#rhysand being a busybody

[always-azriels-princess]

The Wrong Thing part two

Guysss i did it :) im so proud

Summary: the mate bond snaps, and you say the wrong thing

Part 1

Word Count: 1.4K

Azriel was avoiding you. You knew it, he knew it, the entire Inner Circle knew it. Feyre had tried to approach you a couple times to figure out what had happened, but you never answered the knocks on your door.

It was embarassing, and yet you completely understood why your mate didn't want you. The haunted look in his eyes that night appeared in your nightmares each night, and each one ended with you waking up, slicked with sweat and panting as if just finishing a marathon.

Bags had started to form under your eyes from the lack of sleep, and Azriel wasn't looking much better. You had overheard Rhys talking to Feyre on multiple occasions about how Azriel was getting unfocused during missions, sloppy during training, and quick to anger in simple conversations.

You knew you had to fix your mistake, but it was hard to think of how your mate would look at you, like he never wanted to see you again. And you didn't even blame him, you wouldn't want to see yourself either after what you had done.

"No."

The words hung around your neck, suffocating you every second of every day like a noose growing tighter and tighter. Rhys had also noticed your work as a diplomat for the Night Court was diminishing in its thoroughness.

Nuala knocked on your door, as you were deep in some paperwork updating the new peace treaty with Winter. "Come in," you called.

"Good afternoon miss," Nuala said as she walked in. "The High Lord would like to see you in his office."

You sighed, expecting something like this after on your and Azriel's actions in the past week. "Thank you Nuala, I'll be right there."

The chair scraped back after you stood up, shuffling the papers and stuffing them in a drawer.

Dread coiled in your gut as you made your way to the High Lord's office, worried he would make you confront what you had been trying so hard to hide from.

You knocked thrice quietly, hoping Rhys had maybe left to go get a snack and you could sneak back into your room. To no avail, you heard a faint "come in," and you took a deep breath before pushing the door open.

The breath you had previously took escaped you as you gazed over every inch of the shadowsinger, completely ignoring the High Lord sitting at his desk, smirking with his "I'm so amazing" face.

As you drank in the image of your mate, his shadows clung to him, wrapping around his body like a second skin, while others writhed around his feet, swarming and twisting in chaotic patterns. The tension in the room increased ten-fold and the air around Azriel began to darken, his very presence sucking in the light around him. His adam's apple bobbed as he traced your every curve, as if committing the image to memory.

You just stood in the doorway, both you and your mate frozen, staring at each other, before Rhys cleared his throat and you snapped out of your trance, breaking your eye contact with your mate. As you sat down on the opposite side of the couch Azriel was on,

"Now, you probably know why I called you in," Rhys explained. "This," he gestured wildly, waving his hands between you two, "needs to stop. Azriel, you've almost completely dropped your training schedule, and I have reports from your informants that you're missing their check-ins." He turned to you, "And you are three days behind on the paperwork for the Winter Court peace treaty renewal."

Rhys sighed and stood up, walking towards the door. Before exiting the room, he turned back and said, "I don't know what's going on with you two, and I'm not going to snoop through your heads to figure it out, but something clearly happened, so you can leave this room when you are back to normal." With a wave of his hand, the door closed behind him as he walked away, and you could hear the soft click of the lock turning, keeping you stuck in a room with male who wanted nothing to do with you.

The air in the room was thick, suffocating. The silence between you and Azriel seemed to stretch endlessly, like the tension before a storm. He sat on the couch across from you, his posture rigid, every muscle in his body taut, like he was ready to shadow away at any second.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at him at first. The guilt gnawed at your insides, raw and jagged, but you forced yourself to breathe, slow and steady, to calm the racing in your chest. The room was too quiet, and yet every sound felt amplified. The way his shadows whispered, curling and slithering at his feet, the way his eyes seemed to burn into you from across the room.

He was avoiding you, but you were avoiding him too.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words caught in your throat, suffocating you before they even had a chance to leave your lips.

Azriel spoke first, his voice low and strained. "You don’t have to do this." It was almost a whisper, his words laced with pain and, not anger...no, something more vunerable. Insecurity.

"Do what?" you finally managed, your voice sounding foreign to your own ears. "Talk about it?"

His voice was low and strained. "You have already made your feelings very clear, and I would never try to force you into anything you don't want."

You sat up, confused. "Az, I never said I didn't want the bond. I was overjoyed when it snapped, but I....I panicked because I know that you deserve someone better than me."

His beautiful hazel eyes softened. "But...you said no. The bond snapped and you said no." His voice was getting louder and faster as he spoke. "You were right, you shouldn't want this bond, I'm broken and scarred, and you're so....so perfect."

An ache spread through your chest, as though all the fragile pieces of your heart had shattered at once, leaving sharp fragments to tear at your insides.

"Azriel," your voice cracked as tears filled your eyes. You shifted closer on the couch, until your legs were brushing against his. "I told you this that night, and I will tell you again. You. Are. Not. Weak. You are not broken, you are not scarred, you do not have a single flaw unless it is loving your family too much. I can never take back what I said that night, and I will replay that moment in my head for the rest of my life, praying to be able to go back in the past and change it. You have a such a pure heart, so do not think for one moment that you are not deserving of me. I am the one who doesn't deserve you." You finished your speech, a soft, uneven breath escaping you.

Azriel stared into your soul, his eyes softening with wonder and adoration. He smiled softly as he drew closer. When you felt his warm breath on your face, he murmured, "Why don't we just agree that we both deserve each other," and closed the distance between you. His lips met yours, and it was like the world fell away and the only thing that mattered was the male in front of you. His hand slid from your face to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. It was slow, unhurried, like you both had all the time in the world. You smiled against his lips, fingers threading through the dark strands of his hair as you leaned into him, deepening the kiss.

The taste of him, the feel of him, was overwhelming in the best way. It was like coming home, like a storm finally releasing the tension it had held for so long. You regretfully pulled away, resting your forehead against his. You were finally home.

The peace of the moment was shattered as the door was thrown in, what seemed to be the entire court of Velaris pushing themselves through. Cassian laughed deeply, sweeping Az off the couch and hugging him "Finally!" he exclaimed. Mor, who was bawling her eyes out, flung herself at you, knocking yourself back against the couch. "THAT WAS BEAUTIFUL!" You paused for a second, then laughed and hugged her back.

Rhys came in with Feyre on his arm, looking all too smug. "I told you Feyre darling, I'm a genius."

Feyre smacked him upside the head.

@lilah-asteria >3 ilsym you are my first tag ever and i'm so grateful for the support so thank youuuu

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Neon Moon

Azriel x Reader/Rhysand’s Sister - Angst

Rhysand’s sister grapples with a one-sided mating bond that has yet to snap for the Shadowsinger. When a drunken night brings the two closer together than ever, Azriel is made aware of a circumstance that could change the course of her life.

This is a one-shot that is able to be read as a stand-alone fic.

This is also a prequel to Wicked Felina and elements of this prequel will be involved in the remainder of the series. Wicked Felina Part 5

Warnings: Sexual content, alcohol, language, age difference concerns

Y/N - 19 Years Old

When the sun goes down on my side of town, that lonsesome feeling comes to my door.

Pretty moans echo through the walls of the House of Wind only broken by an ocasional deep groan.

I roll over with an aggravated sigh, pulling an overstuffed pillow across the back of my head, covering my ears. Not that it will do any good. Curse being High Fae and the exceptional hearing that comes with it.

I lay awake, taking deep breaths, trying to sink into the starry depths of my mind but Azriel’s hook-up of the week lets out a particularly loud cry of pleasure before her moans are muffled by what I assume is a gloved hand and a low reprimand.

I roll my eyes. He may as well chide her with a warning of “Shh, don’t wake the baby.” by the way he treats me.

Never mind the fact that I am an adult now. I have tits for cauldron’s sake, nice ones at that. I wouldn’t be wearing this oversized, ridiculously soft knit sweater if I didn’t.

And yet he still views me as a child.

It’s cruel to think that on my eighteenth name day, a golden thread snapped. Tethering my soul to him… and yet, he has no clue. That, or he does, and has no intention of acting on it, refusing to view me as anything other than the little sister of his best friend.

I’ve got a table for two, way in the back where I sit alone and I think of losing you.

So I grin and bear it. And if I happen to wear clothing a bit too cheeky when he is around and other males inevitably gawk at my exposed skin, thus prompting the overprotective bat to shuck his sweater off and toss it to me, and then I spend the rest of the night drinking him under the table? Well, that will have to do for now. So, I wait for the day his soul is ready to seek mine.

Y/N - 21 years old

He’s watching her again. He always does. She dances through the room like petals on a breeze, enamoring the crowd with vivacious conversation as she skirts throughout those gathered in the room. How will I ever compare to the radiant and lovely enigma that is THE Morrigan? I shouldn’t feel bitterness toward my cousin and yet I do. I get why people flock to her, she’s kind and lovely, strong, somehow both approachable and unobtainable. She’s a total pain in my ass busybody cousin-acting-as-older-sister I never wanted.

I requested that the band play Azriel’s favorite song tonight. The one time he’ll loosen up and let himself enjoy a moment. It has become a routine, our dance. The one time that he holds me a little closer. The one time I can pretend he sees me as the mature female that I am and not the child I was.

But tonight, the song plays, and it’s Morrigan in his arms, not me. It’s not the first time he’s chosen her over me. When she’s here, I don’t exist.

I can’t stand it anymore. I can’t watch this.

I spend most every night beneath the light of a Neon Moon.

I turn to leave, exiting the hall, winding through the crowd of pompous nobility from all courts. The garden. I’ll find solace in the garden, beneath the glittering stars, among the fragrant blooms. Sneaking down a quiet corridor and out a shadowed alcove, a guard opens the door for me and the warm, lavender scented breeze greets me like a friend. My steps fall swiftly, distancing myself from the evening revelry. As I wind down a path of blooming roses, a loose stone causes my sole to slip, bracing myself for the fall and the sting of rock to my palms. Instead, I am shocked to feel warm, strong arms catching me. Looking up at my savior, a few long golden locks of hair fall over the concerned, emerald green eyes staring down at me.

Y/N - four months later

“Shit, Shadowsinger. You look like you could use this more than me.”

The start of a grin tilts the left corner of his lips upward as an incredulous laugh slips from his throat. Reaching a scarred hand toward the bottle of my brother’s finer wine and swiping it from me.

Azriel’s hazel eyes assess the bottle, giving a raise of his brow. “Looks like you’ve done a number on this one already.”

“I never do things halfway.” I tease. Giving a nod toward the wine that was indeed half-empty. His dark brows rise again as I unveil a second bottle before he could remark on it. “Some Spymaster you are. You should’ve know I’d come prepared with the best selections from Rhys’ secret-” The playful jest is interrupted by the tickle of a shadow trailing up my arm and spiriting the second bottle right out of my hand, eliciting a pout of my lower lip.

“Hey, now that’s just greedy.”

The handsome planes of Azriel’s face illuminate in the twilight, causing my heart to stir. Perhaps it’s the way the night shrouds him in ominous twilight, or the way his shadows sit strewn across his shoulders but I know tonight was hard for him.

Mor had shown up to dinner as radiant as ever, a red dress clinging to her delicious curves, some male she’d picked up at Rita’s on her arm.

Now if you lose your one and only, there's always room here for the lonely

I should leave him alone but I can feel it in my chest. Stoic and broody? Yes. A lonely soul? Also yes.

And damn, do I know I deserve better than to be the female that will never be chosen first? Yes. And yet, he’s my mate and more importantly, my friend.

“Scooch over,” my arm waives in a correlating gesture. “This grass is dewy and cold and this dress is far too thin. Your leathers can handle the chill, I’m stealing your warmth.”

With a small shake of the head, a lock of raven hair falls over his forehead, Azriel scoots, exposing the vacated patch of grass for me to sit on. “Gods, it’s still chilly.” I complain as I swipe one of the bottles back from the Shadowsinger.

“Nobody asked you to come out here.”

“And yet here I am.”

Azriel eyes meet mine, a small flicker of emotion passing behind them. “Yes.” He whispers fondly. “Here you are.”

I ignore the blush threatening to redden my cheeks and fire back at him. “Your breath smells like a vineyard. You’d already gotten started on the drinking without me?”

Recognizing the rhetorical question for what it is, Azriel presses his lips to the bottle, tilting his head back as he takes a long swig of the bittersweet wine. My breath catches as a harsh swallow bobs his adam’s apple. Heat pools through me and I quickly turn away, searching for something, anything to distract from the effect he has on me.

To watch your broken dreams, dance in and out of the beams of a neon moon

Shadows dance around us, like figures on the wind, weaving in and out of the moon’s luminescent rays.

“Y/N…” I turn to face him as a scarred hand reaches for me before seemingly thinking better of it and pulling back. “I didn’t dance with you at the ball.”

It’s my turn to laugh incredulously. “That was months ago Azriel, why bring it up now?”

That peculiar flicker of emotion crosses his eyes again.

“I’m sorry.”

I pause, taken back by the apology. Had he known how much it hurt to see him dancing with her? Thinking on it, I can’t seem to grasp whether it is better or worse that way.

I freeze, grappling with emotion as he ruffles his hair with a scarred hand, dragging his palm over his face. “Y/N. The conflict that wars within me, it’s… .”

Confusion conveys on my features and I resist the urge to dive into his mind and read exactly what he’s thinking. “What?” I ask as his sentence trails into a void of lost words.

He shakes his head as if he’s already pushed whatever he was about to confess aside. Hurt washes through me and I begin to turn away. A broad, calloused palm grasps my wrist. “You’re beautiful, Y/N.” He leans closer, his wine addled breath mingling with my own, only centimeters separate his lips from mine.

I think of two young lovers running wild and free. I close my eyes and sometimes see you in the shadows.

I’m certain he can hear my heartbeat as it roars through my ears. My eyes flutter looking into his heavy-lidded hazel and onyx eyes. His head tilts, low voice barely more than a rumble.

“You’re everything.”

Azriel inhales, his gaze searching mine in a silent ask of permission, preparing to close the hairs-breadth of distance between our lips. Suddenly those lust-addled eyes go wide, nostrils flaring, and he abruptly pulls away, swiping my bottle of wine as he withdraws his hand. “You don’t need any more of this, Y/N. Go to bed.”

