhysand’s child.

Her throat tightened.

"Do you need anything before we leave?" the maid asked gently, sensing the shift in her mood.

Y/n forced herself to breathe, to push those thoughts away. "No," she said, lifting her chin slightly. "I’m ready."

The maid studied her for a moment before nodding and leading her toward the door.

As they stepped into the hall, Y/n found herself exhaling slowly, steadying herself. She could do this. She would do this.

She was nervous, but there was something thrilling about wearing these colors—Kallias's colors. Winter’s colors. She had heard the whispers about how striking she looked in the ensemble, but it was Kallias's reaction that she had been anticipating the most.

As she rounded the corner into the main corridor, her heart fluttered at the sight of Kallias standing by one of the grand arches, his eyes immediately falling on her. He was speaking to a servant, but the moment his gaze landed on her, everything else seemed to fall away.

His lips parted, his jaw tightening for a split second before his eyes widened in clear awe. His posture straightened, and he seemed to forget the conversation altogether as he stepped forward.

Y/n felt her breath catch in her throat, suddenly self-conscious. His gaze was intense, as though he could see straight through the fabric to the very essence of her.

“You look…” Kallias's voice faltered slightly, his words tripping over themselves as he stared at her, clearly taken aback. “You look... breathtaking, Y/n.”

A warmth spread through her chest at the sincerity in his voice. She felt herself flush, the heat in her cheeks rising despite the chill of the palace around them.

“I... thank you,” she murmured, suddenly unsure of what to say. She wanted to dismiss his comment, but his reaction made her heart flutter in a way she wasn’t quite prepared for. His gaze was soft but filled with admiration, and it made her feel special, cherished even.

“I’ve seen many dressed in Winter’s colors,” Kallias continued, still a little breathless. “But none wear them like you.”

Y/n smiled at that, feeling a strange giddiness inside her. “I... I’m not sure I’m used to it,” she said, her voice almost shy as she glanced down at the dress.

He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving hers. "You wear them with such grace, as though Winter was made for you."

She could feel the heat of his gaze, the weight of his words settling over her like a comforting blanket. It was impossible not to feel seen, truly seen, in that moment.

Before she could respond, Kallias quickly cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "Shall we? The palace grounds await."

They stepped outside, and the cool air of Winter immediately wrapped around them. Snowflakes drifted lazily through the sky, their icy touch brushing against Y/n’s cheeks as she walked alongside Kallias. He led her through the sweeping courtyard, the grandeur of the palace laid out before them like a kingdom untouched by time. The air felt still, the only sound being the crunch of their boots in the snow.

"I’m glad to see you settling in," Kallias said, his voice warm but with a subtle edge of concern. "Winter is... different, I know. But I’m glad you chose it as your place of peace."

Y/n glanced at him, her thoughts swirling. “I needed something... quiet. Somewhere to breathe,” she said, her tone soft.

“You’ve come far,” he observed, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "But—" He hesitated, clearly unsure how to continue. "But why Winter? Why not the Night Court?"

Her stomach flipped at the mention of Rhysand, and she quickly deflected. “I think I just needed the distance,” she said, her voice a little sharper than she intended. “Rhysand has a lot on his plate, and I didn’t want to add to that.”

Kallias didn’t press her immediately, but his sharp eyes seemed to catch every tiny change in her expression, every flicker of discomfort. There was a brief silence, and then he changed the subject with a gentleness that surprised her.

“Well,” he said, his voice lighter now, “Winter may be cold, but it has its warmth in unexpected places. Take the ice gardens, for example.” He gestured toward the path ahead, where the glistening, frozen flowers seemed to sparkle like jewels in the sunlight. “The flowers are grown by our people, with care and patience. Something about them... they remind us of the resilience Winter offers.”

Y/n was entranced by the sight. The beauty of the ice flowers seemed to mirror her own thoughts—fragile, yet persistent. “They’re beautiful,” she said, her voice filled with wonder.

“They are,” Kallias agreed, his smile warming his face. “They remind me of my people. Of how, even in the harshest of winters, we find a way to thrive.”

They continued their walk, moving through the courtyard toward the training grounds. Y/n caught sight of some of Winter’s warriors practicing their skills, each of them moving with disciplined precision. There was a quiet power to them, a strength that seemed almost palpable.

“Winter warriors,” Kallias said, as if reading her thoughts. “They are the heart of our court. They defend these lands with their lives, and they do so without hesitation.”

Y/n watched them for a moment longer, her mind briefly wandering to what it would be like to be part of something so powerful. Her stomach tightened, but she quickly pushed the thought aside.

“They look... strong,” she commented, trying to distract herself.

“They are,” Kallias agreed with a hint of pride in his voice. He glanced at her, his gaze thoughtful. “I respect them deeply. They remind me that strength is not just physical—it's in how we weather the storms, how we carry on.”

As they continued, Kallias showed her more of Winter’s wonders: the grand library, where the ancient texts of Winter’s history were kept, and the quiet nursery, where young children played in the snow, their laughter ringing out like music to Y/n’s ears.

Seeing the children, Y/n’s chest tightened. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to watch her own child—her soon-to-be faeling—play and grow in a world that was, despite its trials, filled with warmth. The thought of their laughter, the innocence of childhood, made her heart swell. But just as quickly, that warmth faltered, a sharp pang of uncertainty twisting in her gut. She thought of the father, and the disappointment that would soon greet their child. The weight of that truth settled heavily in her chest, the lightness of the moment slipping away.

She let out a soft breath, unsure whether she should voice the thoughts swirling in her mind. But Kallias was beside her, his presence reassuring as always.

He caught her gaze and offered a small, knowing smile. "You'll find your peace here, Y/n. You’re not invisible to us. You never will be."

His words struck a chord deep within her, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to believe it.

Y/n’s breath caught in her throat as she entered the breakfast room. The space was like something out of a dream—a vision of comfort and warmth amidst the icy landscape. The walls were adorned with intricate ice carvings that seemed to shimmer in the pale light streaming through the large, open windows. The soft, crystalline glow of the snow outside reflected against the glass, casting a cool, blue light throughout the room. Fresh, crisp air drifted in through the open panes, filling the room with the scent of winter—clean, pure, and invigorating.

The centerpiece of the room was an exquisite ice glass table, its surface smooth and glistening. It was shaped in a perfect circle, almost like the moon itself, and it sat near the grand window, offering a panoramic view of the Winter Court's sprawling grounds. Snow-covered trees stretched as far as the eye could see, and the distant mountains were crowned with frost, standing tall and proud in the winter sky. The soft crunch of snow underfoot could be heard in the distance, accompanied by the occasional call of a bird soaring through the crisp morning air.

Kallias stood by the table, his tall figure framed by the sunlight streaming through the windows. The warmth of the room was a stark contrast to the coldness of the landscape outside, but it felt so comforting. It was a sanctuary.

Y/n stepped in, eyes wide as she took in the serene beauty of the room. She was still adjusting to being here, still unsure of what to expect. But the peaceful atmosphere seemed to ease her troubled thoughts, if only slightly.

She hesitated for a moment, glancing at Kallias, who had already moved toward the table, preparing to sit down. He looked back at her, his brow slightly raised, as though expecting her to join him.

“Wait… You’re having breakfast with me too?” Y/n asked, her voice betraying a slight edge of surprise.

Kallias paused, a faint expression of confusion crossing his face. “Yes. Why wouldn't I?”

She shrugged slightly, not wanting to delve too much into the strange discomfort she felt about it. "Shouldn’t you have some more important High Lord things to do? I mean... shouldn't you be dealing with other matters? Running a whole court?"

Kallias didn't miss a beat, his smile warm but firm as he cut her off. “My priority is making sure you’re well. You’re pregnant, alone in a new place, and probably in need of some company. Why wouldn't I stay and keep you company?" He gave a small, almost amused chuckle, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes, as if the idea of leaving her alone was incomprehensible to him. "I would think this is the least I can do for you.”

Y/n’s breath caught in her throat. She was surprised by how matter-of-fact Kallias was about it—how easily he dismissed her discomfort with something so genuine. She didn’t have an answer for him, but she did feel a pang of something in her chest, something warm that slowly began to ease her wariness.

Before she could say anything further, he spoke again, his voice quieter, softer. “You’ve been through a lot, Y/n. And yes, Rhys isn't here. You may feel lonely, I can imagine. But I won’t leave you alone unless you ask me to.”

The mention of Rhys made something tighten in her chest. Her throat constricted as her mind flashed back to the months before—how his absence had felt like a cold void in her life. His distance, the fact that he had retreated into his "duties" and left her with little more than empty promises.

Kallias was right. She had been lonely, even before coming here. But she couldn’t—no, she shouldn’t—talk about that now. So instead, she just shrugged again, her voice faltering as she spoke, though she didn’t realize it. “Well, no... not really,” she mumbled, her gaze dropping to the floor, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “He used to... he used to have breakfast with me every morning. But, since my pregnancy... he’s had more important things to do.”

Kallias froze, his hand still hovering near the back of the chair, and for the briefest of moments, his eyes darkened. His expression shifted from curiosity to something harder to define. But it was gone as quickly as it came, and he masked it with a soft, reassuring smile. “More important things...” he repeated, his voice filled with an edge of something she couldn’t quite place.

He stepped forward, placing his hand gently on her shoulder, guiding her toward the table. “Y/n,” he said, his voice low and protective, “you are never an afterthought here. Not by me. You are never a burden or an inconvenience.” His eyes met hers, sincerity written in every word, every glance. “You are a priority. And so is your child.”

Y/n’s heart squeezed painfully in her chest at his words. She had never heard them from Rhys, not since the pregnancy began. She had heard about his ‘important work’ and his ‘obligations.’ She had heard about everything else except her.

Now she knew why.

Kallias pulled out the chair for her, and for a moment, she stood there, uncertain, before taking a seat. The table before her seemed so foreign, but oddly inviting—something about the simplicity of it soothed her in a way she couldn’t explain.

He pushed her chair in gently and moved around to the opposite side, where he seated himself as well. The silence between them felt comfortable, not awkward, and Y/n found herself leaning into it, a small part of her grateful for Kallias' presence.

That little breakfast marked the beginning of a new chapter in Y/n’s life. Her time in the Winter Court, now almost a week into her stay, had transformed from uncertainty to something more comfortable, more familiar. Kallias had seen to it that she was well taken care of. The warmth of the palace, the crisp air outside, and the peaceful surroundings made the months of her pregnancy bearable. Each day felt like a healing step, both physically and emotionally.

Her bump, now at eight months, had grown rounder, more pronounced. It was impossible to ignore, and though it felt heavy at times, there was also a sense of pride that came with carrying this new life inside of her. She was doing this. Alone, yes, but she was doing it. She could handle it. Or at least, she told herself that every morning as she slipped out of bed and prepared for the day.

Kallias had been a constant presence, always checking in on her, offering kind words, and inviting her to walks around the palace grounds. He was thoughtful in a way that made her feel safe, yet distant enough to allow her space when she needed it. He treated her with respect, never prying too much, but always there with a comforting smile when she needed it most.

But beneath the surface of this peaceful life, the nightmares never stopped. They came in waves, uninvited and unwelcome, twisting her mind with their brutality.

Rhysand’s betrayal still haunted her, even here, in this foreign place. There were moments when she would find herself dissociating, her gaze unfocused as her thoughts spiraled. It wasn’t just the constant ache of her loss, but the sudden, unbearable images that would flash before her eyes. Images of that night. Of Rhysand and Feyre in her bedroom, kissing, their bodies pressed together in a way that left no room for doubt. The dream replayed itself in her mind constantly, a sickening reminder of everything that had been ripped away from her.

She would blink, and the memory would vanish as quickly as it appeared, leaving her breathless, her chest tight. She couldn’t escape it. And yet, despite her aching heart, she pretended she was fine. She told herself that she was healing, moving on. Each day with Kallias felt like another layer of protection, a cocoon she’d built around herself to shield her from the past. But deep down, she knew she wasn’t truly healing. She was only pretending, masking the pain.

And Kallias knew. He saw through the facades, though he never asked about the cracks in her armor. His presence was gentle but insistent, like a steady hand on her back, urging her to heal in her own time.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t see the wounds.

One night, two weeks into her stay in Winter, she woke again to a nightmare.

The dream began like any other—a vision of Rhysand, of their time together, filled with love, tenderness, and hope. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close, whispering promises of forever. She felt the warmth of his lips against hers, the love she had once known. It felt real. It felt like him. And for a moment, she allowed herself to believe in the dream—believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be the way they once were.

But then, as always, it turned. It warped.

His face twisted, his eyes cold. The warmth was gone. The love was gone.

“You’re not my mate, Y/n,” he spat, his voice cutting through her like a blade. “Feyre is. She always has been. So why don’t you just leave?”

Her heart shattered, her chest seizing with an unbearable ache as the words echoed in her mind. Why don’t you just leave?

She woke with a jolt, gasping for breath, drenched in sweat, her heart pounding painfully in her chest. The room was too dark, too quiet, and the only thing that kept her grounded was the soft sound of her own ragged breathing. Her hands trembled as she wiped away the sweat from her forehead, trying to calm her shaking body.

But then, she felt it.

Warm arms—strong, steady—slid around her, pulling her against a solid chest. She froze, her heart racing, a gasp escaping her lips.

“Shh, it’s alright,” a soothing voice whispered, low and calm. “You’re safe.”

Y/n blinked, her thoughts hazy as she tried to make sense of what was happening. It took a moment for the fog to clear, and when it did, she saw him—Kallias, sitting beside her on the bed, his chest bare and his hair mussed from sleep. His worried eyes studied her face, his hands gently brushing the sweat-soaked strands of hair from her forehead.

“What... what are you doing here?” she whispered, her voice shaking as she struggled to regain her bearings.

Kallias didn’t answer her immediately, only pulling her closer, his arms tightening around her as if he could absorb the pain she was feeling. His heart beat steadily beneath her ear, a rhythm that she clung to. She could feel the warmth of his skin against hers, but it wasn’t just physical warmth—there was an emotional depth there that made her want to melt into him.

“I felt your pain,” he murmured, his voice thick with concern. “I heard you calling out... shouting. You’re next to my room, and I couldn’t ignore it.”

Y/n blinked again, trying to process his words, the meaning of them, but her thoughts were foggy. He felt my pain?

But the thought quickly slipped away as she focused on the fact that he was here, now. Holding her. Her breath hitched as she whispered, “I... I’m sorry. What was I shouting? What happened?”

Kallias gave her a small, reassuring smile, though his eyes were still heavy with concern. “You were just shouting ‘no,’” he said softly, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand. “That’s all.”

Y/n’s chest tightened, but relief flooded her. She hadn’t spoken about Rhys. He didn’t know.

But then, as quickly as the relief came, the memories of the nightmare returned. The cruel words Rhys had spoken—the betrayal, the rejection—tore through her heart again. Her breath caught, and her face crumpled as the tears started to fall. Uncontrollable, heart-wrenching sobs wracked her body as she clung to Kallias, burying her face in his chest.

He didn’t question her. Didn’t ask why she was crying, didn’t ask about Rhys. He just held her, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back as she cried. He held her like she was the most precious thing in the world, his strong arms never wavering.

Y/n’s chest shook with the intensity of her grief. It felt as though all the pain she had buried, all the hurt she had held inside, was finally being released. She wasn’t alone in this moment. Kallias was there, and he didn’t demand anything from her—he just was there.

She cried for what felt like hours, the weight of everything too much to carry. And when her sobs finally slowed, when the ache in her chest began to lessen, she pulled away slightly, her eyes red and puffy, her face blotchy.

Kallias’ gaze was soft, his worry still there, but now there was a quiet understanding in his eyes.

“You’re not alone,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “I’m here, Y/n. I’m here for you.”

And for the first time in months, she allowed herself to believe it. She allowed herself to believe in the comfort he offered, the tenderness, the care.

For now, it was enough.

And for the first time in a long time, Y/n didn’t feel invisible.

Snow drifted beyond the frost-lined windows of his study, the icy landscape of Winter Court bathed in a soft morning glow. The beauty of it should have brought him the usual sense of peace. Instead, Kallias found himself staring blankly at the papers in front of him, his mind elsewhere.

Or rather—on someone else.

Y/N.

He exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. It had been a week since she arrived. Two weeks of watching her, observing the way she carried herself—like someone who was trying too hard to appear whole. At first glance, she looked well enough, but Kallias had always been perceptive. And Y/N… she was anything but fine.

She had come to Winter alone. Pregnant and alone.

That fact alone unsettled him.

How could Rhysand allow his supposed mate—his pregnant wife—to travel to another court by herself? If it were his mate, his wife, he would never—never—have let her out of his sight, let alone across Prythian.

The first day she arrived, he had noticed it.

Beneath the heavy cloak, beneath the graceful way she moved, something had been… off. She looked uncared for. Not in the sense that she was unkempt, but in the way a male should care for his pregnant beloved—fussing over her, ensuring her comfort, making sure she felt loved.

Kallias had tried to push the thought away. Surely, there was an explanation. Rhysand wasn’t a fool—he had always been a male who protected what was his. Yet, Y/N was here, alone. No messages from Rhysand. No sign of him even worrying about her absence.

Kallias drummed his fingers against the polished wood of his desk.

There were things he wasn’t being told. He could feel it.

And last night had only confirmed his suspicions.

The memory of her nightmare was still fresh in his mind—the frantic pull in his chest that had woken him, the way he had found himself running to her door before he even realized what he was doing. Her shouts, her fear. He had felt it like a blade to the ribs.

And when he found her, drenched in sweat and tears, sobbing into his arms…

His jaw tightened.

It had taken everything in him not to stay. Not to hold her until morning, until he knew for certain she would be all right. But she wasn’t his. She had never been his.

If only she knew.

If only she had ever noticed him properly before.

Kallias let out a low, bitter chuckle, shaking his head at himself. Pathetic. After all these years, the feeling had never truly left, had it? Even when he was barely a young High Lord, he had felt it—that pull toward her, the way she lit up every room she entered. She had been his first quiet longing, his other half, even before he fully understood what it meant. But she had already belonged to someone else.

And now, here she was, in his court, in his home, carrying another male’s child.

Kallias clenched his jaw, shutting his eyes for a moment.

He would not make a fool of himself. He would not fail her. She had come here, had chosen his court for her solace. He would be the sanctuary she needed—nothing more.

“Dare I ask what’s making you scowl like that?”

Kallias opened his eyes to find Marek, his second-in-command, watching him with raised brows, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. The male stood across the desk, setting down a stack of reports.

“Nothing,” Kallias said coolly, straightening in his seat.

Marek gave a skeptical hum before sitting in the chair opposite him. “Right. Nothing. Which is why you’ve been glaring at your desk like it personally offended you.” He exhaled, leaning back. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the High Lady of Night, would it?”

Kallias stiffened slightly but kept his face impassive. “She is a guest in my court.”

“She is a pregnant guest in your court,” Marek corrected, studying him. “Alone. Without her partner. Which, frankly, is something I didn’t think I’d ever see.” He shook his head. “Strange, isn’t it? That the great Rhysand would let his beloved travel alone, stay alone—especially now.”

Kallias remained silent, his fingers curling slightly against the desk.

Marek wasn’t wrong.

“That surprises you too, doesn’t it?” Marek pressed, tilting his head.

Kallias exhaled through his nose, glancing out the window before finally speaking. “I won’t pretend to understand the affairs of another court,” he said carefully. “But yes. It is… unexpected.”

Marek studied him for a moment before his lips twitched. “You’ve been softer lately.”