My mouth gapes slightly, processing what just happened. “What?”

“It’s late and I have to leave for a mission for your father in the morning.”

He stands straight, stretching out his tall body and those glorious, broad wings, stiff from sitting on the ground.

My heart is crushed, once again. The words that could change it all sitting on the tip of my tongue.

You’re my mate. You’re my mate. You’re my mate.

But his feelings for my cousin still run strong and we have centuries ahead of us. I refuse to be in second place.

Azriel extends a tanned arm to me, eyes now softened, a slight crease between his brows as he takes me in. “Come on, Y/N. Let’s get inside.”

Taking his extended arm, we walk in silence through the grand entryway of the House of Wind, winding down the corridors within, stopping at my room, I murmur a rushed “goodnight.” before escaping behind the shield of my door, to the quiet lonesome solace of my room.

I sense Azriel’s presence outside my latched door for several moments before his steps pad down the hall opening the door one down from mine, into his room.

No telling how many tears I've sat here and cried, or how many lies that I've lied telling my poor heart he’ll come back someday.

Azriel

Azriel couldn’t take it. The way the walls closed in around him. Sleep was always just out of reach but tonight, he felt the weight on his chest in a crushing embrace.

If you lose your one and only, there's always room here for the lonely.

He’d spent the past few years dicking around, ignoring the shift he’d felt toward Y/N. For fuck’s sake, she was Rhysand’s little sister, barely an adult. She’d always gravitated toward him in her childhood. Looked up to him. And he cared so deeply for her, like a little sister. And then soon after her eighteenth birthday something began to shift in his chest. Something that he felt so incredibly wrong for feeling - and yet something he’d buried deep within begged him to accept that it was right.

He was a bastard for it and latched onto his feelings for Mor even harder, despite the fact that they’d simmered down in previous years. And then Y/N had changed her demeanor toward him and he knew- gods, he knew she wanted him but he couldn’t do it. Rhys would kill him for it if her father didn’t first. It was so wrong.

And it had gotten harder and harder recently. He’d brought females home, spent more time around Mor when she’d visit, anything to push her away without actually owning up to what his feelings were.

And then Mor had shown up on a whim tonight with some male that she’d picked up gods knows where, he couldn’t even fall back on clinging to her, leaving him forced to face how strongly he felt toward Y/N, so he’d indulged in booze and snuck out to sit beneath the moonlight and drown in his own pool of self-pity.

To watch your broken dreams dance in and out of the beams of a neon moon.

When she’d found him, any semblance of willpower was gone. Y/N was a goddess beneath the moonlight. Kind, strong, intelligent, and so damned beautiful and, out here, it was just the two of them. So, he’d finally given in. One kiss, one kiss would help him see how wrong this was. And yet as he leaned in, all he could feel was how right it seemed to be.

Until he’d inhaled, taking that final breath of courage to close the distance. That’s when he smelled it, the shift in her scent. Her scent was there but there was something somewhat familiar and earthen intertwined a scent so light and sweet, almost like roses. A scent that was not her own, not of her.

She was pregnant. He had no idea by whom but the realization sobered him up entirely. He swiped her wine and panicked. Did she know? Should he say something? Instead, like the older brother figure he’d once viewed himself as to her, he escorted her into the house and told her to go to bed, ensuring to keep the alcohol out of her reach.

Gods, he didn’t know what to do from here

He spent the rest of the night flying, taking in the stars and the moon as they shone brightly above, ethereal just like her.

He’d go on his mission this week, and Y/N and her mother would travel to the war camp that her father was at to visit him, and when she came back he’d talk it all out with her.

Yes, he’d support her and love her however she needed to be, whether it be as a friend, as chosen family, or as something more. It would all work out. It had to.

Come watch your broken dreams dance in and out of the beams of a neon moon.

————————————

Although this is a one-shot, it is also the prequel to Wicked Felina, you can read Part 1 here.

Tags

ACOTAR general: @lilah-asteria @thecollegecowgirl @mochibabycakes @nickishadow139

Wicked Felina tags: @glittervame @julesofvolterra @saltedcoffeescotch @candyjaypoppins @st4r-girl-official @nocasdatsgay @gxdsmonsters @honk4emoboyz

[everythingacotarbxm1012]

They're Mates - w/ Y/N Pt 5

Notes - Pt. 4 from Feyre's POV; 1.9k words; as always, lines/plotpoints/characters/situations directly from the books

Series Masterlist

✨💫

Feyre stood behind Rhys in the threshold to the sitting room of the town house, her mind still reeling from the events of that morning. The amulet from Amren, Y/N and Azriel’s history, the Prison, the Bone Carver.The chill she still felt in her body was probably the only thing keeping Feyre awake at this point. She could see Azriel and Y/N lingering by the window where someone could watch the world being dusted with snow. The emissary’s eyes were trained on the shadowsinger, something like fondness mixed with desire in them. 

“Amren’s right,” Rhys drawled from where he stood. “You are like dogs, waiting for me to return home. I ought to buy treats for the lot of you.” 

Cassian flipped his high lord off with ease. Feyre noted a coiled up tension in his body, more in his jaw than anywhere else. He sat next to Mor who had decided for a practical outfit of black pants and a thick blue sweater. Just as Cassian’s hand was returning to his lap the emissary stepped forward and smacked the general in the shoulder. He gave Y/N a withering look.

Rhys gave the pair a look that said behave, before Y/N stepped back towards her mate who remained as unreadable as ever. Noticing the free armchair across the couch, Feyre strode over to it, dropping down and stifling a groan as she stretched. Gods that felt good, the heat of the fire warming her numb limbs. She contemplated for only a moment if Az chose the window to be further from the fire. What might have become of the shadowsinger without the emissary? What kind of messages did they— 

“How’d it go?” Mor said from beside Cassian.

Feyre looked over to Rhys who hadn’t moved from where he stood. “The Bone Carver,” Rhys started with a sigh, “has too much time on his hands considering how often he likes to pry into other people’s business.”

Feyre noticed Y/N reach for her mate’s hand as his shadows twisted up to encircle their wrists. 500 years and they never seemed to have an urge to be away from each other. Feyre realized the farthest she had found the pair from each other was moments ago when the emissary had smacked the Cassian upside the shoulder.

The Night Court’s general broke through the silence, his hands falling to his knees. “But?” The tension had reached his voice.

“But, the busybody can be useful, when he so chooses,” Rhys replied with another sigh. 

Feyre flexed her slowly warming fingers, happy to take a few moments while Rhys explained what the Bone Carver had shared. She preferred to try shutting out what she’d revealed to the Bone Carver. Rhys’s explanation didn’t go without the occasional swear, all the while Azriel’s shadows grew thicker around him.

“The mortal queens have one part of the Book, Tarquin the other,” Rhys finished.

The spymaster stepped forward, his mate remaining by the window. “I will contact my sources in the Summer Court about the other half of the Book of Breathings on where it is hidden. I can also fly to the human world. See if I can locate their half before we ask them for it.”

The High Lord of Night shook his head. “I don’t trust this information, even with your sources, Azriel. Not anyone outside this room, except for Amren.”

“They can be trusted, Rhysand,” Y/N said, quickly stepping forward.

The shadowsinger’s scarred hands clenched at his sides, eyes narrowing slightly in his high lord's direction.

“I, we, we are not taking risks where the Cauldron or the Book is concerned,” Rhys responded calmly. He returned the spymaster’s stare.

Feyre watched as the emissary gently reached for her mate’s hand, and his fingers slowly uncurled. His eyes drifted away from Rhysand and back to Y/N. Their fingers gently intertwined as most of the tension from Azriel’s body eased up. A single gesture from his mate and his body already loosened up. More proof for the power of their bond.

“So what do you have planned,” Mor asked.

“Well,” Rhys responded as he picked at an invisible piece of dirt on his fighting leathers. “The King of Hybern sacked one of our temples for a piece of the Cauldron, which, as far as I am concerned, is an act of war.”

“Of course he wants war,” The emissary interjected more strongly than she had anticipated. Feyre wondered what Y/N might look like in a meeting, negotiating for the Night Court. “For the Mother’s sake, we were an ally to the humans during the War. He would never dare sway you at risk of revealing his plans.”

Cassian nodded in agreement before adding, “Amarantha’s…cronies likely reported to him Under the Mountain.”

“Hybern and his forces successfully infiltrated our lands, without detection. I have every intention of returning the favor.” Rhys said as he straightened himself up slightly.

Mother above!

“How?” Mor asked. There was a delight, a feral delight in her eyes. The same look was painted on Cassian whose fingers had loosened slightly over his knees.

“We go to Hybern to bring the Cauldron back. Or to nullify it.” 

Y/N looked like she was biting back a comment and instead said, “Hybern would already have countless wards to protect it.” 

Feyre watched Azriel’s thumb gently rubbing over his mate’s hand. “She’s right. We would need to find a way to get through them, undetected,” the shadowsinger added. He glanced at Y/N with a look that said I literally cannot live without you.

“Then we start, now while we hunt down the Book. We do it swiftly, so by the time we have both halves we can get through without word spreading quickly,” Rhys said like it was the simplest solution possible—the simplest task possible.

“And how are you planning to retrieve the Book?” Cassian added.

“These objects are spelled to each high lord and can only be found using their power.”

Feyre caught the almost apologetic look the emissary sent her way. “You don’t know that it will work,” Y/N said to Rhys. Her hand remained in Az’s the entire time.

Rhys smiled slightly. “True—but there is a way to test it.”

“Mother’s tits! Here we go again,” Cassian grumbled from his place besides Mor. 

Feyre, still not entirely understanding, leaned back in the armchair.She was perfectly happy to let the High Lord of the Night Court and his Inner Circle have their battle wills until Rhys said, “With your abilities, Feyre, you might just might be able to find the half of the Book in the Summer Court. To be certain, to make sure when it counts, when we need it, when we need you, we’re going on another trip…see if you can find an object that I’ve been missing for quite some time.”

The cluster of grumbles from the others did not go unnoticed by Feyre.

Y/N loosed a breath.

“Shit,” Mor groaned, covering her face with her hands.

“Where,” Feyre asked tremulously.

“The Weaver,” Azriel responded. His thumb stopped rubbing his mate’s hand. 

“Who is the Weaver?”

“An ancient and wicked creature,” Azriel responded with a sharp exhale that tickled the back of Y/N’s ear. “Who should remain unbothered,” the spymaster shot in Rhysand’s direction.

Rhys couldn’t seem to be bothered. “I want to see if Feyre can identify the object amongst the Weaver’s trove.”

“Oh! By the Cauldron!!” Mor exclaimed. 

Feyre chewed her lower lip, weighing the risks of it all in her mind, still exhausted from earlier that day. “The Weaver,” Feyre began to press, “the Bone Carver. Can you just call someone by a name?”

Everyone but Rhysand and Azriel let out a laugh. Though something in Azriel’s face changed upon Y/N’s laugh. Something that ran deeper than a child-like fondness.

“What about adding another name to that list?” Rhysand asked Feyre who had finally seemed to warm up.

A few grumbles sounded about the space.

“Emissary,” Rhys said, ignoring the room. “For the human realm,” Rhys clarified, looking to Y/N as if to say Feyre is not replacing you.

Azriel said, “Rhysand. There hasn’t been one since our births.”

“And there hasn’t been a human-turned-mortal since then,” Rhys added with an almost shrug before looking in Feyre’s direction. “The human world needs to be prepared...especially if Hybern plans to destroy that wall and let his forces free.”

A pause.

“We need the other half of the Book from the mortal queens and we need them to bring it to us because we can’t use magic to influence them.”

More silence. Feyre noted the snow coming down outside still, the way the general’s fingers were gripping at his knees again. The look in Y/N’s eyes—something Feyre recognized but couldn’t quite place. 

“You, Feyre, are an immortal faerie,” Rhys began, “with a human heart. There is a very real possibility that the moment you step onto the continent you are...hunted...for it. So we set up a base in a place where humans might just trust us. Trust you.”

Everyone’s eyes turned to Feyre, but all she saw was the spymaster’s hand that went to rest on his mate’s back, the Emissary of the Night Court’s back.

“A place where other humans would risk going to meet with you, Feyre,” Rhys added. 

Feyre again looked to Y/N. There was a moment of pause Feyre thought, that perhaps by looking at Rhysand’s current emissary she might think of an answer. There was one. Nesta wanted nothing to do with the fae and Elain was far too sweet to be brought into this mess. “My family’s estate,” Feyre said before she could stop herself.

“Mother’s tits!” Cassian said as his wings flared. “You believe we could ask that of your family? Demand that of them?”

No .

“Cassian, regardless of what we do or do not do with her family, blood will be spilled,” Mor said. 

In an emissary-like fashion, Y/N added, “It is a matter of how much blood we can save, where it will flow and how many humans we can...save.”

Feyre let out a nervous, shaky breath. “The Spring Court, it borders the wall.”

Rhys went to say something, but Y/N got to it first. “We can fly there offshore.” The emissary stepping forward, as if sensing Feyre’s nervousness, offered a hug to the new fae. Feyre gladly accepted it. It was that same kindness she had recognized the night Feyre had met the rest of the Inner Circle at dinner. A kindness that had kept the shadowsinger company for so long. Y/N returned to her mate’s side and he unashamedly placed his arm around her lower back.

“I wouldn’t risk discovery from any court by flying over Prythian,” Rhys added as he watched Y/N return to Azriel’s side. “I know it won’t be easy. But if you could, if there is any way you could convince those queens to—”

“I’ll do it. They won’t be happy about it, but I’ll make Elain and Nesta do it,” Feyre said. She thought of Amarantha, what she did to Clare, how much worse Hybern might be. She looked to the emissary as Rhysand spoke, as if asking to teach her how to do it. To use her wits and charm, to be Emissary of the Night Court for the human realms.

In all of her intelligence and kindness, Y/N nodded.

Feyre considered for a moment if Rhys could use magic to make her family agree, to help if they refused. She wondered if it would work.

“Then it’s settled,” Rhys said. Nobody in the room looked particularly thrilled. “Once Feyre darling here returns from the Weaver,” his voice dropped slightly, “we bring Hybern to its knees.”