Kallias turned back to him, brows furrowing. “Excuse me?”

Marek smirked, leaning his elbows on the desk. “Since she arrived, you’ve been… different. Softer.” His voice was laced with amusement.

Kallias scoffed. “You’re imagining things.”

“Oh, am I?” Marek drawled. “Because last I checked, you don’t usually look at guests like you’re ready to tear apart whatever put that sadness in their eyes.”

Kallias tensed but masked it with a blank stare. “You’ve had too much wine.”

Marek only chuckled. “Maybe. Or maybe I just see what you refuse to admit.”

Kallias gave him a pointed look. “Enough.”

Marek’s smirk widened, but he raised his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. Back to business.” He slid a set of documents across the desk. “The plans for the new army base. You wanted to review the latest designs.”

Kallias exhaled, pushing aside the weight in his chest. “Good. Let’s go over them.”

Marek didn’t say another word on the matter, but the knowing gleam in his eyes remained.

And even as Kallias turned his attention to the documents before him, a single truth echoed in his mind—one he was desperately trying to ignore.

He was getting too close to her.

And he didn’t know if he could stop.

It started during a healer’s visit.

The Winter Court had its own healers, and Kallias, in his quiet, careful way, had made sure that Y/N had regular check-ups. He never pushed too hard, never insisted she take the treatments, but the way he made sure things were taken care of spoke volumes.

Today, he was sitting by the large window of her quarters, papers scattered across the table in front of him, though his attention kept drifting toward her. She hadn’t been feeling her best recently—more tired than usual, more distant—but the sight of him nearby always seemed to soothe her.

The healer, a soft-spoken male named Hesperos, was gentle and methodical in his examination, pressing his warm hands to Y/N’s swollen belly, murmuring soothing words of a spell. The healing magic rippled through her, a cool, peaceful energy.

“The baby is strong. Healthy,” Hesperos said with a smile. Y/N exhaled in relief, her shoulders relaxing.

Kallias, however, didn’t smile. His focus remained unwavering, but something about the way he was sitting, so quietly intense, made Y/N feel as though he was seeing through her. She didn’t know why it felt that way.

She smiled at the healer, her voice soft. “Thank you, Hesperos. I feel much better after every visit.”

Hesperos gave a warm chuckle. “It’s our job to make sure you do, my lady.”

But then, his expression shifted. He blinked, his hands pausing over her stomach. Y/N’s gaze flicked between him and Kallias, her stomach tightening slightly at the sudden tension in the room.

“Is something wrong?” Y/N asked, her voice shaking just a little.

The healer seemed almost uncertain, glancing at her before looking toward Kallias. His gaze lowered, his hands falling back to his sides. “My lady… I need to ask… Have you been under any extreme stress lately? Or emotional strain?”

Y/N blinked, frowning. “Stress?” she echoed, forcing a laugh. “I mean, of course, I’ve been tired lately, but—”

“No, it’s not just the fatigue,” Hesperos interrupted gently. “This is something more than simple exhaustion. I’m detecting some… emotional strain.”

Y/N’s smile faltered, her mind racing. She quickly shook her head, a forced chuckle escaping her lips. “That’s ridiculous. I’ve been resting well here. I haven’t been stressed. Everything’s fine.”

But there was a strange, almost skeptical look on Hesperos’s face. He leaned a bit closer, studying her carefully, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “What I’m sensing, it’s the kind of strain we see in those who’ve endured emotional trauma. Perhaps…during or maybe even before the pregnancy?”

A weight settled over her chest. She felt the breath catch in her throat, the room feeling suddenly too small. She could feel Kallias’s eyes on her now, sharp, calculating.

Y/N shifted uncomfortably. She didn’t know how to respond.

The healer, sensing her discomfort, withdrew slightly, his expression sympathetic. “It’s nothing too serious. The baby’s fine. But I would advise you to take some more time to care for your emotional well-being. Take it easy, my lady. Rest, and avoid any unnecessary stress.”

“Of course, of course,” Y/N replied quickly, nodding. “I’ve been resting plenty. I’ll take care of myself.”

Kallias hadn’t said a word. He hadn’t moved either. He was just staring at her, his jaw clenched, his hands folded on the table, his expression unreadable.

Y/N felt her heart race.

She looked away, suddenly feeling the weight of his gaze. She forced herself to look calm, to smile. “Nothing, Kallias. It’s nothing.”

But he wasn’t convinced. His eyes narrowed slightly, though his voice remained calm. “You’re hiding something from me.”

She shifted uncomfortably. Was this it? Was this where it all ended?

“I’m not hiding anything,” she said quickly, her voice tight. “I’m just… I’ve been through a lot, that’s all. And I’m pregnant.” She shrugged. “It’s normal.”

But he was still staring at her. His lips pressed into a thin line, and his eyes flickered with some unreadable emotion.

Finally, he stood up from the chair. The motion was quick, almost as if he’d made a decision. His expression remained unreadable, but Y/N felt the tension in the air.

He walked toward the door without another word.

“Kallias?” Her voice barely broke the silence.

He paused at the door but didn’t turn around.

She didn’t know why, but she found herself standing, moving toward him. The instinct to reach out, to stop him, was stronger than the part of her that told her to stay still.

But before she could take another step, Kallias turned sharply, his voice cutting through the quiet. “I’ll be back in a moment.” And just like that, he left the room.

The door clicked shut, leaving her in a sea of confusion. Her mind raced as she tried to make sense of his sudden departure. Was he angry? Disappointed? Did he think she was lying?

Why was he upset?

Y/N stood frozen in place, her heart heavy.

“Why does it feel like he’s mad at me?” she whispered under her breath. “What did I do?”

Her chest tightened with the rush of emotions.

She moved toward the window, staring out at the stark beauty of the Winter landscape, but it wasn’t the frozen scenery that filled her mind. It was him—Kallias’s withdrawn look, his darkened expression, the quiet fury in his eyes.

But maybe he was disgusted by her. Maybe she was too much of a burden. He’d been kind, too kind, and now, with everything she’d been holding inside, she probably had let it slip. He probably didn’t want to be around someone like her.

Just the thought made her stomach turn. She couldn’t hold on to his kindness forever.

Her gaze fell to the door, but just before she could even begin to move towards it, she was stopped by the healer, his expression soft and calm.

“My lady,” he said gently, his eyes full of understanding, “please, you can’t be running around with a belly like that.” He gestured to the comfortable chair by the window, urging her to sit back down. “Rest for now.”

Y/N nodded silently, sinking into the chair with a sigh. She was exhausted. Mentally, emotionally… physically.

But even as she closed her eyes and tried to push away her thoughts of Kallias, her mind kept returning to him. His departure had felt like something more than just irritation.

Was he disgusted by me?

Did he hate me now?

I’ve pushed him too far.

She closed her eyes tight, unable to stop the tears that pricked at her eyelids.

He barely felt himself move as he stormed out of the room.

His mind was spinning, his pulse roaring in his ears like a blizzard. The healer’s words echoed over and over again in his head.

Extreme stress. Emotional strain. Trauma.

And then—before the pregnancy.

Kallias’ hands curled into fists as he raced down the halls of his palace, his heart slamming against his ribs. His thoughts were a whirlwind, pieces snapping together, his worst suspicions solidifying into a devastating truth.

She wasn’t just struggling because of the pregnancy.

She had been suffering long before she ever arrived in Winter.

Kallias knew. He knew.

A growl ripped from his throat as rage flooded his veins. His magic surged, ice crackling at his fingertips as he barely managed to contain the violent storm building within him.

He wouldn’t contain it.

Not this time.

Not when she had been suffering in silence, not when she had been left like this, abandoned and alone, with his child growing inside her while she silently broke apart.

The halls blurred around him as he winnowed in a snap of ice-cold wind, the world bending to his fury.

The wards around the townhouse shattered the moment Kallias appeared.

The sheer force of his arrival cracked the air like a thunderclap, shaking the very foundations of the house.

Rhysand’s inner circle was gathered in the sitting room, locked in a heated argument, voices overlapping in tension and frustration.

“I can’t believe you—” Mor was snarling at Rhys, her hands clenched at her sides.

“She deserved better than this, Rhys,” Azriel’s voice was colder than night, his wings flaring slightly as he stood rigidly beside Cassian.

Feyre’s voice was tight. “I didn’t—”

“She probably hates us too because of the shit you dragged us into,” Cassian interrupted, his expression dark with disbelief.

And then, in a blink, the argument halted.

Because Kallias was suddenly there.

The moment he appeared, a bitter chill flooded the room, ice creeping along the floor, frost curling at the windows.

Rhys barely had time to react before Kallias launched at him.

“You little bastard.”

The words were venom, spat through clenched teeth, right before Kallias swung.

The impact was sharp, a solid hit to Rhysand’s jaw that sent him stumbling back. Gasps erupted around them—someone shouted Kallias’ name—but he wasn’t done.

Rhys recovered quickly, eyes flashing pure fury, and retaliated, his power snapping through the air as he tackled Kallias.

Fists flew, the sound of their bodies colliding shaking the very walls of the townhouse. Furniture splintered, ice and darkness clashing violently as Kallias slammed Rhys into the floor, his hands around his throat.

“How dare you,” Kallias seethed, his grip tightening. “How fucking dare you.”

Rhys wrenched free, throwing Kallias off him with a burst of raw power. Kallias skidded across the room, but he was already back on his feet, already lunging again—

Cassian and Azriel intervened.

Cassian caught Kallias, hauling him back with an iron grip, barely keeping him restrained. Azriel stood between them, his expression unreadable but watchful, wings flared wide.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Cassian bellowed, struggling to hold Kallias back.

Kallias didn’t answer. His gaze was still locked on Rhys, both of them breathing heavily, murder in their eyes.

Until his gaze shifted.

Feyre.

She was kneeling beside Rhys, her fingers gently brushing over his jaw, her eyes wide, lips parted slightly in concern.

That was all Kallias needed to confirm everything.

His stomach twisted, something cold and ugly settling in his chest.

His muscles tensed, and he shoved Cassian off him.

“When you saved us all from Under the Mountain,” Kallias said, his voice deadly quiet, his cold blue eyes settling on Feyre, “when I gave you a part of my power… I never thought I would ever regret it.”

A muscle ticked in Rhys’ jaw.

Kallias took a slow step forward, gaze flicking back to him.

“But now, standing here, seeing this ugly, pathetic scene before me, I feel nothing but regret. And disgust.”

Silence.

Feyre’s breath hitched, but Kallias ignored it.

His glare returned to Rhys, who still held his furious, defensive stance, though something uneasy flickered across his face.

Kallias bared his teeth. “Do you even realize what you’ve done to her?” His voice was quieter now, but sharper than shattered ice.

Rhys didn’t answer.

Kallias took another step, his fury rising again.

“If you wanted to break things off, you should’ve done it before putting a child in her. Before making her worry, before leaving her to suffer alone.”

A thick, heavy silence.

Everyone was watching.

Even Amren’s expression was unreadable, her lips pressed into a tight line.

Kallias’ voice rose.

“She has been having episodes where she freezes, clutching her belly and staring into nothing—” He gritted his teeth.“And when I bring her back, when I gently bring her back to the present, do you know what she does?” His laugh was cold. Cruel. “She smiles like nothing happened.”

Rhys’ face remained unreadable.

Kallias’ voice turned into a snarl.

“Do you know she has nightmares every gods-damned night? Almost as if she’s being reminded of your disgusting actions?”

Feyre flinched.

Kallias stepped even closer, furious now.

“And do you know, Rhysand—” His tone was filled with nothing but pure wrath now. “—that she has been doubting herself every moment? She’s been trying to hide it, but it’s killing her. From within.”

Rhys’ expression finally cracked. A flicker of guilt.

Kallias sneered.

And then, his voice dropped into ice-cold steel.

“You better apologize. On your knees.”

His words struck deep, the weight of them suffocating the room.

“Beg for her forgiveness, because you still have a gods-damned faeling on the way, and you best hope you can be a good father—at the very least.”

He took in Rhys’ barely concealed guilt, the tension crushing the room.

And then Kallias turned.

His parting words were quiet, but lethal.

“Because if you aren’t—” he gave one final, piercing glare “—I will make sure you regret it for the rest of your immortal life.”

And with that, he vanished, winnowing away in a gust of frozen wind.

Leaving behind nothing but a chilling silence.

An hour had passed since the healer had left. An hour of pacing, of restless hands wringing together, of her mind spiraling with thoughts she could not untangle.

Kallias was nowhere to be found. She had searched, called his name softly in the empty halls, but there had been no response. And with every passing moment, the worry in her chest grew, coiling tighter and tighter.

So when she finally stepped out of her room, heart pounding, she nearly missed him—almost didn't see him slipping into his own chambers, his hand on the door, about to shut it. But the soft click of her own door opening must have reached him, because he hesitated, head tilting slightly before turning fully to face her.

Their eyes collided.

And the first thing she noticed were the bruises—small but unmistakable wounds marring his otherwise perfect face. Red marks along his jaw. A faint cut near his cheekbone. His lower lip was slightly swollen.

She inhaled sharply.

There was only one being he would have fought like this.

Kallias remained silent, waiting for her reaction, and she sighed as she slowly stepped toward him. His fingers twitched on the door handle, as if torn between shutting himself away or—

The door opened.

Silently.

An unspoken invitation.

Y/N stepped inside, and Kallias shut the door behind her, locking it with a quiet click.

Her gaze flickered around the room—cold and grand, yet undeniably his. The heavy drapes of silver and midnight blue, the dark wooden furniture, the ever-present chill of winter that clung to the air but did not touch her skin. A fire crackled low in the hearth, barely illuminating the carved designs along the high ceiling. It was neat, yet something about it felt untouched. As if no one had lived in it for too long.

When she turned back to him, Kallias was still watching her. Silently. Intently.

She exhaled, shaking her head slightly.

“Do you have any tonics or salves?” she asked, voice softer than she expected.

A slow, almost dazed nod. Then, without a word, he turned and led her toward an adjoining washroom.

She took what she needed—her fingers grazing along the neatly arranged bottles, picking out the ones that would soothe the swelling, heal the cuts. Then, guiding him back to the bedroom, she pressed gently on his chest, urging him to sit at the edge of the bed.

Kallias obeyed.

And when she stepped between his legs, pressing a cloth to his jaw, she felt the way his body stiffened beneath her touch. Not from pain—but from something else entirely.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and charged.

Until finally, she whispered, “I take it you’re aware of the situation now?”

A slow nod. Then, just as softly, he whispered back, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her hand faltered for a second before she resumed dabbing at his jaw.

“What difference would it have made?” she murmured. “You and I… we weren’t that close.”

A mistake.

Because in the next heartbeat, his hand rose—gently but firmly clasping her wrist, halting her movements.

She looked at him, confused, but his grip did not waver.

“If only you ever gave me a chance,” Kallias whispered.

Her breath caught.

“What?”

His eyes burned with something raw, something centuries-old.

“If only you ever looked outside your bubble with Rhysand,” he continued, voice thick with emotion, “and saw me. Saw that I was there for you—heart and soul, every moment, wishing for you to be mine.”

The words slammed into her, knocking the air from her lungs.

She stepped back, barely registering the cloth slipping from her hands.

“What?” she repeated, disbelieving.

Kallias stood, not letting her distance herself.

“Do you know what a painful feeling it is to watch your mate be in love and carry another male’s child?” His voice cracked—just slightly. But his expression remained steady, unwavering. “To give her heart to him?”

Her mouth parted, but no words came out.

Mate.

He knew.

He knew.

“You knew I was your mate?” she breathed, voice barely above a whisper.

A sad, almost broken smile touched his lips.

“I’ve known for nearly two hundred years.”

She felt dizzy.

“I felt it the moment I saw you,” he admitted, his voice dropping lower, more vulnerable. “And since then, I always felt you. Every moment. Every breath. During those fifty years under the mountain, I couldn’t feel you through Amarantha’s magic—but my thoughts were with you. Always with you.”

Her eyes burned.

“And after we were free…” He let out a shuddering breath. “You have no idea how overjoyed I was just to feel you through the bond again.”

He clenched his jaw, shaking his head. “The moment I was told you were pregnant, I wasn’t surprised. But I was still in pain. The weeks and months after that were no different.”

Y/N’s lips trembled.

“But that night,” Kallias whispered. “That night I felt great pain coming from you. And the next day, I had my reply sent to you.”

Her breath hitched.

“The night I found them kissing,” she murmured in realization.

His expression darkened, rage flickering across his face before he took a steady breath.

“I tried keeping this a secret,” he admitted. “I tried my best, Y/N. But…” His voice thickened with emotion. “I have already hidden this for two hundred years. I can’t do this anymore.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks.

“I understand if you need time to process it all,” he whispered. “But please, I hope you won’t be disappointed.”

She didn’t know what to say.

Didn’t know how to respond to this revelation that shattered everything she thought she knew.

“I…” She swallowed hard. “I need time to process. I am… I don’t—I don’t know what to say or do.”

Kallias held her gaze, his eyes filled with something unreadable.

“You don’t need to do anything,” he murmured. “Just be confident in your decision. Whatever it may be.”

She looked away, blinking back the tears.

Then, slowly, she turned toward the door.

She hesitated—just for a moment.

Then left.

And behind her, Kallias stood still in the center of the room, watching her go.

The days passed, but the weight of Kallias’ words did not fade.

If anything, they lingered. Clung to her skin, to her mind, to her soul.

She had not spoken to him about it since that night. Not because she didn’t want to—but because she didn’t know how.

Her mate.

Her mate, and he had known for nearly two hundred years.

She hadn’t known what to do with that information. She still didn’t.

So she had done what she always did. She buried it. She carried on. She let the days slip into nights, avoiding him when she could, enduring the unbearable tension when she couldn’t.

But she felt him everywhere.

Felt him in the way his gaze lingered on her across the dining table. In the way his presence filled the room the second he entered it, like winter itself bending to accommodate his power.

In the way her body, despite her protests, was aware of him.

Kallias, however, did not push.

He did not corner her, did not force her into another conversation about what he had revealed.

But that did not mean the tension between them had lessened. If anything, it had thickened.

And at night, when sleep refused to claim her, her mind would return to him.

How had she never seen it? Never felt it?

The way he looked at her. The way his voice softened ever so slightly when he spoke to her. The way his magic, cool and crisp as fresh snow, had always sought hers.

Rhysand had been her world for so long. She had loved him, given him everything. She had never once thought to look elsewhere.

But now—now, she had to.

And it terrified her.

So when another sleepless night came, when she found herself tossing and turning in her sheets, mind refusing to quiet, she could no longer take it.

A pull.

It tugged at her insides, restless and unrelenting.

She didn’t think. She simply obeyed it.

Throwing back her covers, she slid on a robe over her thin nightgown and padded barefoot out of her room.

The halls were silent, the moonlight casting long shadows along the frost-covered floors.

She didn’t need to wonder where she was going.

She already knew.

Her feet carried her straight to Kallias’ office, the pull within her intensifying the closer she got.

The door was slightly ajar, and when she reached it, she hesitated.

Then, taking a steadying breath, she pushed it open.

He was there.

Sitting behind his grand desk, head buried in documents, the glow of candlelight flickering against his sharp features.

He did not move at first.

But then—he stilled.

As if sensing her.

And when he slowly lifted his head, his piercing blue eyes locked onto hers.

The room suddenly felt too small. Too warm.

And that was when she realized—

She had come in wearing only her nightgown and robe.

A thin nightgown.

One that clung to her, that left very little to the imagination.