🌌 ✨

Taglist : @5onedirection5 @emryb @lilah-asteria @azrielrot @scatteredstardustt @mis-lil-red @bxm-1012

[littlest-w01f]

Together

For @polyacotarweek

Poly Acotar Week 2024 Masterlist

Day 1: Beginnings

Summary: The official beginning of the relationship between the young heirs of Night and Autumn and their favourite female

Cw: Mentions of drinking and sex

Rosalie looked at the dress Eris had laid out for her at the foot of her bed, now wearing it, it was a red mini-dress, sparkling under the light, it had a pungent neckline and the sleeves fell off her shoulders, the dress fit her perfectly, flaring where it ended at her upper thigh, it was a dress Eris had left for her with a simple note to wear it.

Eris Vanserra, the male she worked for, had started working for him five months ago, she had been working for the Vanserra family for nearly a year, before being assigned to be a personal maid for Eris.

Her job was simply to do whatever he wanted, get his clothes to the maids who cleaned their clothes, bring them back and arrange them, bring him food, and keep his room clean.

Eris, thankfully, wasn't as cruel of a male as some people of their court had said, she had found that out when she had blurted out that she was basically his babysitter with all the things she was doing for him.

"Well, you could say that, Rosa" Eris had laughed, which made a weight lift off her shoulders that he might not do anything to harm her.

Their relationship had changed, as a month went by, she had grown more comfortable with him, which had led him to let her in on his secret, that he had snuck out almost every day to a few nearby taverns, getting drunk.

It was a few weeks later, the High Lord of Night visited Autumn, the two High Lords were old friends, friends in the loosest term, wanting their sons to be friends too, Rosalie had laughed quietly, knowing Eris, he wouldn't be open to a friendship with a random male.

Oh how wrong she was, the two males had formed an unlikely friendship by going behind their fathers' backs, becoming close friends quite fast, spending most of their nights drinking and fucking random people, using their titles to get into any place, paying their way through everything.

"You want me to join?" She asked softly, her eyes wide Eris had asked her to come with him to a tavern with him and Rhysand.

Eris was smirking, a line of dresses for her to pick from, "Yes, I do. Join me, and I'll show you how the future High Lord plays." He inched closer to her, causing a blush to bloom on her cheeks, his voice low and teasing.

"You need to losen up anyway," Rhysand purred from behind them, walking in, hands in pocket.

"No, I am perfectly fine the way I am," Rosalie stated, glaring at the male who just entered.

"A busybody?" Rhysand chuckled, moving to the racks of clothing to pick a dress for her. "Come on, get a few drinks with us."

Rosalie looked between the two, as Eris spoke gently, "Come on, you work so well for me, you deserve a night out."

Rosalie had agreed, she had gone with them, after the first night they invited her every night, buying her drinks and shots, then carrying her back to her room if she would be too drunk or even pass out.

Things changed when they started flirting with her, other females stopped getting the attention of the two heirs, and she became their sole focus and the one they casually tried to woo, staying by her side whenever she felt uncomfortable, and beating up a male behind her back if he made her uncomfortable.

Then things got worse when what they were felt more like a love triangle, Eris and Rhysand grew jealous of the other's relationship with her and she watched herself become a wedge between their friendship, harsh words were exchanged over her, even some blows.

She cared for them both, so she did the least selfish thing she could think of, she removed herself from their friendship. Leaving the males, going back to being who she was, a regular maid for the Vanserras while she was still considered Eris'.

That was until now, when she had gotten back to her room, and found a gorgeous red dress on her bed, a note in Eris' handwriting.

'Wear this for me, my fox, I hava a surprise for you.'

Eris walked into her room in the next minute, dressed up immaculately, smiling at Rosalie dressed up, with make-up and hair matching the dress, "Hello, gorgeous." He smirked, seeing her up and down.

"Eris..." Rosalie smiled, giving him a small bow.

Eris pulled her up and cupped her cheeks, stroking her jaw as he tilted her head up, "I think you'll like what Rhysand and I have in mind." His eyes were gentle as he looked over her face, admiring every inch of her.

"Both of you have something planned?" She raised her brow at him, nuzzling slightly into his hands.

Eris nodded, "Well, after you left us, we may have come to a peaceful agreement."

Rosalie smiled when Eris grabbed her hands, with a nod he winnowed her away, and they landed in front of a tavern, Rosalie smiled looking at the place, they were in the outskirts of Autumn, Rhysand stood in front of them, dressed up himself, "You're right on time." He smirked, walking to her as Eris held her.

Rosalie looked between them as Rhysand wrapped his arm around her waist, making Rosalie even more confused, "Did Eris tell you what we decided?"

"No, I wanted for us to do it together," Eris spoke up, then turned to Rosalie, "So you know how we were fighting over you?"

Rosalie nodded as Rhysand continued, "Well, we decided to be civil about this."

"After you punched each other to prove who's the better male?" Rosalie raised her brows.

"Alright, that was us being stupid." Rhysand replied with a shrug.

"So, anyway," Eris pulled Rosalie closer, having her pressed between the two males, "We have chosen something, if you don't like this idea, I'll happy winnow you home and we can ignore this and never talk about it again."

"Ok..." Rosalie looked between the males, "Now what is this?"

"What if the three of us were together?" Rhysand spoke, "As a thruple."

Rosalie looked between the two males, they both looked at her with hope in their eyes, "Like romantically?" She questioned.

"yes, my fox," Eris smiled, nose rubbing over the shell of her ear, "You, me and Rhys. The three of us together."

Rosalie thought on it for a moment, "Yeah... I'd like that..." She whispered, the idea hadn't crossed her mind at all, but now that it was said it made perfect sense for them.

She would've never chosen between them, scared to let one of them down, and it would have broken the friendship they had formed. But this made a perfect choice. "I'd like that a lot."

"So... When we enter this tavern," Eris smiled as Rhysand slipped her other hand through his, "We'll be together, yes?"

"Yes..." Rosalie nodded, smiling at the two males, getting up on her toes to kiss Eris, then pulled away to look at Rhysand, who leaned down instantly, catching her lips in a kiss.

She sighed in his kiss, pulling away when Eris pulled them together, "Come now, I'm hungry and need some whiskey in me. Then we can work out some proper mechanics."

{General taglist- @nox-ceur @sonics-atelier @lilah-asteria}

{Eris taglist- @fxckmiup @amygdtjhddzvb @slut4acotar}

[dawneternal]

The Benevolent | Ten

☁︎ Eris x Healer OC

☁︎ notes: alternative title to this chapter could be "Aya goes to the night court and is intimidated by several attractive people."

Some of Aya's internal dialogue is inspired by I'll Be Good by Jaymes Young and a struggle with OCD.

I'm sorry it's been a while 💛 big big writing slump

☁︎ warnings: Rhysand being sneaky, Aya recounts a rough childhood, toxic/abusive parents, social anxiety

☁︎ word count: 4.8k

☁︎ AO3 Link / Masterlist

☁︎ taglist: @cauldronblssd @teddyhoneybear @tele86 @mybestfriendmademe @imma-too-many-fandoms @allyjoe755 @milswrites @shadowdaddies @zenkindoflove @landofpetrichor @secret-third-thing @bookwormysblog @mal-adaptive-dreams @daycourtofficial @roseodelle @sbgal

Rhysand was quick to answer Aya's inquiry. He promised to answer her questions to best of his abilities and invited her his home.

Aya gladly took the opportunity, with Velaris being a new discovery to the rest of Prythian. She would likely be one of the first visitors. That almost made Thesan agree to come, but his days were still too full.

The first thing Aya saw upon approaching were the layers of wards, forming a dome and encasing the city like a snow globe. The most recent one was marked with Rhysand's distinctive style of magic, an extra flourish of power with the essence of Illyrian magic.

The other wards went back in time, some so ancient they had melded with the fabric of the world to become nearly permanent. Whatever magic Hybern had used to penetrate this defense and attack the city must have been something deadly indeed. If Rhysand had not carved a spot for her today, her powers would not have made it through.

The wards had obscured the details of the city, like a sheer curtain over the landscape. With the curtain pulled away and the view revealed, Aya's breath caught in her throat. The first thing she saw was the winding sidra, crawling through the valley like a jeweled snake. To one side, the sea moved in a lazy reach toward the horizon. On the other, a wall of dark mountains curved around the outline of the city, forming a crescent moon shape.

Aya knew that the Illyrians lived in those mountains, as if they could not bear to be any further away from the sky. And beneath the ground, the Hewn City was carved into the stone of the mountain, like the darkness was the thing they prized most about the Night Court.

The House of Wind came into view, tall windows and white carved balconies jutting out from the mountain side. Rhysand appeared on one of them, his wings a dark smudge against the marble.

The wind carried the scent of the sea and the chill of the mountains, wrapping itself around her as she landed. Rhysand greeted her with a signature grin, hands tucked into his pockets as he watched her shake out her wings.

"Welcome to Velaris, Aya," He smiled. Aya had almost forgotten how smooth and lovely his voice was. She tucked her wings in tight and bowed, grateful for the opportunity to hide her flushed cheeks.

"Thank you for the invitation, High Lord."

"Please, call me Rhys," He said, eyes twinkling, "It's not very often someone agrees to visit the House of Wind."

Aya turned, glancing at the steep drop below the railing of the balcony. Growing up in the Dawn Court Palace, she had become accustomed to the threat of much steeper drops. The song of the wind, the itch in her wings to spread and fly dulled the fear.

"It's a beautiful view," She admitted, watching wisps of mist float by, obscuring little pieces of the city below.

"Thank you. It is my pride and joy. Besides my family, of course. And I have managed to keep my busybody brothers occupied for the time being, but they are very curious to meet you."

Aya smiled. There were many stories about the boisterous inner circle, about as well controlled as a pack of puppies. Having been raised with only Thesan for company, the idea of a large, chaotic family charmed her.

"I'm happy to meet them if the time allows.”

Rhysand led her inside to a spacious dining room, the tall moonstone ceiling looming above them. The windows were all half-open, letting sunshine and soft breezes swirl through the room, pulling the sheer curtains into a dance and illuminating the crystal dishes.

"So Aya," Rhysand began as he pulled out a chair for her, "I am very curious."

Aya sat in the plush velvet chair, admiring the way it had been made to accommodate wings. The Dawn Court opted for cushions and low tables.

"About a good many things," He continued, sitting across from her, "Firstly, why write to me instead of the Day Court?"

Rhysand snapped his fingers and the teapot rose of its own accord, floating over to fill her cup. She stared at the iridescent tea cup, watching the liquid rise, and decided to answer honestly.

"Helion seems to have a thing for wings," She said, and Rhysand tipped his head back and laughed.

"You're absolutely right," He chuckled.

"And...you have a mate," Aya averted her gaze again, pulling her lip between her teeth. Still, she could see his dark eyebrows raise in her peripheral.

"Well," He said, after it became clear that she did not plan on elaborating, "I will answer to the best of my abilities. But secondly-”

There was a twinkle that made her nervous as he paused, “I wonder how you enjoyed the High Lord's meeting. I suppose you had a good view from up there.”

Aya felt her eyes widen and her spine straighten.

“You saw me?”

“My spymaster’s shadows did.” Rhysand chuckled again.

“But you didn't say anything. How did you know I wasn't a spy?”

“The shadows identified you as Thesan's cousin. There's not much use for a spy at a meeting that Thesan was attending himself. I felt that it was safe to assume you were just curious. Am I right?”

He tilted his head to the side, stars dancing in his eyes.

“Yes,” She admitted, feeling a little bare beneath his teasing smile, and a little grateful that she was not scolded.

“And what did you think?”

A few answers came to mind, but none of them seem to be the right one. Beron is a scourge was among the first but it didn't feel like something she should say out loud. Even if Rhysand would agree.

Her palms began to feel a little sweaty. But Thesan would not have sent her if he thought the alliance between their courts would crumble due to Aya's conversational skills.

“It was interesting,” She said finally, and Rhysand smiled in response, “So many personalities in one place.”

“I’d certainly say it was a celebration of Prythian’s diversity,” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “But anyway, tell me about yourself, Aya. I know a good deal about a good many people, but I'm not familiar with your story."

Violet eyes watched intently over the rim of his cup as he took a sip of tea and waited for her response. Aya did the same, letting the drink linger on her tongue, savoring the taste of turmeric and ginger to stall for time.

She'd been asked similar questions before. There had been more than a few inquiries in her lifetime, ruthlessly sorting through her past to search for the source of her powers. She wanted to believe that Rhysand would not be one of them. But either way, the thing that she wanted was on the other side of opening up.

"My mother and Thesan's mother were twins," She began, hoping he did not notice the tightness of her voice, "Though they were opposites in personality. My aunt was doting and kind. My mother was...distant and jealous. They cared deeply for each other, though."

She paused and took another sip, letting the warmth spread through her body and thaw the frost that formed at the memory of her mother.

"I didn't know my father, but I got my wings from him. I was raised with Thesan by his parents. When Thesan's mother died, mine passed away shortly after. As if they could not stand to be apart. I'm not sure which one of my parents I got my powers from."

"Yes, you briefly mentioned your powers," Rhysand tilted his head to the side. She was grateful that he kept any pity off his features. He was welcome to pity her in his mind, but she did not care to see it.

"They are...a bit strange," She chewed her lip. She would rather talk about her powers than her parents, but it was still not particularly easy.

"I understand that feeling," He smiled, and it was then Aya remembered Thesan's first warning. To keep her mind shielded from Rhysand's powers. She wondered what it would look like when his power reached out toward her. But all she had seen so far were the wards encircling the House of Wind.

"I can see things that others can't," She started, hoping he did not notice her pause as she checked her shields. Were his powers present all the time like hers? Or did he have to make a conscious effort to use them?

"The dead?" He asked, as if it were not a strange question at all, though his features had grown more serious.

"Magic. Personalities. Wards, spells, wounds. I've watched souls depart to the afterlife, but once they are gone I can't see them anymore."

Rhysand nodded slowly, his eyes far away like he was skimming through pages in his mind. Those dark brows had knit together in focus, his fingers threaded together on the table.

"Not the future, or the past?" He asked, gaze still focused elsewhere.

"No," She said, "Only the world around me. For example, I can see the wards around Velaris and the outline of your wings."