His gaze ran over her, darkening as it fell to her now prominent belly, before slowly trailing back up to her face.

She swallowed hard, cursing herself.

His voice was quiet, unreadable. “Y/N.”

She forced herself to clear her throat. Forced herself to hold his stare, despite the way it made her entire body feel like it was burning.

“I…” She inhaled deeply. “I came to ask some questions.”

Kallias did not move. Did not look away.

His gaze remained fixed on her, heavy and waiting.

When she did not immediately continue, he arched a single, silver brow.

“Ask them,” he murmured.

She tried to collect her thoughts, tried to remember why she had come here in the first place.

“Why?” she finally breathed. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

His expression did not shift.

But when she kept going, words spilling from her lips in a desperate attempt to understand—

He cut her off.

Smoothly.

Calmly.

“Do you want the answers or not?”

She stopped mid-sentence, mouth slightly parted.

And then—slowly—she nodded.

Kallias rose from his chair.

Her stomach clenched.

His movements were slow, deliberate, as he stepped around the desk, rounding it towards her.

His eyes never left her.

With each step he took, he answered.

“I didn’t tell you,” he said, voice low, steady, intense, “because you were in love with another. Because I wanted you to choose me for me, not because fate dictated it.”

Another step.

“I didn’t tell you,” he continued, “because I saw the way you looked at him. And I knew you never looked at me the same.”

Another step.

Closer.

Her breath hitched, but she did not move.

By the time he stopped, they were chest to chest.

She was close enough to see the faint scar above his eyebrow, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him despite the cold magic always humming beneath his skin.

Her heart pounded.

And when her gaze—without her permission—dropped to his lips, Kallias’ jaw tightened.

“Stop tempting me,” he murmured.

Her breath came unevenly.

“I’m not doing anything,” she whispered.

A low, quiet growl.

“Your existence is enough to tempt me,” he said, his voice raw. “Everything you do. Everything you wear. It tempts me.”

She didn’t know what came over her.

Perhaps it was the way his voice had turned rough, husky.

Perhaps it was the way his hands twitched at his sides, as if restraining themselves from reaching for her.

Perhaps it was the way her own body reacted to him, to his closeness, to the sheer, undeniable pull between them.

An urge.

A reckless, uncontrollable urge to kiss him.

Her fingers twitched.

Her breath mingled with his.

His hands fisted at his sides.

But instead—

Instead, she ran.

She took a sharp step back, nearly stumbling over herself as she turned away and hurried out of the room.

She did not stop.

Not when she reached her chambers.

Not when she collapsed onto her bed, heart racing, skin burning.

She did not stop.

But she cursed herself the entire time.

A month.

It had been a month since she had arrived in Winter.

A month since she had learned the truth.

A month since her world had shifted beneath her feet.

And now—

Now, she was nine months pregnant.

Due any day.

Y/N exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to her swollen belly as she gazed across the gardens of ice and snow.

It was breathtaking. A masterpiece of nature and magic intertwined.

Frozen roses glistened beneath the pale sunlight. Delicate trees, their branches coated in frost, stood tall against the clear blue sky. The air was crisp, biting against her skin, but she welcomed the cold.

It grounded her.

Unlike her thoughts. Unlike the turmoil that had been storming within her since that night in Kallias’ office.

Since she had nearly kissed him.

Since she had run.

She had avoided him even more after that. Refused to be alone with him. Refused to give him the chance to speak to her about what had happened.

But it hadn’t stopped her from feeling him.

Hadn’t stopped her from being aware of him every time he was near.

Hadn’t stopped the dreams.

The ones where his voice, husky and low, whispered to her in the darkness.

Where his hands, warm despite his magic, held her.

Where his lips—

She exhaled sharply, cutting off the thought before it could fully form.

No.

No, she wouldn’t think of that.

She couldn’t.

Instead, she focused on the silence around her. The stillness. The temporary peace that came with the gardens.

Until—

She felt it.

Him.

His presence.

A familiar, steady weight pressing against her senses.

The air seemed to shift, thickening with something unspoken.

And then—

Slow, measured steps against the snow.

She knew it was him before she even turned.

And when she did—

Her breath caught.

Kallias strolled into the gardens with an effortless grace that only he possessed.

His white hair gleamed beneath the sun, tousled just enough to make her wonder if he had run a hand through it in frustration. His sharp jawline was dusted with the barest hint of stubble, making him look unfairly handsome.

He was dressed in his usual pristine attire, the elegant fabric emphasizing his powerful frame.

But it wasn’t just his appearance that made her heart stutter.

It was his eyes.

Icy blue, watching her softly.

Unwavering.

She turned away immediately, forcing herself to focus on the frozen roses once more.

She wouldn’t do this.

Wouldn’t stand here and pretend her body didn’t react to his presence.

Wouldn’t pretend her heart didn’t ache with confusion every time she looked at him.

So she did the only thing she knew how to do.

She tried to leave.

But the moment she took a step forward, his voice—deep, steady, commanding—cut through the air.

"You can't keep running away from everything."

She froze.

Slowly, she turned to face him, her hands tightening around the edges of her robe.

Her lips curled slightly. "I can try."

His expression didn’t change. But something flickered in his eyes.

A mixture of exasperation. And something else. Something deeper.

"You are impossibly stubborn," he murmured, stepping closer.

"And you are impossibly persistent," she shot back, lifting her chin.

A ghost of a smirk touched his lips. "It seems we have that in common, then."

She pressed her lips together, unsure how to respond.

Kallias took another step, his gaze sweeping over her face, then down to her belly.

She expected him to stop there, but his eyes softened—so much it nearly hurt to look at.

"You're due any day now," he murmured.

Her throat tightened. "I know."

Another step.

Closer.

"Are you well?" he asked, voice quieter. "Do you need anything?"

The sincerity in his voice, in his concern, made her pulse stammer.

She opened her mouth, hesitated, then asked the question that had been clawing at her for weeks.

"Why do you care?"

Kallias blinked.

His brows furrowed slightly, as if the question confused him.

Her throat worked as she swallowed.

"The faeling," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Why do you care for my baby when you know they are from another male?"

Silence.

A beat passed.

Then another.

And then—

Kallias’ expression softened in a way she had never seen before.

Slowly, he stepped closer.

And before she could move, before she could stop him—

He gently grasped her arms.

His touch was careful. Warm.

And when he spoke, his voice was so quiet, so reverent, that she could hardly breathe.

"Because it is not the baby’s fault to have such a father."

Her chest tightened.

"Because none of this is their fault."

Her vision blurred.

"Because they are yours. And that is all that matters to me."

Her breath shuddered out of her.

Something inside her cracked.

A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it.

Kallias’ fingers twitched against her arms.

And then—slowly, hesitantly—he reached up and brushed the tear away with the back of his knuckles.

The touch was light. Barely there.

But it made her stomach flip nonetheless.

She parted her lips, wanting to say something—anything—when—

A throat cleared.

Both of them stiffened.

The moment shattered.

Y/N turned her head—and felt the breath get knocked from her lungs.

Behind the servant standing in the archway of the gardens—

Stood Rhysand.

Her heart stopped.

The servant bowed slightly before addressing Kallias.

"High Lord Rhysand of Night, Your Grace."

The moment the words left the servant’s mouth, Kallias went utterly, dangerously still.

Y/N barely had time to react before Kallias’ arm pressed lightly against her, a silent yet firm movement as he pushed her behind him.

As if shielding her.

As if Rhys was a threat.

Her lips parted, her entire body locking in place as Kallias stepped forward, dismissing the servant without even looking at him.

Rhysand’s violet eyes flickered between them.

Between her.

Between Kallias.

Between where Kallias had moved to shield her.

And in that moment—

In that heartbeat of silence—

She knew.

Everything was about to change.

The air was thick with tension.

Y/N barely breathed as she peeked out from behind Kallias' broad frame, her heart hammering.

Rhysand stood just beyond them, his violet eyes unreadable, his wings tucked in tight, his hands flexing at his sides.

But she saw it.

The hesitation.

The hurt.

The way his gaze flickered—between her, between Kallias, between the space Kallias had deliberately placed between them. Between the connection he clearly saw.

He swallowed, composing himself with a slow inhale before exhaling heavily, his face blanking out.

Finally, he spoke.

"May we…" His voice was quieter than she expected, rough.

A pause.

A hesitation.

He sighed before trying again, voice steadier, though there was something raw beneath it.

"May we have a talk?"

Y/N sucked in a breath.

She felt Kallias tense beside her, his body a solid wall of unwavering strength. His eyes never left Rhys, cold and sharp as ice, watching every move the High Lord of Night made.

But he didn’t stop her.

Didn’t argue when she stepped forward, gently brushing past him.

Still, before she moved completely out of his reach, she turned.

A small, real smile—one just for him.

"Don’t worry," she murmured, holding his gaze. "I need this."

Kallias’ icy blue eyes softened.

A barely-there nod. Understanding.

"I will be nearby," he promised, voice quiet.

But when he turned to Rhys, his gaze hardened, a silent death glare that sent a chill through the air.

Y/N ignored it.

Instead, she led Rhysand a little further away, her posture shifting.

Gone was the hesitance, the uncertainty.

The second she turned to face him again, her entire demeanor changed.

Her voice was sharp. Cold.

"Talk."

Rhysand exhaled, his expression twisting as if it physically pained him to begin.

But he did.

From the start.

From Under the Mountain.

From the moment Amarantha had taken him, from the moment he had felt something shifting deep in his soul, long before Feyre had even arrived to save them.

How he had suspected Feyre was his mate before she had even set foot in that cursed place.

How the bond had begun pulling at him, whispering, nudging, long before she had even known him.

How, during every trial Feyre endured, during every moment of her suffering, his instincts screamed at him—protect her, protect her, protect her.

How, by the time she had finally saved them all, finally broken the curse—

"By then," he murmured, his voice nearly shaking, "I already felt the bond snap into place for me."

Y/N stilled.

A cold, hollow silence stretched between them.

Rhys swallowed.

"So when I arrived back home—to you. To Mor. I already knew."

A sharp, bitter laugh left her lips.

Of course.

Of course.

Her heart clenched, but she smiled—a twisted, cold thing.

"I should’ve known."

Rhys flinched.

"Because you weren’t yourself from the moment you came back."

Her voice wavered, but she didn’t stop.

"Always hesitating to touch me. Always distracted. Always—" She let out another humorless laugh, shaking her head. "I’m surprised I’m even pregnant right now."

Rhys’ jaw clenched, shame clouding his features.

"Y/N—"

"Save it," she snapped.

But he didn’t stop.

He explained everything.

Why he kept disappearing at night.

Why he had been gone for days at a time.

How, when Feyre and Tamlin were about to be wed, the bond had pulled him to her so strongly that he had to interfere—had to take her.

How he had been with her every time he was not with Y/N.

And how he had hidden it.

Lied.

Made her doubt herself.

Her hands curled into fists.

Her voice was softer when she spoke next, but it was far colder.

"All this time," she murmured.

Rhys stilled.

"All this time," she repeated, her voice shaking just slightly, "I had eyes only for you."

Her breath hitched.

"And yet—"

She met his gaze, let him see the truth in her eyes.

"Kallias has been my true mate all along."

Rhysand froze.

His entire body went rigid.

"What?"

A small, cruel smile touched her lips.

"You heard me."

Rhys shook his head slightly, as if trying to process it.

As if he hadn’t even considered it.

"Kallias is my mate," she continued, voice firm.

And this time, she felt it—the truth of the words, settling into her very bones.

Rhys looked… devastated.

"I—" He faltered.

But she didn’t care.

"I understand," she said, voice cold, "that Feyre is your mate."

Her fingers clenched at her sides.

"Because now that I have found my mate—" Her voice wavered. "I know what it feels like."

Rhys opened his mouth, but she cut him off.

"But hiding it?" Her eyes burned. "Making me doubt myself? Hate myself? Making me feel like I was losing you because of something I did?"

Her voice cracked.

"I won’t ever forgive you for that."

Rhysand flinched as if struck.

But she wasn’t done.

"But we have a child together."

His gaze snapped to hers.

"At least tell me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "that you will be a good father to them."

Rhys’ lips parted, his expression crumbling.

"Of course," he breathed, "of course, I will—"

But before he could finish, before he could even take a step forward—

Y/N gasped.

Pain. Sharp and sudden.

She clutched her stomach.

Her knees nearly buckled.

"My—" She gasped again, her body tensing.

Rhys’ eyes went wide.

"Y/N?"

"My water—" Her breath hitched. "The baby—the baby is coming!"

Chaos erupted.

Before she could even register what was happening, Kallias was there.

Instant. Immediate.

Rhys barely had time to react before Kallias shoved him aside, reaching for her.

"I’ve got you," Kallias murmured, his arms strong as he lifted her effortlessly into his hold.

She barely registered Rhys following as Kallias carried her inside, barking orders.

Midwives. Midwives were summoned at once, servants scrambling.

She clung to Kallias, her breath sharp, her body burning as the contractions began to intensify.

"I’m here," Kallias murmured against her forehead.

Her vision blurred.

"You’re not alone, starlight."

Rhys followed.

Kallias did not acknowledge him.

Not as he carried her into her chambers.

Not as he lowered her onto the prepared bed.

Not as he whispered, over and over, words only meant for her.

Words of comfort.

Words of devotion.

Words that Rhysand would never say again.

The room was dimly lit, the scent of lavender and fresh linens thick in the air as Y/N lay on the soft sheets, utterly exhausted. But despite the ache in her body, despite the whirlwind of emotions that had led up to this moment, her heart was full—because in her arms lay a tiny, fragile miracle.

Her daughter.

She traced the baby’s delicate features, her small nose, her plump little lips, the faintest dusting of dark lashes against rosy cheeks. She was warm, impossibly tiny, and perfect.

Rhysand sat in the chair beside the bed, unusually silent. He had not left. He had not even tried to. Instead, he was staring at their child with something so raw in his expression that, for the first time in a long while, Y/N saw him not as her betrayer but as a father.

“She has your nose,” Rhys murmured after a long pause, his voice hoarse with exhaustion and emotion.

Y/N huffed softly, tilting her head. “But your lips,” she countered, smoothing a thumb over the baby’s pout.

Rhys gave a small, breathless chuckle, his violet eyes bright as he leaned in just a little closer. “And your cheeks. She’s going to be so beautiful, just like her mother.”

For a fleeting second, a warm, nostalgic peace settled between them. An understanding. An unspoken acknowledgment of the life they had created together.

Then Y/N’s expression hardened. “Now that you have a daughter, you better pray she never meets a male like you.”

Rhys inhaled sharply, clearly stung. But instead of responding with guilt, his lips pressed into a determined line, his violet eyes flashing with something fiercely protective. “I would kill any male who ever hurt my princess.” He softened immediately after, gently extending his hands. “May I?”

Y/N hesitated but eventually nodded. She watched as Rhys cradled their daughter in his arms, his touch reverent, as if he were holding something sacred.

He was utterly enchanted, whispering soft words to the little girl, pressing the lightest kiss to her forehead. And for a moment, Y/N could see the father he was meant to be—the father he would be.

But she could not let that soften her resolve.

“I believe by now you know,” she murmured, folding her hands over her lap, “that I will be staying here permanently. With my mate.”

Rhys visibly tensed. His gaze flickered to her, pain swimming in his violet eyes. “Y/N…”

She shook her head, unwilling to hear whatever argument he might have.

Instead, Rhys exhaled sharply, adjusting the baby in his arms. “When she comes to Velaris, you too—”

“Not now.” Y/N cut him off, her voice firm. “I won’t be coming anytime soon.”

His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to protest, but he swallowed it down.

Y/N, however, turned her full attention back to her baby, brushing a finger over her tiny fingers, smiling as they wrapped around hers. In a playful, sing-song voice, she cooed, “But Uncles Cas and Az, and Aunties Mor and Amren—they are always welcome here, aren’t they? Yes, they are.”

Rhys sucked in a slow breath. She saw the way it gutted him, the way his shoulders slumped ever so slightly. But he nodded. “Of course.”

They spoke a little longer, quietly agreeing on how they would co-parent, what would be best for the child. But when Rhys finally murmured, “Y/N… I am so sorry. And Feyre is also—”

She didn’t let him finish.

“Save it,” she said coldly, her gaze snapping back to his. “You may leave now. You saw the baby. Come back tomorrow, if you will. Or don’t. I don’t care.”

Rhys looked like he had a thousand more things to say, but he only nodded slowly, gently placing the baby back in Y/N’s arms before standing. He hesitated at the door.

“Call Kallias in,” she ordered, her voice unrelenting.

Rhys turned to leave without another word.

And the moment Kallias entered the room, Y/N’s body instinctively relaxed.

He was by her side in an instant, his ice-blue eyes full of nothing but love as he settled beside her, tucking a strand of damp hair from her face.

“She’s perfect,” he murmured, gazing down at the baby. “Just like her mother.”

Y/N exhaled a soft laugh, her lips curving up. And as she looked at him, at his pure, unwavering devotion, she felt a shift deep within herself. A warmth. A certainty.

“I accept,” she whispered.

Kallias stilled, his brows drawing together slightly.

She lifted her gaze to meet his. “I accept you as my mate, Kal. And I’m so sorry I never paid you the attention you deserved before.”

Kallias blinked, stunned for only a second before his expression softened into something radiant, something home. He reached for her free hand, bringing it to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to her knuckles.

“You have nothing to apologize for, my love,” he murmured, cradling both her and their child in his arms. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

A tear slipped down Y/N’s cheek, but for the first time in months, it was not from pain.

Kallias leaned down, brushing a feather-light kiss to her lips. It was slow, lingering, full of unspoken promises.

When he pulled away, he smirked, his thumb tracing circles along the back of her hand. “Get well soon, my beautiful High Lady. I have a coronation to plan for you.”

Y/N let out a disbelieving laugh.“You seriously would do that?”

He only grinned. “You deserve it. The Night Court never deserved you.”

Y/N’s heart clenched, and she leaned into him as he cocooned her and their daughter in his arms.

Kallias pressed another kiss to her temple and whispered, “But before that… our mating ceremony.”

Y/N giggled softly, curling into him.

Home.

She had finally found home.

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

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[amdiriel]

lonely pt. 2

Azriel x fem!Archeron!reader

SUMMARY: After a vulnerable moment of comfort, Reader tries to navigate Azriel’s increasingly flirtatious behavior without assuming anything. Because she really shouldn’t. Right?

WARNINGS: FLUFF, slight suggestiveness, a bit of hurt but SO much comfort, not proofread we die like men

NOTE: thanks for so much love on part 1! I have some ideas for new Az fics, so lmk if you're interested in being on my Azriel taglist! xox diri

WORDS: ~4.2k

part 1 main masterlist

•••

It had been about a week and a half since my little breakdown in my room, my cycle coming and going just days after it. I attributed my moment of uncharacteristic hopelessness to hormones.

I hoped Azriel would too, since I had trouble fully looking him in the eye ever since out of embarrassment. After a night of deep rest post-letting-it-all-out, I woke the next morning to a spill of hindsight in my mind, grumbling at my ridiculousness into my pillow. Despite my cycle being a royal pain in my ass, it was a few days where I could hide safely in my room.

So the next few days, I was determined to be fine. I was great, living the dream, no worries here, wielding a grin and a dry joke as always.

The first day after my cycle ending, I wake up to blissful absence of pain in my abdomen, and treat myself to a long bath.

Afterwards, I take advantage of a brisk morning walk, the sunshine making the late winter weather less intolerably cold. I barely get two blocks from the River House before a shadow passes over my head.