Rhysand's eyebrows flickered upwards. Indeed, she could see the wings he hid with magic, hovering behind him as if they were here but invisible.

"I suppose it helps your healing to be able to see what you are doing," He said.

"Yes, but I only see things when my eyes are closed. And people are represented by an object of their essence."

The space between his eyebrows softened, eyes igniting with interest.

"Do explain."

Aya hesitated, unsure where to begin.

"Your general," She started, noting the flicker of a smile pass over the High Lord's face, “Healing his wounds is like knitting. With homespun wool yarn and wooden knitting needles. It's been mended in so many places I couldn't count them all.”

“You have no idea how many homespun wool sweaters I wore in Windhaven,” His voice held something like reverence, “Grey and white like everything else in those mountains. Very warm, though.”

“Thesan is a vase,” Aya went on, “cracked all over and repaired with burnished gold. In the shape of traditional pottery from our court.”

Rhysand's eyes held so much curiosity that Aya had no trouble reading the question he held back behind pursed lips.

“You are a quilt,” She indulged his questioning glance, “And each block is made of a different night sky, likely important ones through your lifetime.”

The High Lord's face shifted into something unreadable, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

“And there are stars,” Aya studied his expression closely, fidgeting with her hands under the table, “Silver stars stitched on with silver thread. The stars eternal.”

Rhysand's gaze snapped over to her, and Aya closed her mouth tight. It was another moment before he said anything, and anxiety began to creep in as she waited to be told she had said something wrong.

“My mother was a seamstress,” He said, softly. And that was all. Aya let her shoulders fall again.

He took another sip of tea and cleared his throat.

“I have heard of those that can see beyond the rest of us. It is a type of ability in the same branch as the daemati, and just as rare. They are called the videmati. Some of them had a third eye tattooed on themselves out of pride.”

All of the breath left Aya's lungs as she stared at him. An answer, after all this time.

“There's a name for it?” She croaked.

Rhysand nodded. “The bad news is that no one has known of a videmati in Prythian since before I was born. I do not know if the same goes for the continent. I have also never heard of videmati powers having combined with healing powers, but it's possible you may have inherited multiple forms of magic. Being a healer may be what gives you the ability to interact with what you see. I may have more information in my library.”

“What can I pay you for it?” Aya blurted as she leaned in, desperate for more breadcrumbs.

Rhysand chuckled, a sound not at all pure in its joy. He took another long sip of tea, leaving Aya struggling to keep still in her anticipation. Perhaps she should not have suggested a price. Maybe then it would have been free. Violet eyes bored into her, openly calculating.

“Owe me a favor?” He said finally, tilting his head to the side, his smile something vulpine.

Perhaps it was too harsh of an interpretation, but she had remembered too late what Thesan's second warning had been. That Rhysand was, at heart, a collector.

“What kind of favor?” Aya straightened her shoulders, reigning in her desperation, pulling her poise back over herself like a shroud. As intensely as she wished for more information, she had never let herself be used for her powers and she would not begin now.

“Only a favor that a friend would ask of a friend.” It was strange, how a pair of eyes could hold both the brightness of the moon and the inky blackness of the night.

“You're asking to be my friend?”

Rhysand held out his hand.

“A friend wouldn't use a friend for their powers, would they?”

Had her shields been down? Had he heard her thoughts, or was she that easy to read? She blinked slowly to catch a glimpse of that other space. Midnight darkness enveloped her mind and the silver stars blinked back at her, steady as always and revealing no hint of Rhysand's motive.

Videmati, Aya repeated the word in her mind, savoring the taste of knowing what she was. She reached out and shook the High Lord's hand.

The familiar snap and sting of magic prickled her skin, revealing a band of interlocking swirls and stars around her forearm. She brushed her fingers over it, the hand with Edana's ring, and tried to swallow the sinking feeling in her stomach.

“That looks like the sidra,” Rhysand smiled.

He obviously shared her affinity for tattoos, judging by the artwork peeking out around his sleeves and collar. But Aya usually liked to pick her own, even if the Night Court style was pretty.

“So,” He went on as Aya whirled from the weight of another bargain, “You did very well in the war.”

His gaze had not become any less predatory. Could he not have thought of a more subtle way to broach the subject?

“Thank you,” Aya murmured, lowering her eyes to the tiny rainbows the sunlight cast through the dishes.

“You mentioned that you've only had training for your healing. Have you ever considered what you might do with your other skill set?”

Aya forced herself to hold her teacup steady. To take a calm sip and return the cup to the table. The liquid still rippled, despite her efforts, and she was sure that Rhysand saw it too.

"I have considered that I may help a great many people in my lifetime," She said, swallowing the bite that threatened to claw up her throat.

"Indeed," He nodded, "But what about the other end of the spectrum? You heal with less effort than it takes for you to fly. If you channeled your thoughts in another direction-”

"I have not," Aya loosened the leash on her temper, just a touch, "and I will not. Ever.”

Rhysand's eyes narrowed. Not in anger, but in challenge. And the tone of a gracious host had hardened into something belonging to a leader.

"Your power could have been an incredible asset.”

He may have promised not to use her for her power, but he would try to convince her. Aya cursed herself for always falling for these stupid tricks and games. What would Eris have done? He would have seen right through Rhysand. Somehow, Aya could see into the ether but still stumbled through her interactions. She could see the grander picture of a person's being, and still could not guess what they might do or say next.

"I do not have to kill just because it would be easy for me." She dropped the tone of a gracious guest.

Rhysand blinked. He was quiet for a moment, a silence she could not read the meaning of. She used the time to picture herself dropping ice into the vat of bubbling lava that was her anger. Anger at Rhysand and at herself. At her powers for being so convoluted.

"It would be easy for you though," He said quietly, a question and a statement.

Yes. It would be. She had never tried, but she knew it.

It haunted her. Sometimes the thought came to her as she was healing, how easily she could tear a life from this world. It made her hands tremble so terribly that she could not work and reminding herself of her dedication to goodness did nothing to help. Her thoughts became a prayer, then. A desperate plea to any deity that would listen.

I'll be good I'll be good I'll be good.

The high Lord's voice interrupted her spiral.

"There was more you wanted to ask me, wasn't there?" He said, changing the subject even though she had never answered him. His tone was apologetic, eyes looking a little sad.

Had her mental shields been down? She couldn't tell.

"Yes," Aya swallowed hard, shoving down every thought and feeling with skill honed over nearly a century. It was difficult to continue to peel herself open in front of him, but she had to.

"I have questions...about the mating bond.”

Rhysand only raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to continue.

"I would like to know if one is able to create a mating bond with their own magic,” She did not avert her gaze, though she wanted to. And though she knew her cheeks burned deep red.

"I don't think so," Rhysand said slowly, his eyes far away as he sorted through his knowledge of magic, "It is the Mother who decides the bonds. Though perhaps it's possible to uncover a match that has already been decided.”

Aya's heart twisted, an ache filling her chest.

"Did you see it, as it happened?"

"At the battle with Hybern," She nodded, and Rhysand winced.

"Not the loveliest place to discover the bond," He grimaced.

"No," Aya agreed, voice laced with bitterness, "I was healing. Mending a tapestry. The thread turned to gold and it was attached to my finger."

"That sounds like you were given the gift of witnessing your bond snap," He said softly, with something like awe.

"So I didn't make it myself?" She asked, her posture wrought with worry, "I didn't...trap him?”

"Ah," Rhysand shook his head, "I don't think you need to worry. I think you both had the same amount of choice in it that the rest of us do."

Relief flooded through Aya's body, washing away those weeks of anxiety and guilt.

"Have you told him?" He asked, so carefully, so gently. Edged with a noseiness that would have amused Aya if the matter were not so painful. So he was not just a collector of powerful people then, but of gossip as well. And the earnest sparkle of his eyes was that of a romantic. How quickly he could change faces.

This tenderness was such a contrast to the growls and snarls at the High Lord's meeting. To the man who disintegrated a thousand men with the flick of his wrist. And the one who had questioned her magic like a warlord eyeing weapons for his arsenal. If his fae body could house both a monster and a friend, maybe hers could too.

Aya did not answer, only pursed her lips and looked away. In her daydreams, she had never been in this position. Having to tell someone she cared for that they were stuck with her. In her daydreams, she had always been chosen.

His eyes glittered with an amusement that she did not understand. Some story about him and his mate, surely. Usually, she would have loved to hear such a story. But everything related to love and mates left a sour taste on her tongue. Rhysand must have sensed this. His smile faded, turning into something more empathetic. He opened his mouth to say something else but stopped, his gaze shifting to something beyond the open windows.

Aya turned her head toward the balcony, where the beating of wings rolled through the air like thunder. The general and the shadowsinger approached in the sky, each with a figure in their arms. Rhysand stood and Aya copied, gulping down her nerves.

The Illyrians landed with ease, the motion perfected by centuries in the sky. They released their passengers - the High Lady and her oldest sister. Feyre wore an easy smile, but her sister looked uncomfortable at best. Their wardrobe reflected the dark jewel tones of the Night Court, velvet skirts and sheer embroidered sleeves.

"Come in, busybodies," Rhysand called, perking up in the presence of his wife. His eyes were glued to her, gleaming with love as he followed her every move.

"Aya, I'm so glad you decided to visit Velaris," Feyre greeted, her voice warm and friendly as she held out her hand for Aya to shake. “This is my sister, Nesta.”

Nesta gave a brief, tiny smile, before crossing her arms and closing in on herself again.

“I know you've met Cassian,” Rhysand said before any silence could fall.

The General grinned and followed suit, shaking her hand with a crushing grip.

"It's great to officially meet you," He said, "After all the patching up you've done. Thank you for that, by the way. You do great work."

He stepped back to let his brother speak, but the Shadowsinger did not offer his hand. In fact, he tucked them farther into his body. Though tendrils of his shadows reached toward Aya's ankles, wrapping around them. She almost jumped at the feeling, like a cool mist brushing her skin.

"Sorry," Azriel mumbled, and Aya could have sworn a blush ghosted over his cheeks. "They're curious."

Aya did not miss the way Rhysand's eyebrows raised at this statement, but she ignored it, unsure what any of it meant.

"So," Cassian said, when the introductions were complete, "Can I see?"

He motioned to her wings and the High Lady scolded him under her breath. Aya's cheeks flushed but she obliged, taking a step back and spreading her wings wide.

"You've never seen feathered wings up close?" She asked as Cassian began circling her wings, observing with reverence.

"It's been a few centuries," He replied, "And Dawn seems to be a pretty reserved bunch."

"That's true," Aya had to smile at that, picturing Thesan's expression if Cassian were to ask to look at his wings.

"They are lovely," Feyre said softly, her gaze tracking over the details of her feathers.

"Thank you," Aya resisted the urge to wrap her wings around her body to hide from their curious eyes.

"Do you see that?" Cassian had stopped behind her, arms spread wide. Her wings extended far past his fingertips. He spread his own wings to compare and found that hers spanned farther.

"Longer than Az's," He grinned, earning a smirk from Nesta and a stifled giggle from Feyre.

"Shut up, Cass." Azriel muttered, that lovely shade of pink spreading over his ears again.

Aya bit down on her smile. She did not have the heart to tell them that Dawn Court wings were often larger than Illyrian ones.

Cassian finished his circling, facing her once more, and clapped his hands together.

"I thought of something on the way here," He grinned, and the rest of the group groaned. "We should have you compete with Helion. See which one of you could break through a ward first. It would be so entertaining."

Aya went still, eyes flicking over to the Shadowsinger. Had his shadows told him about her powers? Or maybe Rhysand had been that quick to tell his circle what he had learned? Both options made her chest feel tight.

Azriel did not shirk from her stare, but he offered no answers, either. Cassian did not seem to understand what he had revealed, waiting for an answer. So Aya only smiled and said,

"I'm not sure he could survive the blow to his ego."

Her hosts roared with laughter, and she hoped no one noticed that her smile did not reach her eyes.

The group meandered toward the dining table, and Aya caught a flash of deep blue from the corner of her eye as the High Lady's sister slipped away toward the hallway. She had almost disappeared from view when Rhysand's voice cut through the light chatter.

"Nesta," He said, and Aya watched the girl's shoulders stiffen before she turned around. Her expression was disinterested at best, but Aya could see something burning within her. And for reasons she didn't know, the sound of the High Lord's voice had stoked the flames.

"Are you headed to the library?" He continued, unaffected. One nod from Nesta. "Will you please take Aya with you?"

Nesta's gaze flicked over to Aya, raking slowly down her form. Aya had to fight the urge to squirm under her stare, something in it so reminiscent of the Autumn Court. Whatever Nesta found in her assessment had her face softening just the slightest amount. Almost imperceptibly.

Rhysand had gone back to the conversation at the table, as if he had no doubt that Nesta would follow his order. Either unaware or uncaring that she had been seemingly deciding whether or not to do so.

"Follow me," Nesta said, her voice low and scratchy. Aya swallowed hard, leaving behind the sound of soft laughter as she followed the girl into the dark hall.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Nesta led Aya through a set of ornate doors into the spacious library. It was surprisingly bright, lined with tall windows, the sunlight pouring in and illuminating swirling specks of dust. Twin alcoves faced each other on either side of the room, filled with velvet chairs and couches and stone fireplaces.

Without another word, Nesta disappeared between the rows of dark wood shelves and left Aya alone in the silence. Aya stood still for a moment, shifting her weight from foot to foot. When it became clear that Nesta would be offering no further instruction, she got to work scanning every title of every book within sight. The shelves spanned from the floor to the tall ceiling, but she could see almost to the top.

Time was lost to her as she hunted, pulled into a trance by the musty smell of the books and the cozy atmosphere of the library. She'd just added another book to her small stack when a voice startled her.

"What were you talking to Rhysand about?"

Aya jumped, wings flaring out to keep her from tumbling off the ladder. She stared down at Nesta for a moment, those intense silver eyes watching back unblinking, a few books tucked tightly into the girl's crossed arms.

"Um," Aya stammered, making her way back down the ladder.

Standing before Nesta made her heart beat a little faster. Nesta was taller than her, staring down the slope of her straight nose as she waited for an answer. Her beauty was as blunt as her words, angular and sharp. Somehow still lovely, in the way that a finely crafted sword could be. But the way that that she held herself, the invisible wall that she carried with her, told Aya that Nesta's heart was unreachable.

"I just had a few questions," She said, stooping to pick up her books and avoid Nesta's gaze for a moment.

Nesta tilted her head, appraising Aya again.

"Don't listen too carefully," She said.

"What?"

Nesta began to make her way back to the doorway, continuing over her shoulder, "I just think you shouldn't let anyone tell you who you should be. Or what you should become. Especially him."

There was a bite in the last words and it made Aya remember the new tattoo on her forearm. She shivered, wondering what more Nesta may know, wondering again what she had gotten herself into. But it seemed that this was all the information that Nesta was going to grace her with.

"You coming?" She called, not stopping this time.

Aya nodded, shuffling after her.

Just before she reached the door, Nesta's voice caught her once more, brushing against her skin like a soft breeze. Nesta was far enough ahead that it should have been hard to hear her, but it was like something had carried Nesta's words to her. Not a breeze, but a gust of magic.

"You're looking for information about your powers?" Nesta asked.

"Yes," Aya breathed.

And Nesta offered her a small smile. The first Aya had seen since she arrived. "I will see what I can do."

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Note on Aya's powers - I couldn't really find anything when searching the word daemati so I just made up my own and added 'vide' to mati

[moonlightazriel]

Son of the Darkness XII /// Azriel X F!Reader

Summary: Hidden for so long The court of shadows thrived, and things were great until the high lord's death, now the next in line should assume the crown of high lord of shadows, will he accept his duties?

Warnings: Mentions of blood and death.

Word Count: 1,8K

Notes: Finally felt like writing SOD again, i didn't wrote befoe cuz i didn't wanted to deliver a bad chapter just so i could say i was writing. I'm happy with how it turned out, hope y'all enjoys just as much.

Son of the darkness masterlist

Main Masterlist

She never felt so tired, it took everything she had not to give in right there, let him take her, do with her whatever he pleased. She craved to be touched by him, and hours after their encounter, she still could feel his hands grabbing her hair, and the sweet taste of his cock on the tip of her tongue. Her mind kept replaying it all night, she had to take a cold shower to soothe the burning in her skin, she burned for him, so intensely.

She kept quiet during breakfast, Rhysand was telling them that the High Lords meeting would be in a week and they could go back to the Night Court with them, which Azriel quickly agreed, maybe not being alone with him would be easier to pretend she didn’t want to be near him, it would be easier to avoid that pull on her chest that always seemed to lead to him, even if she tried to deny it. 

So she hadn’t shared a word with him the whole day, just packing whatever she needed and giving the order for her armies to get ready in case they needed them. Eva had convinced Rune to let her go too, saying she would help convince the others to help. So as the day came to an end, they were already teleporting back to Prythian. 

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Cassian’s head popped up in front of her and she looked away from her book, from the corner of her eyes she could see Azriel looking at them, watching her every move. They were in the House of Wind for three days now and she was doing a great job of avoiding him like the plague, so she breathed with relief when Cassian asked her to leave the house with him. 

“Sure.” She got up, grabbed her sword that was lying on the floor next to her, and strapped it to her back, Cassian rose an eyebrow. “You never know.” They walked to the nearest balcony and Cassian pulled her closer, lifting her so he would fly them to the city below. 

“What’s going on between you and Azriel?” She turned her head to him, the wind moved a few loose strands of hair from the face of the general and the sun kissed his skin, making his hazel eyes shine.

“We’re not discussing this, especially right now.” She scoffed, she wasn’t interested in discussing whatever was happening between her and her High Lord, especially with his brother and in the air. Cassian laughed, making her whole body shake with him. 

“You two are unbelievable, he refused to say something too, you’re perfect for each other.” Her heart twisted in her chest and Cassian gently placed her on the floor, their short flight was over.

“If you weren’t such a busybody and stopped trying to snoop in other people’s relationships, he would actually go to you and talk.” Cassian turned to her, an amused smirk on his lips.

“So there’s a relationship then?” She groaned frustrated, starting to walk, leaving Cassian behind. She heard his laughter before he followed her. 

“You want to know so much about other people but what about you?” She asked after they found a place to sit and look at the Sidra.

“Me?” 

“I’ve been around for only three days Cas, and I see how you look at a certain Archeron sister.” Cassian turned to her rather quickly and she bit her lip, trying to suppress a giggle. 

“There’s nothing between me and Nesta.” He said defensively and she snorted.

“I’ve never mentioned Nesta’s name, but if it fits…” He rolled his eyes. 

“She doesn’t particularly enjoy us. After she was made, she grew resentful towards us, something happened to them in there, but I guess it was worse for her, she was different when she came back. I wish I could have done something to avoid it, they didn’t deserve what happened to them. ” He sounded sad.

“I’m sure you did everything you could to help, and even if Nesta doesn’t show, deep down she knows it too.” She patted Cassian’s shoulder and he smiled at her, little dimples in his cheeks as he did so.

“I really like you, the sister I never had.” She smiled back. 

“I like you too Cassian, a lot.” They sat for a little while, the river calmly flowing its course, unbothered by the life and people around it. 

“HELP! WE’RE IN THE LIBRARY.” They jumped from their seats at the same time, looking at each other.

“Follow me.” The people around them looked confused as they ran toward the mountain, it took a minute for her to recognize Feyre’s voice asking for help clear as the day. She followed Cassian, her lungs burning as they rushed, entering the same library where she met Azriel, the one that held the Soul Seeker at the bottom. “FUCK! They’re down there with that damned thing.”

“I’ll go, you take them out.” Cassian made a sound as if he was going to disagree but he didn’t have the time. Y/N walked to the fence and quickly jumped over it, Cassian’s yelp of surprise was the last thing she heard before she was free falling to the bottom of the library, the shadows below coming to life to greet her, ready to devour and destroy. 

She landed on the stone floor with a loud noise, the darkness surrounded her and she focused her eyes, seeing two males at the end of the stairs, Feyre was hopefully back to safety, so Y/N drew the dagger that was always strapped to her thigh, ready for some fun. She could smell the fear pouring from the male’s body, and hear the uneven breathing as Bryaxis showed them their worst nightmares, she could hear her mother’s voice somewhere, but she shook her head, ignoring it.  

She walked slowly until she was close enough to see their features in the dark, the male screamed as her dagger slit his throat open, and the other one quickly started to swing his sword around. 

“Who’s there?” His voice was laced with terror, and his teeth made a continuous noise as the bottom hit the top again and again, the male was terrified and she laughed, the darkness around her liked it too.

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s going to be over soon. We just need to have a talk.” She threw her dagger, pinning the male by his shirt on the nearest wall, she walked closer, releasing her sword from her back, letting the sharp end touch his skin, pressing just enough to have a trickle of blood running down his neck.

“I won’t tell you anything.” The male said and she rolled her eyes.

“If you do, I’ll let you live, and I tend to be very truthful to my words.” The male breathed with relief, and the darkness around her seemed to swallow, tasting the hope in the man. “What did you two want?”

“Hybern wants her, she took something from him and he wants it back.” Cassian’s words rang in her head. She was different when she came back. They were after Nesta, and whatever she took, it was important enough for Hybern to be desperate to get it back.

“More, I want more.” She pushed the sword forward, piercing his neck a bit more.

“That’s all I know, he sent us specifically for this. I don’t know anything else, please let me go.” He begged and she nodded, whispering an “okay” before removing her sword and dagger, the male breathed in relief. “Thank you.”

“All yours now, Soul Seeker.” The darkness danced around her, and Bryaxis went full force on him, the male fell to his knees, she could see the panic in his eyes and the screams ripping from his lips, his body shaking and he fell to the ground. 

“Y-you said I c-c-could live.” The man breathed, barely able to talk.

“And you can, if you’re able to escape it. Good luck.” She started to walk to the stairs, the screams of the male behind her as she reached a more illuminated point of the library, the three males looked at her, swords drawn and ready to attack.

“What happened down there?” Rhysand asked, feeling his bones chill as he watched her walk out of Bryaxis home so calmly as she had just exited a field of flowers.

“I took care of the threat, but can we please talk somewhere else? All of this dust is making my nose itch.” She walked past them and they just dumbly followed her back to the House of Wind. 

“Are you hurt?” Azriel asked the first word he spoke to her in days, her heart clenched hearing his voice, he sounded so concerned, his eyes searched for any injuries while his shadows pooled around her feet, some, more daring, reaching for her face, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“I’m okay, I promise, don’t worry.” He nodded, checking one more time just to be sure. “Now let’s go talk to them.” He led the way, and the rest of the inner circle waited for them in the living room. 

“We’re glad to see that you're safe, thank you for rescuing us.” Feyre said, looking lost, they all did, knowing their home wasn’t safe for them anymore. Azriel stood still by her side, his fingers slightly brushing hers, and she could feel he was shaking a little bit. 

“They were after her, he said she took something from the king and he wants it back.” She pointed to Nesta, whose blue icy eyes turned in her direction, with a confused look.

“What could I have possibly taken from that idiot?” She sounded angry.

“Your powers.” Amren spoke. “Even if you try to deny we can feel it, like the cauldron was forced to give more than it wanted.” 

“If she took the powers from the cauldron, maybe he needs it back to work in its fullest power.” Cassian said, the engines in Y/N’s brain started to work, if she had the cauldron’s power, she could fire back.

“Or he’s afraid of what she can do.”  The room fell silent. “Is it possible to train her powers, he might be afraid that she’s learning what to do with them if the cauldron can decimate an army, Nesta can do it too, she just doesn’t know how.” 

“Amren, you’re going to help Nesta, she needs to learn as much as she can about her powers. Maybe she can even feel where the cauldron is  if they have the same powers.” Rhysand spoke.

“It’s a theory, we can try.” Feyre said and Nesta rose from her seat.

“I won’t do anything, I didn't ask for this, you can’t force me.” She was ready to leave when Eva spoke, for the first time in the day.

“You cannot go back to what you were before, but you can make him pay for everything he has done. The revenge is yours to claim.” Nesta looked at her, the words seemed to sink in deep within her and she nodded.

“Let’s make that motherfucker pay then.”  

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Taglist: @allison-rosewood-maximoff @devilsfoodcake22 @fieldofdaisiies @valeridarkness @brekkershadowsinger @margssstuff

[withclawandvine]

‘tis the damn season my friends. and what do you know, i actually have something to share this year, it’s a christmas  elriel month miracle! so without further ado, allow me to present—

elriel month, week 1: shy glances & restricted touches

summary: elain and azriel share a dance at nesta and cassian’s mating ceremony 

tags: post-acosf, established relationship (they worked things out ok), forbidden love, meddling sisters, feyre being a busybody and rhys being a pill  wc: 2.1k

read on ao3 here! 

While decorated every bit as ostentatiously as Nesta had promised, the ceremony itself had been small and intimate. The same was true for the celebration that came after. The structure at the heart of Rhysand’s gardens shone like a beacon against the darkening sky. To call it a tent would be doing it a disservice. Although the walls were made of sheer, breezy fabric, the space was as grand as any ballroom. The cobblestone paths were lined with faelights, all winding their way through flora and statues, leading up to the large fountain at its center. The water itself seemed to glow, the streams reflecting the light of the candles floating in the water. Faelights and flowers hung above, moving with the waves of fabric high above everyone’s heads. 

Despite knowing mostly everyone, Azriel was standing alone, quietly uncomfortable. He sipped his sparkling wine out of a gilded flute, as close to the corner of the space as he could get without getting his wings tangled up in the gossamer panels.

And he was watching Elain. 

He watched her through windows and over dining tables. Across ballrooms. The place didn’t matter. Azriel’s eyes could pick Elain out of any crowd, bring her to the foreground of any landscape. She was hardly more than a blur of lilac chiffon and bronze curls as Cassian whipped her around and around and around. Petals fell out of the laurel around her head, getting whisked around her by the moving air, as if they were dancing with her. Elain’s laugh was breathless and manic—Azriel shouldn’t have been able to hear it over the music and the conversation. But he could. 

When the music slowed to a stop, Elain stumbled out of Cassian’s grasp and into a wobbly curtsy. She wasn’t looking at Azriel when that grin stretched across her face, but he felt his own lips twitch in response. A near smile, small and involuntary. 

A shadow curled around his ear, whispering. Azriel schooled his expression back into neutrality, but it was too late, because when he looked to where the shadow had indicated, Feyre was already looking from him to the dancefloor. Her brows flicked up at him as she took another sip of wine. Azriel looked away. Busybody. 

But his shadows restlessly tugged at him, urging his attention back to Feyre. Azriel’s stomach dropped at the sight of his High Lady weaving through the small crowd toward him. Azriel debated melting into his shadows, and as if reading the decision on his face, Feyre disappeared. Within a blink, she was standing right beside him. Her posture deceptively casual, arms crossed and a hip popped. 

She angled her chin to look up at him, eyes dancing. “I’m sure she’d say yes if you asked.”  

As if asking was even an option. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Azriel said, not looking at Feyre, but rather at Rhys’s approaching figure. There was no doubt the bastard had been poking around in Feyre’s mind. She tended to let her guard down when spirits were involved. 

Feyre rose a brow. “You’d think that half a millenia of experience would make you a better liar, Az.” 

Rhys stopped behind Feyre, encircling her in his arms. They both relaxed into one another, making it impossible to tell who was supporting who. Rhys playfully chided, “Leave the poor man be, Feyre darling.”  

“Why? So he can brood alone in the corner?” 

Azriel wished it had merely been a joke at his expense. He looked to Rhys, all but pleading with him to pretend it had been. But the High Lord had straightened, and was regarding Feyre with a slight frown when he answered her question, as if it had been in earnest, “Need I remind you that Lucien—Elain’s mate—is here?”  

Azriel felt himself flinch at the word, but Feyre was utterly unmoved. She rolled her eyes, turning to face her mate.  “She’s already danced with Cassian.” 

“That’s different,” Rhys said stiffly. “We’re at his wedding.” 

Feyre took a step closer to her mate. Her voice was low and serious, “They haven’t spoken all night. All year, even.” 

 Rhys looked ready to argue, but Azriel cleared his throat. “Do I need to be a part of this conversation, or may I find another corner to brood alone in?” 