I tilt my head back, squinting through the direct sunlight. Then the shadow descends at an alarmingly fast rate and touches down near-silently beside me. “Good morning,” Azriel murmurs.

I jump at his sudden appearance, the bubbling nervousness at his closeness making it more pronounced. “Shit—Azriel,” I gasp, calming myself with a breath. “What the hell?”

He chuckles lowly and nudges me slightly as he matches my resuming pace. “Sorry. Occupational hazard, I’m afraid,” he says, not sorry at all.

I huff and roll my eyes, even as my lips curl up as well. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. You need to wear a bell.” His laugh curls around me.

“I’m not sure it would go with my leathers,” he pretends to muse. “A collar would really ruin the effect of my scariness. Not to mention the whole point of being Spymaster.”

I snort, shaking my head. He nudges me again, drawing my gaze back up to him. I find his eyes warmly on me.

“I’m glad to see you out and about,” he says. “I was worried about you.”

I let the sweet words warm me for a quick moment before I huff a small laugh. “It’s my cycle, not sickness. I’m good.”

He shrugs. “Still. I know it’s much worse for you and your sisters now that you’re all fae. You handling them alright?”

My expression softens. “You’re sweet. I’m fine. I didn’t have much pain as a human, so I think as far as fae cycles go, my pain now is relatively mild. I mostly just don’t want to do anything,” I reply with a shrug of my own.

Azriel eyes me for a moment. “Alright. But you’ll let me know if you need anything, right? I haven’t forgotten about our agreement, you know,” he says with a sly smirk.

It takes a second for it to dawn, but soon a blush blooms on my face as I remember that night. I huff a sigh, finding it within me to laugh a little at myself. “So, what, you want me to come to you any time I have a problem?” I ask dryly.

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Yes,” he answers plainly.

I give him a look. “Are you now our resident therapist too?” I deadpan. “Your resume’s long enough, Shadowsinger, you can take a pause every once in a while.”

He laughs again, shaking his head at me. “I may be busy, but never for you. Never for family,” he replies, and with such sincerity in his eyes that my steps falter for a moment.

Fuck. What happened to cool and collected, Archeron?

But I swallow and arch a brow. “Sweet. But you’re barely here enough to be able to do so for the many members of our ever-growing household,” I say, thinking about our nephew Nyx.

He shrugs a shoulder, his wings unfurling then furling in a subtle motion that catches my eye. I’d always found them fascinating. “Then how about this—I’ll never be too busy for you,” he says, a note saucily that my widened eyes turn upon his smirking face.

I grasp for words for a moment, and I see his eyes delight at my moment of hesitation. I shut my mouth and switch tactics, laughing. “Why Az, you are positively Rhys-like today.”

His brows raise, expression lighting in challenge. “Oh am I? Enlighten me, sweetheart.”

I bite hard on the inside of my cheek at that damned pet name again. This male just made it so bloody difficult to be dignified at all. I swear, every moment in his presence is a fight for my life. “You’re all—” I gesticulate over his person, “Swaggering. It’s unnerving. Please, for my sanity, resume your duties as our resident brooder. You’re putting me off.”

His head tilts back with a hearty laugh that startles me into astonishment. “Well, we wouldn’t want that, now would we?” he drawls, suddenly feeling like he’s looming over me.

Stupid, tree-like male.

I don’t reply except for a disbelieving huff at his forward behavior. His smirk is self satisfied as he halts, taking a step back with a sketch of a bow.

“You’ll have to resume your walk without me, Ms. Archeron,” he says, and I wrinkle my nose at the use of my surname. His smiling eyes rove over it, dipping to my lips before locking with my own gaze again. “Think you can manage?”

I scoff and manage to flip him off as his enormous wings unfurl and beat his figure into the air. His rumbling chuckle disappears as his shape grows smaller in the sky.

—

The following days, he wasn’t as blatantly swaggering, as I had called him, but he was…

Forward. Disarmingly so.

I couldn’t seem to avoid his presence if I tried, if merely to kick some sense back into myself. First it was the library—when I had settled into the cozy window seat, my usual perch, an hour into my reading, he had strode in his silent yet confident way of his. I had stilled, as if hoping he’d simply not notice me. Fool. He notices everything. And he certainly had wasted no time sidling up to my perch and leaning over to observe what I was reading. His warmth and masculine scent was a pleasant yet oppressive blanket to my poor sensibilities. And I barely survived when he had hummed “Any good?” practically into my ear.

Or there was lunchtime—I’d wander into the kitchen to make something quick and simple for myself, and when I walked into the dining room he’d be sitting there already, looking up with a small, unassuming smile. When he bade simply, “Sit with me”, I had no choice but to obey and eat with him. In my suspicion, I confess that I switched the times I went to get lunch by random intervals, in which each and every time he either was already there or showed up soon after.

I couldn’t tell if it just happened that way, or if he was being overly clever in his intentional variation.

Now, three weeks post-meltdown incident, Azriel had been gone a few days on Cauldron-knows-what business, so I’d loosened up, no longer bracing myself like he could walk into the room at any second.

Which is apparently my folly, since as soon as I round the corner into the dining room one morning, I found him standing at the sideboard, back toward me, making a cup of tea.

I halted, nearly rearing back as my mouth started to form the word shit, but quickly clamping it down. But even the smallest of noise alerts someone as discerning as him.

He turns and calls my name with quiet warmth, and I banish the wince from my face. “Hey,” I say simply. “When did you get back?”

“Last night,” he says, abandoning his tea to draw near. My head tilts back as he stops in front of me. “How have you been?” he asks with a soft smile.

His quiet care is almost more flustering than his forwardness. “Well. Fine,” I answer. “And you? Your mission or whatever successful?”

He huffs amusedly. “My mission or whatever was just fine,” he replies. Then he returns to the sideboard. “Tea?”

“Oh, uh, sure. Just bla—”

“Just black. I know,” he says, throwing a smile over his shoulder at me. I blink in surprise, cheeks pink. He’s been paying close enough attention that he knows that?

Of course he has, dummy. He probably has dossiers on everyone in this city with information down to the way they take their tea, the pragmatic voice in my head deadpans. You’re no exception.

I blink again as he draws near with a second cup, passing it to me. I take it with a small thank you, sipping it gratefully.

Just when I start to squirm on my feet at the silence between us, he speaks. “About what we talked about that night a few weeks ago—” I still. “You’re alright in that regard? And don’t lie, I’ll be able to tell.”

I huff a sound between a sigh and laugh, looking down. “Well, I haven’t had a night as bad as that one since then, so that’s good right?” I say with wry self-deprecation. He doesn’t reply. “But really, I’m alright. Just winter blues, I suppose.”

“No, I don’t think it is.”

I roll my eyes in a small flash of annoyance. “Alright, not just winter blues. But they certainly don’t help. But I’m fine. Really. You did really help that night,” I admit softly.

I don’t really notice my teacup is empty until he gently takes it from my hand and sets it next to his already abandoned cup. “What helped most, sweetheart?” he asks gently.

My tongue felt stuck to the roof of my mouth—speaking my vulnerability aloud both impossible and foreign. Letting him in last time didn’t hurt. It helped, a small voice whispers in my head.

I take a breath. “Just—talking through it. Physical touch too, um…” I fight to stay steady. “It’s grounding.”

He hums, nodding. There’s a light touch to both my elbows, and my eyes shift down to find that he’d silently reached for me. I allow the touch, but don’t dare go further, suspended in the fear of the unknown.

“You don’t have to be afraid to ask for that,” he murmurs quietly. Suddenly I’m very aware of the air we’re sharing, how close he’s gotten to me. His hands slide slowly to my upper arms, my breath hitching as the warmth of his palms bleed through even my heavy sweater.

The panic sets in before I can think this interaction through, before I can rationalize that maybe, just maybe he wants to be close to me, wants to touch me. Instead my eyes find the clock and seize the subject change before me. “Don’t you have Valkyrie training in five minutes?”

Azriel stills and follows my gaze to the clock. His jaw works once before the fleeting tension is gone. “You’re right. I should go.” He squeezes my upper arms gently before letting his hands drop. “Stay warm today. Wind is supposed to get bad, and temperatures will drop rapidly once the sun sets.”

I nod, giving him a brief smile. “Of course, you too. Stay warm, I mean.”

He returns my smile before leaving the room.

A whoosh of air leaves my lungs as soon as I’m alone again. Idiot. Silly, foolish girl.

—

Azriel was at his wits end.

He’d been pulling far more stops than his usual personality allowed, hadn’t he? She was certainly clever enough to notice that he was acting much differently around her, right? Had he just not been forward enough?

And still, she did not allow him closer, as close as two people could be. He'd given her every sign he could think of without embarrassing himself.

Impossible girl. Can’t you understand that all I want is to comfort and coddle you?

He must not have taken care to erase any tension in his expression by the time he touched down in the ring atop the House of Wind, because Cassian’s brows raised upon seeing him.

Azriel just had to cast him a cool look for his brother to relent, though he caught the half-smirk on the General’s face as he turned toward the group of priestesses warming up and began training.

It was during sparring that Nesta finally deigns to sidle up beside him as he watches a match. “So. What the hell’s going on between you and my sister?”

He stills for just a moment before erasing the reaction. He debates lying to his friend, but she’ll call him on it. He doesn't think she’ll warn him off her sister either, so finally he admits evenly, “Much less than I would like.”

The eldest Archeron huffs a laugh. “I appreciate you sparing me a lie. Honestly, Az? My sister is just supremely oblivious, clever as she is. If nothing else has worked at this point, you just need to lay one on her.”

He chokes and turns his head toward her. “I would never. Not without her express permission—”

She snorts, shaking her head. “Gods, males can be so boring. At the very least you need to sit her down and make sure she doesn’t leave until she understands exactly what your intentions are. Then you can lay one on her, if she’s amenable to it.”