Feyre at least had the decency to blush, but it didn’t stop her from answering him, “No, you may not. It’s my sister’s wedding and as your High Lady, I order you to at least act like you’re having a good time.” 

Azriel was tiring of being ordered to do things. 

“I am having a good time.” 

Feyre rolled her eyes at his flat tone, but instead of calling him out on another lie, she grabbed him by the elbow, and grinned up at him, “Then let’s make it a great time.” 

She started walking without any agreement from Azriel, and before Rhys could make another argument. Although he did have enough time to level a warning glare over Feyre’s head. Azriel met it blankly, and allowed himself to be escorted—or rather, dragged—across the floor.

Elain was still breathing heavily and fanning herself when they approached her at the refreshment table. Her eyes widened when she noticed them, darting between Feyre and Azriel a few times before she seemed to remember the drink she was pouring. Another second and the glass would have overflowed. 

“Feyre!” She greeted her sister cheerily, before turning to him, as if he were an afterthought, “Azriel.” 

Feeling Feyre’s keen eyes on him, Azriel kept his response equally bland, dipping his chin in a polite nod. 

“Azriel was just telling me how much he wanted to dance.” Feyre lied, about as convincingly as he had to her. He resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh. 

“Is that where you’re headed?” Elain asked. She was much better at this than Azriel. “Try not to step on his toes too much.” 

Feyre graced her sister with an obscene gesture, but was smiling when she continued, “He won’t have to worry about me or his feet, because I told him you’d be happy to accompany him.” 

“Did you see the way Cassian was spinning me? I might lose my meal if I go for another so soon,” Elain deflected, polite as anything. 

“Azriel is a gentleman,” Feyre said, simultaneously reassuring and dismissive, as she took her sister by the wrist. 

He barely had time to wince apologetically behind Feyre as she all but tossed Elain into him. And as they took to the floor, Azriel saw Feyre out of the corner of his eye, looking like the cat who got the cream, before she winked out of existence. Azriel did a double-take, looking again to to spot she’d disappeared from. 

A shadow nudged his attention to the string quartet, and Feyre, talking to the violinist. He watched the musician nod with a smile before signaling to her band. The strings sighed through the room, a slow, tender melody. 

Azriel couldn’t decide if Feyre was trying to help him or punish him. 

Elain’s face was still flushed from her wild dance with Cassian, and the front pieces of her hair had come loose. All he wanted was to tuck it behind her ear and let his fingers linger. Instead, he reached for her hand. The other hovered over her waist, touching only the fabric of her skirts that fluttered with each step. The music flowed, but they were a branch caught in an eddy—stiffly spinning, every step jerking and awkward and so unlike the easy, fluid movements of the other couples around them. Nothing about this was easy. 

Azriel struggled to look at Elain while she was regarding him with carefully polite indifference, and with imitating the expression himself. Especially as her hand gradually traveled from his shoulder to the back of his neck, drawing herself infinitesimally closer. Her thumb gently stroked the sliver of exposed skin just above his collar. The gesture—undetectable through the shadows that clung to him like smoke—was small, but it sent a shiver down his spine. His eyes fell closed, indulging in it. 

With everything else blocked out, it was tempting to pretend it was just the two of them. That they were swaying to a music box's tune in low lamplight, no steps to count or guests to sidestep. No High Lord, who would almost certainly be suspicious Azriel was using his shadows to obscure something forbidden. Coming back to himself, Azriel banished the shadows and took half a step back, nearly out of her range. Cool air replaced her touch on his neck as her hand slipped to his bicep. 

The lovely veneer of Elain’s face—her mask—fell. Azriel could read the anger and frustration in the twitch of her jaw, and the resigned understanding in her eyes. Those eyes, impossibly expressive and rich as freshly-tilled earth. Sometimes, looking into them felt like being buried alive. 

He managed to break her gaze, only to find himself looking instead at Feyre, engaged in conversation with Lucien Vanserra. Azriel almost had to admire the craftiness of his High Lady, even if he knew it was in vain. 

This waltz would lead nowhere, and Vanserra was far from distracted. Azriel didn't want to look at him, either—he was all too familiar with the shadow looming in the Autumn prince's remaining eye. He too knew the ache of longing; it crept up in him even now. 

His hand was on the small of her back, but in the way that mattered, Elain was out of his reach. Less distance, more time—there was always something to long for, some part of her he couldn’t have. Even the warm pressure of her hand in his was dulled by his damaged nerves. Her voice was distant, too, as they talked about the food and how much Cassian cried during his vows. Dull, safe topics that could be overheard by anyone. Until there was nothing left to comment idly on, and silence stretched between them, tight as a bowstring. Azriel’s eyes drifted up to the heavens for help. Or at least some inspiration. He marveled at how he could have everything and nothing to say, all at once. The stars were hidden by gauzy panels of fabric, swooping overhead, decorated with the elaborate floral garlands Elain had spent the last few days constructing. 

“The flowers are beautiful.” He’d already said as much, while he watched her work on them late into the night. But she still beamed at him. 

“I should hope so, after all that work,” she said. “I don't think I'll ever get the smell of gardenias off my hands.” 

Azriel lifted a brow, painting an expression of skepticism as he drew their joined hands in. Adjusting his grip so her hand covered his, he pressed his nose gently to her knuckles, his lips brushing her skin as he inhaled. Elain smiled. Her fingers unfurled, smoothing over his cheek and until his face was cradled in her open palm. Azriel leaned into it, kissing the delicate skin of the inside of her wrist. She was warm and soft and definitely smelled faintly of gardenias. His hand covered hers, holding it against his cheek. 

The hair on the back of his neck prickled with the chill of his shadows coming back to him, unbidden, as they did when there was danger. He’s coming. In the same breath, Elain went completely still, except for her heart. Azriel felt her pulse quicken against his bottom lip right before she snatched her hand away. With a vise-like grip on his hand, Elain hauled them back into a proper waltz for all of six counts before Rhysand tapped him on the shoulder. 

His drawl was charming as ever, but his eyes were cold as he said, “Mind if I cut in?” 

It wasn’t really a question, so Azriel didn’t answer. He merely stepped away, ducking into a cursory bow. Elain’s curtsy was smooth and elegant, but her eyes were on Rhys. He was smiling at her, all of his fury banished from his countenance. “After seeing you with my brothers, I must confess I’m starting to feel a little left out.” 

Elain’s returning smile was so lovely, it was almost impossible to tell that it didn’t reach her eyes. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” 

Rhys offered his elbow, and Elain's fingers had barely brushed his sleeve before he was whisking her away, further into the crowd of revelers. She knew better than to look back, but Azriel’s eyes followed her until he was left staring blankly at gap the High Lord of the Night Court had left in their wake.

[redr0sewrites]

hellooo i saw you were taking requests and i think you write for eris vanserra? i had this silly idea that you know how noisy and busybodies the inner circle are and maybe after eris is already high lord there is some sort of ball, and the ic sees some girl walking with him and stuff and they’re just like 🤨🤨🤨 snooping around and shit?? you know just banter like that, i have no idea if this makes sense for u😭😭😭 anyway take your time if u decide to write this and feel free to ignore this if u don’t want to !!! thank u in advance love u

AAA TYSM NONNIE THIS IS SUCH A CUTE REQ! I WILL TRY MY BEST LMAO HOPE U ENJOY!

CW: the IC being nosy, fluffinesssss!

this was bound to be a disaster. all eris knew was that having the inner circle at autumn could lead to a multitude of issues, all of which would fall directly on him. he expected them to irritate his father, or break off the alliance, or even damage property. what he did not expect however, was the patronizing questions about his mate.

the questions all started on the first night. there had been a welcoming banquet in their honor, and you were standing aside eris in all of your autumnal glory. your magnificent outfit was adorned with jewelry and charms of autumn with dark red details and a beautiful trim. you stood elegant and poised, yet uncharacteristically close to eris, who seemed to be enraptured by you.

"who are they?" mor asked, eyeing you in slight confusion.

"im not sure, but if i had to guess, theyre eris' lover, or at least something akin to that" replied azriel. he watched you and eris with an amused look on his face, and the rest of the inner circle did the same. after a while, they dispersed and began to mingle among the fellow guests, but some of their minds remained lingering on you and eris.

"eris!" rhysands elegant voice cut through you and your mates soft conversation. you watch as eris takes on the role of the high lords son, and don's the mask of stone he so often wore around fellow nobles of the court.

"rhysand. i certainly wasn't expecting you here." his eyes narrowed slightly, looking at rhys and feyre, who accompanied him, with a calculating stare. you smile warmly, from what eris has told you, the inner circle will be a crucial part in overthrowing beron.

"its a pleasure to be here. however, there is one thing i personally didnt expect" rhysands eyes slide to you, and you meet his gaze. feyres eyes glimmer knowingly, and she meets your smile with one of her own.

"who is your precious companion, eris?" your lovers eyes narrowed, and he said simply, "none of your business. i suggest you return to the party."

"how cruel. you know, its rude to dismiss your guests" rhysand said almost mockingly, and eris' jaw tightened.

"well, id rather not cause a scene. i guess they must he rather important to you if theyre here. i hope we meet you again, perhaps in a less formal setting" rhysand says to you. with a smirk and a wink in your direction, rhysand turned with feyre beside him and walked away. you looked over at eris, and you could practically see his jaw working itself.

"relax my love. they arent a threat." eris sighs, turning towards you. "hes so fucking irritating" eris mutters, and you cant help but giggle softly.

that night had been the first of four instances in which the inner circle had begun to question you and eris' relationships, and finally eris lost his temper. cassian had cornered him while eris had simply been walking to the library and had begun to interrogate him, and eris has snapped.

"they are my mate you intolerable jackass! can you please fucking leave me alone?" eris spat, fuming in irritation. cassian had burst out laughing, but quickly winnowed away when he noticed eris' murderous expression. angry, frustrated, and overall irritated eris stormed back to your shared courters. when eris recounted the incident to you, you couldnt help but laugh. eris begrudgingly joined you, and cheer filled the room. the inner circle was clearly interested in eris' personal life, and it was hilarious to you the lengths they would go to discover your relationship.

god im so sorry this sucks so bad ajaaaaa i cant write dialogue for my life i tried to make the reader as gender neutral as possible i hope you enjoy! i feel like this came out so shitty uurhehrhb im sorryyyyy

[rosanna-writer]

Cool for the Summer (3/3)

I was SO EXCITED to write part three of Cool for the Summer, which was started by @aldbooks and @vikingmagic33! Emorie is a new pairing for me, so thanks to both of you for giving me such fun material to work with <3 And thank you to @azrielshadowssing for organizing the event!

You can find chapter three under the readmore, and the first two chapters are here on AO3.

Feyre: Hey Nesta? You up?

Nesta: Unfortunately.

Feyre: Cassian says he's sorry for running off, fwiw

Nesta: It's fine. It sounded like an emergency. Is Morrigan alright?

Feyre: Having a really bad night, but she'll be okay. Right now she's too drunk to be making a ton of sense, so do you have any idea what happened with her and your friend?

Nesta: With Emerie?????

Feyre: Well, Mor's mostly upset because something about being in a bikini that showed off her scar for the first time triggered her, but she did also say that totally blowing it with a pretty girl was the cherry on top so………yeah

Nesta: We were at WORK, she better not have made Emerie uncomfortable.

Feyre: She wouldn't, but could you maybe talk to her?

---

Nesta: so idk what happened with you and Mor but

Nesta: wantmetokillthem.gif

Emerie: what? No?

Nesta: word on the street is that you rejected her

Emerie: i just didn't let her kiss me because she was drunk. that would have been stupid.

Nesta: ………so you're saying you would have kissed her if she weren't drunk?

Emerie: i would have done a hell of a lot more than just kissed her

Nesta: Duly noted.

---

Nesta: Emerie wants Mor so bad it hurts

Feyre: *exploding heart gif*

Nesta: but I think she's going to be too much of a gentlewoman about it

Feyre: Mor certainly isn't going to try and make a move now

Nesta: lucky for them i want my friends to be happy and have the world's biggest busybody for a little sister

Feyre: *eyes emoji*

Feyre: Nesta, are we ~scheming~

Nesta: yes, but ew don't put it like that, you sound too much like rhysand

Elain: i love you two but go to bed <3

Elain: But let me know if you need any help with the scheming! >:)

---

Perhaps Emerie should have suspected something when Nesta invited her to a party at the Archerons'. Nesta didn't speak about her sisters much, but even Emerie knew that Elain was the party planner of the trio. And considering how hesitant Nesta had been to introduce Gwyn and Emerie to Feyre and Elain, it was awfully strange that they were hosting a get-together with everyone there.

And "everyone" included Mor.

Emerie didn't even consider making an excuse not to go. There were enough people invited that she could probably avoid Mor all night, and if not, then a little awkwardness was nothing she couldn't handle. Nesta and Gwyn would be there, and there was nothing that could faze her with them around.

But still, as she parked her truck on the Archerons' street, Emerie couldn't help but wonder if any of the other cars already there were Mor's. Not that it should matter.

As soon as Emerie walked through the front door, Feyre disentangled herself from Rhysand and bounded up to her. "Emerie!" she said. "Glad you could make it. We were getting worried you wouldn't come."

If Emerie didn't already suspect something, now she did. She barely knew Feyre—there was no reason Nesta's little sister should be so pleased to see her. And she'd been late, but not that late.

"It's good to see you, too," Emerie said, not sure what else to say. She scanned the living room and tried not to look too obviously relieved at the sight of Gwyn and Nesta coming in from the kitchen.

"Em, let's grab you a beer," Nesta said, herding her towards the basement. Beer was beer, so Emerie let her, the living room door closing behind them just as she heard Feyre calling Mor's name.

So Mor was here, then.

Before Emerie could say anything, Nesta smirked and added, "You know, my offer to dropkick Mor for you still stands. Just ask."

Emerie laughed and said, "There's no hard feelings, I promise. If you want to dropkick anyone on my behalf, there's always my family."

"Good," Nesta said, her blue eyes going icy. There was nothing else she needed to say—Em knew that her friend was thinking and Mor had better make sure it stays that way. Emerie couldn't blame her; she was just as protective of her own friends—Cassian would be getting the "break her heart and I break your face" speech by the end of the night. And if Gwyn was here, she might already have beaten Emerie to it.

Nesta opened the cooler on the basement floor, and gestured for Emerie to pick what she wanted. There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs behind them, and just as Em turned at the sound, Nesta dashed up the steps at the speed of light. The basement went dark. The door closed.

Emerie swore to herself and felt for a light switch. Before she could find it, there were several thuds and a warm body knocked into her.

By some miracle, Emerie managed to catch whoever it was before they face-planted onto the concrete floor at the bottom of the steps. They were on the smaller side, so definitely not Cassian or any of his friends from the swim team. Probably a woman.

"Are you alright?" Emerie said as whoever it was stepped out of her arms.

"Yes, thanks to you. Oh my god, I am so sorry," Mor said.

So this must have been whatever Nesta and Feyre were planning. Emerie would kill them. She just had to find a light switch first.

"Please don't tell me someone pushed you."

"No, Feyre just said 'after you,' then Nesta ran up past me and closed the door and…" Mor trailed off, swore under her breath, then added, "And they are not nearly as clever as they think they are."

Despite her irritation, Emerie found herself laughing as she brushed the wall with her hand. She found the switch and flipped the lights on. Before running back up the steps, she couldn't help but rake her gaze over Mor, telling herself that she just wanted to be sure Mor was uninjured.

But if Emerie was being honest, it was also because Mor looked amazing in the red sundress she was wearing, even if it was a little much for a casual get-together with friends. Red was definitely her color, and the short length and cutouts on either side of waist showed off plenty of sun-kissed skin.

Before the staring turned creepy, Emerie tore her eyes away from Mor and hurried back up the steps. She tried the door and found it locked.

"We'll unlock it in ten. You two figure your shit out," Nesta called from the other side.

Emerie turned back to Mor, who was still standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking like she wanted to be absolutely anywhere else.

At least that made two of them.

Mor shook her head and said, "Goddamn Archerons." As she sank down onto the lowest step, Emerie didn't think she could agree more. Mor leaned back against the wall and sighed, crossing her arms against her chest. "Well, while we're here, I owe you an apology."

"For what?" Emerie said.

"Trying to kiss you while you were on the clock. I promise, it's really not like me to get sloppy drunk like that. I just…I had a really hard day, not that it excuses anything."

Mor's brown eyes had gone sad again, and at the sight of it, Emerie had absolutely no idea how to say that if the circumstances had been just a little bit different, a kiss would have been the perfect end to a long day of staring at Mor in a bikini.

"You didn't bother me at all. Really. I'm just relieved you got home safe."

At that, the tension seemed to melt away from Mor's body. "I'm really, really glad you don't hate me."

"You seem like a pretty difficult person to hate."

Mor blushed, the color picking up the red shade of her dress. The effect was just so pretty, and if Emerie didn't already know she was a goner, now she would have.

"And you seem like you're always there at just the right time. Making sure I made it back to Rhys when I was drunk, catching me when I fell…"

That flirtatious tone she'd used at the pool was back. Emerie knew an opening when she saw one and willed herself to stay cool. She shrugged in a way she hoped was nonchalant. "The lifeguard job seemed like a natural fit when I'm already so good at saving damsels in distress."

Mor crossed the space between them, sitting down next to Emerie on the bottom step. This close together, Emerie was suddenly all-too-aware of every place their sides and legs were touching and the floral smell of Mor's shampoo.

"Sounds like I should stick right by you in case I need saving again."

Emerie slid an arm around Mor, fingertips brushing the bare skin near her waist. When Mor leaned into the touch, Em nearly purred with satisfaction.

"If you do, you won't see me complaining."

Mor leaned in and kissed Emerie softly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Before the kiss had a chance to deepen, Mor pulled back, an obvious question on her face. Emerie didn't bother to answer with words, just cupped Mor's cheek with her free hand and drew her in for another kiss.

It was all the encouragement Mor needed to let her hands roam a bit. The brush of Mor's fingertips up Emerie's side before they tangled in her hair made Emerie really, really wish they were doing this somewhere that wouldn't risk smacking someone's head into a stair or a railing if they moved the wrong way.

Because damn—Emerie prided herself on being a good kisser, but the sweep of Mor's tongue in her mouth was something else. Maybe if they made their excuses and left the party for somewhere more private, she could see what else that tongue could do…

The sound of the door opening made them jump apart. Emerie sure as hell wasn't ashamed, but her cheeks heated all the same. Something about being walked in on with a girl in the basement during a house party made her feel like a teenager sneaking around.

She turned to find all three Archeron sisters standing at the top of the stairs. Their identical pleased expressions couldn't make it more obvious that the three of them were related. And because she refused to be left out, Gwyn was peeking over Nesta's shoulder.

"Should I take this to mean you figured your shit out?" Nesta said coolly.

Mor jumped to her feet and tossed her hair, looking completely unbothered. She held out a hand. Emerie took it and stood up, but when she was back on her feet, Mor didn't drop it.

"We did," Mor said, breezy and confident as she gave Emerie's hand a squeeze. She glanced over at Emerie and smiled. "That day at the pool might have been a hard day, but I don't let the hard days win."

[milliestars4]

A court of the unforseen

Chapter 12

“The need for control always comes from someone that has lost it.”

It was the thought of losing control that would bring even the strongest of soldiers down into the pitfall that was their mind. The thoughts would swarm the conscience until the dam broke, and their sanity with it.

A tether snapping, and the whole world just collapses.

Fire and night triumphant was a burning cascade of flames igniting Eris Vanserra’s every pore. The anger lighting a cannon of unconcealed fusillades, their force beating a hole in every prudent thought his body would use as a last defence, pleading with his power to spare the High Lord.

The High Lord that had lost all control.

The High Lord that had no control over their power.

Eris was fucked.

By the fucking cauldron, Eris could not rid the shadowsinger from his thoughts. It was like the mother had cursed his very being with vivid imagery of Azriel after every blink.

A primal instinct to help and protect was discarded the moment the Illyrian had left his chambers, but some lingering feeling Eris couldn’t place was prominent in the beat of magic flowing through his body.

The snap at Akiro was also running rampant along with every other pitiful action he had committed that night. It was his party, solas, he was only worried for Eris.

But everything was all bombarding enough, and Eris couldn’t catch a break.

A small part of him meant it, though - his facade was too complicated and thought through to be abandoned now. Eris had already humiliated himself to keep the mask from slipping.

If only there was a world where Eris could figure himself out. Figure out how to conceal this gods forsaken magic stealing his mind from his grasp by every passing moment.

If only he were a boy again and could seek gentle solace in the safety of his mother’s arms.

If only this never happened, if this were all a dream and he had never become the mess he was now.

If only.

——

Oh gods, his head.

Azriel roamed through the halls of the House of Wind tirelessly. No amount of pacing could ease his rising panic, though. The clutch some cursed emotion had on his chest squeezed hard, hard enough to snatch his stoic persona and perfect icy gaze from him as Cassian swaggered into the foyer.

The mask slipped, but snapped back up in an instance, to the idle eye, it was a movement gone unnoticed, to Cassian, it was a rare sight; the Shadowsinger a mess of intrusive thoughts and a shortness of breath.

Cassian feigned ignorance, but Azriel saw through it.

“Rhys told me about your accident.” The armchair groaned under the General’s weight as he slowly eased onto it. “Who would’ve guessed you get ambushed.” Humour laced his tone, but it came with genuine relief as an aftertaste.

“Busybody.” Azriel tried his best to smile; to seem unbothered, but his head pounded. Shadows swarmed his neck, leaving cooling trails in their wake. Their aim was to alleviate, but just made him shiver, ergo hurting his fragile head more.

“Don’t play coy, brother. You can talk to me.”

“Did Rhysand send you to see if I had another story to tell? To see if I missed valuable information during my alibi?” Azriel was half joking, a smile blooming. But he knew Cas wouldn’t just start some idle conversation in such a way; he was sent on some sort of mission by Rhys.

“I do care, you know. You aren’t alone in this world.” Cassian supplied, that insufferable look of pity shining in those identical hazel eyes. Azriel could not stand that look. It made his skin crawl.

Darkness pooled at his wings, death incarnate to a weak mortal with innocence streaming through their minds.

To Cassian, though, this was his brother. Much to Azriel’s dismay, Cassian understood him; shit , Rhysand did, too.

“I don’t want to have this conversation, Cas. Just ask Rhys?”

“I want to ask you.”

Azriel wasn’t in the mood for confrontation, wasn’t in the mood for lies compiled in attempt to break through his icy facade. So Azriel was a coward, once more; Azriel ran from his issues and those who cared for him by winnowing away.

——

Eris had to get away, the walls were closing in on him, and his magic was about to cascade into an eruption of rage-filled fire.

The walls were getting to close, his thoughts were running rampant to the point where a string of sentences in his head would only state his unease, his inability to contain the simple stoic sanity.

It was all getting too much, too hard to stay in control of what was his own body.

Eris Winnowed away.

He didn’t know where he went, or if he’d come back from the gap between reality and the endless pit of darkness and unknowing.

Eris didn’t care if he came out on the other side, he just needed to get out.

[wingedblooms]

Have you posted anything about your thoughts on Gwyn and Azriel? Whether they’ll be an endgame or not? Az’s bonus scene threw me off about Gwyn, the last line: “The thing of secret, lovely beauty “ I almost thought he was pursuing for Gwyn but I’ve reread it thrice now and I’m leaning more on him being pulled there by Gwynn’s siren song…I don’t think he’s there by his free will. I think he was nudged there… right? 🙈

Thank you for the ask! In general, I try to steer away from (and filter out) this topic because it is so divisive, but I can understand the concern and will respond with my own interpretation. Possible Maas multiverse spoilers below.

First, I don’t think we have enough evidence to even suggest that either Azriel or Gwyn are interested in each other romantically, let alone endgame. That could eventually change, but if I were using the evidence we have right now to determine who is more likely to be endgame in the next book, it would be Elain and Azriel. I am also personally more interested in the kind of story they would offer as seer and spymaster. There are some who disagree with that perspective, and that’s okay; we don’t have to agree.

You brought up the refrain, a thing of secret, lovely beauty, which I think is one of the most interesting parts of Azriel’s bonus chapter. It reminds me of other phrases Sarah has used before, like a perfect, pretty trap for the Weaver’s cottage. A refrain is meant to draw your attention, so I do think it’s repeated for a reason. And in all honesty, there are several possibilities. I don’t think the possibility I’m about to suggest has ever been posted, but I could be wrong. I’m not suggesting it’s the most likely possibility, but it is the one I prefer.

I think it’s important to remember that the phrase is referring to a thing, not a who. It first appears in the paragraph about the necklace that Azriel selected for and gifted to Elain in the dead of the longest night of the year, with only the Mother as witness. Well, and no-good, busybody Rhysand. If the necklace wasn’t described so thoroughly, and such a large focus of the bonus, I would feel more comfortable saying it means little and will never be seen again like Cassian’s first solstice gift to Nesta. No such luck here.

The golden necklace seemed ordinary—its chain unremarkable, the amulet tiny enough that it could be dismissed as an everyday charm. It was a small, flat rose fashioned of stained glass, designed so that when held to the light, the true depth of colors would become visible. A thing of secret, lovely beauty.

The necklace is called an amulet, and amulets typically offer protection. It’s tiny and ordinary enough to be dismissed as an everyday charm, but it’s not truly ordinary. It has hidden depths, secrets. Unsurprisingly, Elain—who is canonically beautiful and underestimated and keeping secrets—appreciates the beauty of this necklace. We don’t know the story behind it, whether it was custom made or found, but I couldn’t have picked a more fitting necklace for Elain myself. Even more so because Azriel finds himself in the foyer as she descends the stairs, and the faelight makes her glow like the sun at dawn.

But even the silence weighed too heavily, and though the shadows kept him company, as they always had, as they always would, he found himself leaving the room. Entering the foyer. Soft steps padded from under the stair archway, and there she was.

The Faelights gilded Elain’s unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn. She halted, her breath catching in her throat.

Exactly like the necklace does when the faelight shines upon it.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, lifting it from the box. The golden faelight shone through the little glass facets, setting the charm glowing with hues of red and pink and white. Azriel let his shadows whisk away the box as she said softly, “Put it on me?”

And then when Azriel and Elain are about to kiss, he invokes the Mother:

But he could have this. The one moment, and maybe a taste, and that would be it. “Yes,” Elain breathed, like she read the decision. Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother might witness them.

This doesn’t seem to be a coincidence. In the chapter before solstice and thus Azriel’s bonus chapter, Nesta tells us that she felt the need to set Elain’s carved rose next to the figurine that may be the Mother:

Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she’d placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess—perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn’t let herself dwell on why she’d felt the need to set the rose there. Why she hadn’t just thrown it in a drawer.

As I’ve mentioned in the post on Elain’s murky realm, I think she is deeply connected to the sacred trio (Mother, Cauldron, Fate) and may even act on their behalf. That lovely, kind, sage, and warm female voice may actually be her own. The same one that makes an appearance during dire circumstances in Oorid and when her family nearly dies at the end, just like Elain appeared suddenly on the battlefield. It was Elain—not the Cauldron—that answered Feyre’s pleas when she was about to witness Nesta and Cassian die.

So then how does it end up at the library, and why? Sarah uses similar language—he found himself—to potentially give us a clue. It’s almost as if he’s drawn by a force, rather than moving of his own volition. He is drawn to the foyer exactly when Elain is descending, and he is drawn to the library at exactly the time dusk services typically begin. And who does he find there? Clotho. Rather than overseeing dusk services as the High Priestess, like she did when Nesta had her vision that uncovered the location of the Harp, she is sitting at her desk. Could it be that she was…expecting Azriel?

But when he returned from the cabin in the mountains, he didn’t go to the market square. Instead, he found himself at the library beneath the House of Wind, standing before Clotho as the clock chimed seven in the evening.

Without any kind of prelude, Azriel gives the necklace to Clotho and asks her to pass it on to Gwyn (or any other priestess who might enjoy it). He’s a very thoughtful gift giver and worries over getting the Archeron sisters gifts in ACOFAS, so it is strange that he abruptly changed course and appeared in the library to re-gift a necklace that was intended for someone else, someone who makes him feel strong emotions, including writhing need. Like Cassian with his gifts to the Illyrian families, Azriel tries to attribute the necklace to Rhys when Clotho pushes him on his preference for anonymity. Not only is it not romantic, but it is kind of awkward. Clotho notices that he is sad, and hears the lie when he tries to deflect. She tells him that she will give it to Gwyn, and adds, perhaps out of kindness:

Clotho’s pen moved once more. She deserves something as beautiful as this. I thank you for the joy it shall bring to her.