Azriel takes a deep breath, letting the words sink into his turbulent mind. “I don’t want to scare her,” he admits after a pause.

“You won’t,” she replies instantly. “She’s not afraid of you, she never could be. In truth, my sister is scared of very little. But based on the fact that she’s never had a romantic attachment before, what seems like indifference is likely just borne out of nervousness.”

“I don’t want to make her nervous either.”

“It’s not you that does. It’s just—being vulnerable. Emotionally intimate with someone,” Nesta says. “Years of fighting with her have taught me that she’ll hide anything behind biting wit or a laugh and joke. I think that’s what makes it all the more difficult to understand.”

He doesn’t reply.

“But speaking not as her sister, she definitely is attracted to you,” Nesta continues. “Speaking as her sister?” He looks at her cool features. “Don’t fuck it up.” Then she stalks away to Gwyn and Emerie.

Azriel forces down a growl. Tonight. He'd do it tonight or hell, he'd go crazy from this dance around the line. He'd spent too many centuries wanting this, wanting companionship for him to squander an opportunity with, at last, a female that he connected so deeply with. A female that seemed to need his touch as badly as he needed hers.

So...yes. He'd had quite enough of waiting.

—

True to Azriel's word, it did end up being very cold today.

I forgo any ideas of taking a walk, but I did end up camping out in the warmth of Feyre's study, taking turns with her to organize some of her paperwork or play with Nyx on the floor. My nephew (and his poor parents) had had some rough nights due to the last dregs of his teething pain, but it was good to see him smiling and playing despite it all. Rhysand stopped in frequently, unable to stay from his mate and son for extended periods of time, and after the fourth time Feyre shooed him out with their laughing, squirming son in his arms.

Our bi-weekly dinner fell that evening. Usually I enjoyed it.

Usually.

The dinner was fine. But I was so chilled that I took the opportunity of warmth from any hot dish passed around to me. I shiver for the upteenth time as Azriel passes me the potatoes.

"Cold?" he murmurs close beside me, and I shiver again. Not from the cold, damn him.

"Freezing," I retort instead, scooping potatoes on my plate. "Doesn't Rhys have this place warded to hell? Why is it so drafty?"

Azriel chuckles lowly. "How do you know that it isn't just you?" he teases.

I shoot him a look. "No, no, Mr. 'Stay Warm Today', I'm quite certain it isn't."

He laughs again, and it warms me only temporarily. I finish before everyone else, per usual. Not only do I tend to eat fast, but I'm also not caught up in constant conversation. Bored, my eyes travel the room, around my friends. My family. Even in my relaxed, two-glasses-of-wine haze, my mind doesn't fail to notice how paired up they all seem to have gotten.

Feyre and Rhys feed a fussy Nyx in his highchair, Rhys's eyes roaming over his mate and child with unrepressed love. Cassian's arm was slung around Nesta's shoulder, my usually stoic sister slumped comfortably into his side. Varian looked down at Amren next to him like she was the most fascinating creature alive, which...wasn't entirely a subjective statement, considering her interesting history.

Even Elain was speaking in shy tones with Lucien, who watched her with amused adoration. I had been so proud of my younger sister for finally realizing that she could just as well choose him as not choose him. They were taking it slow, she'd been telling me recently, but she begrudgingly had found that her mate was, indeed, her perfect match.

But as with all my friends and family, my happiness for them comes at a cost. To myself.

I turn and opened my mouth to chase away the tightness in my chest, but found that the Spymaster next to me was turned away, engaging Mor in conversation on his other side.

I quickly clamp my mouth shut and instead go for my wine.

Gods, hadn't Feyre mentioned there was some sort of will-they won't-they situation between the two of them? Something that had been brewing for the five centuries they'd known each other? It was none of my business, of course, and I hardly paid attention, but even I noticed that it had been pretty consistently they-won't in the past few years of living here.

Right?

Azriel laughs at something she says, and suddenly I feel sick.

Cauldron. Was I going to be the only one left?

And even worse—had I also been imagining his forwardness with me as of late?

There's a rushing in my ears and I tune out completely, going blissfully blank.

I hardly recall cleanup. Or the migration to the living room. My body seems to draw itself to the fireplace, a hand lifting to drag a blanket off the back of an armchair as I settle on the floor before the flames.

And as I wrap the blanket around myself, shivering minutely, I can't bring myself to look at what I know I'll find behind me—each couple in the house cuddling for warmth.

—

Azriel's heart aches at the sight of her vibrating form in front of the fire.

He'd taken his place behind the armchair she usually sat in, hoping to finally coax her into having a conversation in the privacy of the hall. Or if things went well, his bedroom.

But instead he watched her walk as if unawake from the dining room to the fireplace in the living room. Unblinking. Not looking at anyone else.

He doesn't know what to do.

He also doesn't realize that a shadow had flitted to her until it came slinking back to his shoulder, whispering, Upset. Crying.

His heart broke. Oh, sweetheart.

He felt suspended in air, in time for a moment. Everyone was lounging, cuddling in their respective pairs, speaking quietly with one another. Distracted. So he took a gamble.

And silently pushed forward.

—

I felt him before I heard or saw him.

I lock up as I feel his warm body settle on the rug, not quite directly behind me, but not quite beside me either.

His touch was warm, intentional.

Mother, I needed intentional touch so badly.

I hadn't realize how upset I had gotten until the first cold tear spills down my cheek. I wipe hastily at it.

"Hey," he coos softly in my ear, his arm coming firmly around me and drawing me into him. I sniff, shooting a panicked glance over my shoulder since everyone was in the room right now. I barely register that his wings block any sight of the two of us from the rest of the room before his gentle hand guides my chin back to look up at him. "No one can see, sweet girl," he murmurs. "You're alright."

The lump tightens painfully in my throat as a second, third tear spill down my face. "Sorry," I mouth, unable to get any sound out.

"Stop," he whispers gently. "You're alright. You're safe." His hand slides to the back of my head and I let myself be guided to the shelter of his embrace, once again in his lap as I silently shake. "Are you feeling that way again?"

I nod silently.

He sighs. "Sweetheart. Why don't you just let me in?"

I untuck my wet face from his shoulder to glance confusedly up at him. "I...I am," I breathe. "You're—you're hugging me."

He shakes his head, cradling my face with both hands. "I mean: why don't you let me into that head of yours? That world? Most importantly, why can't you just let me into your heart?"

Said heart seems to stutter and stop beating.

There's a long moment where my lips don't form words, don't do anything except lay parted, slack. "What do you mean?" I finally blurt, a note of tightness in my voice.

His jaw works and he sighs heavily through his nose. "Sweetheart, is it so impossible to understand that this whole time you've found yourself lonely at the sight of everyone paired off that maybe I want to be that person for you? Your person?"

"Wh—you?" I sputter on a whisper as everything dawns, hell, practically crashes down upon me. The denial comes a split second after. "No."

"Yes."

My expression shutters in emotion. "There's no way—"

"There is," he murmurs with an adoring smile on his handsome face, thumbs brushing at my tears. "And you can't change that, ever. But what you can do is let me in."

I take a shuddery breath, in and out. "Let you in?"

He nods.

"Be my person?" I croak. "And I be yours?"

The words seem to have an effect on him, his chest puffing for a moment before deflating again. His hands cradle my face like I'm precious. I've never felt more so than in his lap. "Yes, sweet girl. Mine. And I, yours."

A release another uneven breath, feeling my body go warm all over. "I—I never thought that I...that you could want this with me. Could want me," I rasp.

He smiles. "But I do. I have for a long time."

I let out a little wet laugh. "Gods, I—" I shake my head. "I don't feel like asking questions right now. I've wanted you too, for so long. I just didn't want to delude myself, to make a fool of myself in front of you when you're so..."

He raises a brow but his eyes remain warm. "So?"

"So perfect, damn you," I finish, no real malice behind my words. When he laughs this time, I feel it seep directly through my chest and into my soul.

"You're the perfect one, sweetheart," he murmurs, and presses a kiss to my hairline like he had those weeks ago. "In more ways than one." He draws back to look at me, and I return his gaze with nothing but openness, with love. Then he breathes, "May I kiss you?"

Heat blooms across my cheeks, but I give him a little nod. "You may."

He dips his chin ever so slowly, and when his soft, full lips finally meet mine, my eyes slip shut. Tentative, and so gentle with me, he dares his tongue over my bottom lip. Though I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing, I let him through.

The first swipe of his tongue, this hungrier kiss sets my soul ablaze, his hands travel to wrap around my waist, drawing my chest against his.

We kiss quietly yet needy for Cauldron knows how long. All I know is that I’m breathless, fuzzy, and light by the time I draw away softly. He chases my lips a moment more before settling his forehead against mine.

Breathing the same air.

A giddy smile tugs at my features, and I giggle with blushing embarrassment. “They definitely know what’s going on,” I whisper, fighting the urge to peek. He chuckles lowly and draws me closer, depositing a kiss on my shoulder, my jaw, then my lips.

“I sent them out,” he replies. My brows raise. “I told Rhys mind-to-mind that if he didn’t get everyone out, I’d quit.”

A laugh bubbles up within me. “Liar. He just decided to have mercy on us. On me, at least.”

Azriel grins, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Boyish. Free.

“Kiss me again,” I whisper. And he does.

That night, he takes me to his room, scooping me under the covers and into his body. I’m too wired, too happy to fall asleep right away. It’s when I watch him slip into dreamland, the most relaxed I’ve seen him, that there’s a tug within my chest.

A soft glow flickers to life deep in my soul. I smile and let the tears fall as I feel what I think is the bond.

I settle in. I’ll tell him tomorrow.

•••

NOTE: i hope you enjoyed reading it as much as i did writing it! i have an idea for a short series taking place post-ACOSF, where Reader is part of a group in Montesere that’s sort of adjacent to the Valkyries, and she comes to visit the Library, so I’ll start drafting if anyone is interested k love you bye! -diri

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