Her words are striking, and I’m not sure if anyone has noticed this before, but it’s because they remind me yet again of Elain’s carved rose and what Nesta associates with it at the end of ACOSF:

Her father had died for her, with love in his heart, and Nesta held love in her own heart as she pulled the small, carved rose from her pocket and set it upon the gravestone. A permanent marker of the beauty and good he’d tried to bring into the world.

Elain’s rose, which was carved for her by Papa Archeron, was a reminder of the beauty and good her father tried to bring into the world. Unsurprisingly, he and Elain have this in common; they were close, hence the painting of them that was described in detail. Elain is consistently linked to love and beauty: she will wed for love and beauty, her beauty is such that it brings kings to their knees, and she brings joy and beauty into the world regardless of the circumstances. She gives thoughtful gifts to others, even when they were poor, in order to bring them joy:

Father: a new chisel for carving

Feyre: paints, paintbrushes, cake with her own art design from the dresser

Nesta: romance book set, scarf, unlimited books

Azriel: headache powder, ear plugs

And she beautifies the world around her with gardens wherever she goes, even when she is poor or suffering. It was not practical then, but that is the point—joy and beauty are not practical, but they are necessary. They spread hope. And people need hope, especially in their darkest moments. Clotho echoes this sentiment almost exactly when she tells Azriel how much joy Elain’s necklace will bring to Gwyn. Hope is infectious, so of course the thought of bringing joy to Gwyn sparks something in Azriel’s chest. And he is given the gift of being able to picture that joy, for whatever reason: how Gwyn’s teal eyes might light upon seeing the necklace. To me, this image lacks romantic prose (even Nesta’s observations of Gwyn’s eyes are more romantic than this thought), but it doesn’t have to be romantic to be meaningful. It gives him hope in a dark moment.

Something sparked in Azriel’s chest, but he only nodded his thanks and left. He could picture it, though, as he ascended the stairs back to the House proper. How Gwyn’s teal eyes might light upon seeing the necklace. For whatever reason. . . he could see it. […] But Azriel tucked away the thought, consciously erasing the slight smile it brought to his face. Buried the image down deep, where it glowed quietly.

And then, we see this phrase return at the end—in a separate paragraph.

A thing of secret, lovely beauty.

There are numerous theories out there, very compelling ones that have been well-researched and argued. But the one I prefer is this: the thing of secret, lovely beauty is Elain’s power, represented by the necklace and the mysterious events that surround it. The first mention defines it and the repetition allows us to see it in action. We know the Cauldron thought she was so lovely it wanted to give her something. With her oracular and mystic abilities, I believe she can use influence (one might call it a force) to protect others and create a more hopeful future unseen (she’s already done it, in fact). It’s why her role in the war has been forgotten (or dismissed) and she remains half-hidden in the shadows. It would be interesting if, somehow, she was already working with the priestesses, who also worship the Mother and operate in the shadows of the library.

“I think she’s kind, and I’ll take kindness over nastiness any day. But I also think we haven’t yet seen all she has to offer.” A corner of his mouth tugged upward. “Don’t forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one’s hands dirty along the way.”

Like a gardener, Elain’s powers allow her to plant seeds long before we can see the beautiful result. I suspect that’s why she was chosen for those specific gifts—she can play the long game, doing whatever is necessary in a fairly loving way. Before the bonus, she said she would start reacquainting herself with her powers and was riveted by the stories of her sister and the Valkyries. It’s possible she may have even seen something with her powers that compelled her to act. If that necklace can offer protection, like an amulet normally would, perhaps there is a reason it needed to go to Gwyn. She is instrumental to Nesta and the Valkyries, and there seem to be larger forces at play that threaten their future. They cannot afford squabbles over a necklace. Elain did what was necessary to create more hope, and did it in a way that brought Azriel comfort. That’s the different kind of strength I want to read about in the next book, and I trust that Sarah wouldn’t have her faves, Feyre and Rhys, agree that they would focus on Elain next if that wasn’t where she was headed.

I sighed, absently rubbing my still-flat stomach. “Let’s focus on helping one sister before we start on the other.”

“Agreed,” Rhys drawled.

It’s also quite clear that Elain is more than ready to have her story told:

But Elain turned on her heel. “Find me when you wish to begin.” The doors shut behind her.

How much do you want to bet she didn’t wait for them to find her to begin?

[cacalowee]

𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒔 || 𝒆𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆 || 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒚 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓

azriel x rhysand’s sister [ y/n ]

synopsis : at their mating ceremony, y/n reminisces about their time together so far [ bonus ;; az's pov ]

warnings : fluff, mentions of trauma, cursing, alcohol

word count : 2,783

notes : this is meant to be a sweet, fluffy chapter of just pure love memories <33 but I don't know how mating ceremonies are like in prythian, so I'll just try to make it as whimsical as possible lmao [ also ignore the weird title, I'm feeling very disney ] also I'm so sorry I didn't exactly like writing the nervous 'bride' trope but I literally had no idea what I was doing and made it up as I typed

this is me finally finished with writing and I think I managed to write and share a theme that I really needed before [ at the end ] i hope this story reaches you well and I hope you have a wonderful day ahead of you <33

[ also im lazy so this isn't proofread or edited. i may go back in to change a few things but I'm so so sorry if there are any grammatical or spelling mistakes ]

cal xx

"Oh my fucking gods, I'm actually doing this," you breathed, already out of breath. You wiped your sweaty palms on the skirts of your flowy dress and tried to shake out the nerves.

Feyre offered you a warm smile, "You look so beautiful." Your eyes flickered to the mirror propped up against your bedroom wall and scanned yourself up and down. Your black satin dress had a slightly modest neckline and long, mesh sleeves draping off your arms. Your dress came down past your ankles where the tips of your silver heels peeked through the fabric. Silver glitter had been dusted on the hem of your skirt and sleeves, giving off an ethereal feeling to your mating dress. Your hair had been pulled half-up, your thick strands of hair forming a crown around your head.

"Do I?" you asked nervously, terrified that you looked different in the eyes of others.

Mor nodded in agreement as she dusted sparkles over your cheekbones and gave you a dazzling smile. "You look amazing. Now, stop moving around so much, I still have to fix your hair." You quickly switched your energy to bouncing your leg up and down, ignoring Mor's huff of amusement.

"Don't be nervous, y/n," Feyre said, placing a crown of burnt flowers in your hair, the dark shade of them matching the ebony dress.

"I'm not nervous, exactly. More like absolutely petrified because I'm sure I'll piss myself and then die," you answered, muttering the last bit.

Feyre gave you a pointed look, "You won't piss yourself or die. You'll walk down that aisle, and offer Az your best fucking meal in the history of food."

You stayed quiet for a few seconds, adding quietly, "I can't cook shit."

"I warmed up soup for Rhys, you're fine," Feyre said, a slight smirk gracing her features.

"OhmygodsnowIsoundneedyIneedtoshutup," you muttered, letting your thoughts swirl around your head instead. Azriel hadn't dared propose the idea of officiating our mating bond. Only a few weeks ago, you had planted the idea while extremely drunk at Rita's. Azriel had been hovering over you, being overprotective as usual and making sure you didn't drink too much. It was endearing, truly, but at some point, you were sure you had just snapped and slurred, "We're not mated yet, stop being a busybody." After that, he had fallen silent and you had asked the question. Want to mate me?

And here you were, trying to convince yourself that you hadn't imagined that entire conversation in your wine-addled head and were now dressing up for nothing.

Because that would be a shame. Especially after sitting in this damn chair for over two hours.

You subconsciously rubbed at your arms, feeling the silky mesh material glide across your skin. You started playing with the sleeve and as you twisted your arm around, you could faintly make out the white outlines of a large scar you had earned by being dumb.

You turned your arm back over and stared directly in front of you. You focused your gaze and could've sworn you saw the air particles moving around in the space in front of you.

You let your eyes unfocus and small stars appeared in your vision. There were streaks of white across the walls that reminded you of the night when the mating bond snapped into place. Azriel had been dumbfounded at first, freezing on the spot and staring at you with wide eyes. The bond had shone brightly, illuminating your mind with its light. Neither of them dared to breathe the words aloud. We're mates.

You had stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. When Azriel's eyes had filled with tears and he collapsed against you, you held him as he held you, both of you understanding and yet not saying a single word.

A few weeks later, both of you laying next to each other on the roof, watching the stars twinkle against the dark sky, you had shared a special thing.

After hours of talking about everything that was important to you and him, your gazes interlocked and he looked so beautiful at that moment. His eyes were glowing and a smile twisted his lips upward, warming his features. He stared at you with love shining in his eyes and you felt your lips curve up into a smile to match his own. His breath hitched and he murmured, "You're beautiful."

Your smile had faltered slightly, the words coming out of a different mouth for a moment before you were back in the present. "You're absolutely breathtaking," you responded.

His gaze was so understanding and empathetic, that you had no other choice but to move closer so that your bodies were only an inch apart. You didn't remember who moved first, but you both angled your faces toward each other and brushed your lips together. The soft touch made your heart clench at the gentleness he was offering and you leaned in further to press your lips firmly against his own.

He draped an arm over your waist and pulled you in closer, sharing a beautiful moment for all of a few seconds before it was over and you were both smiling stupidly at each other.

"y/n?" Mor asked and your head snapped up. "Stand up for me real quick, I need to adjust the hem."

You tilted your head and did as she said. "You don't have to help me, y'know. I don't want this to be a big thing."

She smirked at you and shook her head, "Small thing or not, you're going to look fucking gorgeous out there. I don't care if you fight me every step of the way, I am going to fuss over you. I didn't get to do this for Feyre, and Nesta had her sisters." You couldn't deny her when she made it about herself.

After a few more minutes of absolute torture, you were ready for the ceremony at dusk. You hadn't wanted a normal ceremony, you wanted to break out of the box and be unique, all for the fact of not being confined to society's rules.

You had worn all black instead of white, your silver shoes being the sole exception, and held a bouquet of dead roses. It had taken a lot of convincing to make this all happen. Convincing yourself and others. You didn't say anything, but you wanted this ceremony to double as a funeral for the person you once were. It was stupid, honestly, so you kept quiet.

You stood in front of the double doors to the roof, mentally preparing yourself for the embarrassment you would feel when you tripped and fell flat on your ass in front of everyone.

You took a deep breath and opened the door slightly, knowing the Inner Circle sat on the other side.

You tentatively took a step down the aisle created by the parting of chairs and heard Cassian whoop enthusiastically. You grinned at that, feeling the fear leaving your body. Only slightly. You continued down the walkway, avoiding any and all eye contact, though furiously scanning the perimeter of the roof for anything amiss.

When you reached the altar and the priestess was waiting there for you, you nodded at her and offered a small smile of thanks. Your gaze swept out over the blurred crowd and you swallowed, feeling the fear rear up again. You clenched the bouquet of flowers closer to you, knowing for a fact that no matter how hard you squeezed, you wouldn't damage the roses.

Movement from your peripheral vision caught your eye and you automatically zoned onto the double doors where wisps of shadows were seeping through the cracks and joining you on the altar. They curled over your wrists and the cooling brush of the tendrils helped calm your heart rate.

The doors opened and Azriel stepped out dressed in all black, as per usual, but instead of leathers, he had donned a silk tunic and trousers that perfectly fitted his figure. His wings were flared out behind him and your gaze drifted to his face. You found his eyes already on yours and you felt your heart stutter. His eyes softened, just for you to see, and the tips of his lips tilted up in a reassuring smile.

For him. For Azriel.

You took a deep breath and watched as he made his way toward you. When he turned to face you on the altar, the priestess took that as her cue to start the usual bonding words. You zoned out slightly, your mind running over all the different scenarios that could occur where you would screw this entire thing up.

A calming shadow curled around your ear and you heard a faint song with lyrics you couldn't interpret. When the priestess took a step back, you reached your arms forward for Azriel's and as you clasped hands, shadows slithered down your arms, meeting where your hands were joined. You held Azriel's gaze and felt a slight tug on the bond. A surge of happiness and love followed and you were almost felled by the potency of the emotions.

In return, you quieted your thoughts and pushed the words, I love you, through the bond, hoping he could hear the message through the pounding of your heart.

"Do you accept Azriel as your mate for the rest of eternity?" the priestess asked, interrupting your silent conversation with Azriel.

You smiled, letting your happiness show on your face.

"I do."

azriel's pov

His breath caught, the impossible words filling his head as you smiled up at him with all the love in the world. You were beautiful. Gorgeous. Breathtaking. He couldn't believe he was standing in front of you, with his ruined hands entwined with the most unbelievable female he'd ever met.

"And do you, Azriel, accept y/n as your mate for the rest of eternity?" the priestess repeated. Your gaze swiveled to meet his eyes and he couldn't help the pang of anger when he saw that hint of doubt in your eyes. Anger at everything in the world that had taught you the curse of doubt.

He made sure you were looking at him, letting all his walls down and letting you see all the emotions crossing his face.

"I do."

Your face betrayed no negative emotion, but he felt a slight stirring of relief through the bond. He gave another reassuring tug and clasped your hands tighter.

"Then, y/n, you may present the food," the priestess said, breaking and adding to the moment all at once. You let go first, the shadows twining around your arms breaking as well.

Your face was flushed as you turned and offered him a plate of homemade brownies. "You said you like chocolate, and I don't know . . . "

Azriel stretched out his hand to take a brownie and took a large bite, not hesitating for a second. A dazzling smile graced your features and he would've fallen onto his knees at the sight of it were it not for the events that would come after. The sweetness of the chocolate erupted in his mouth, and it was the absolute best brownie he had ever had.

"I now pronounce you officially mated," the priestess said, a small smile spreading across her face at the pure joy hanging around in the air. And Azriel felt that joy, felt everything. He felt undiluted happiness as he stood in front of his mate, her face glowing and full of love. He had never thought he would've experienced this day in his entire 500 years of living, but all that pain was worth it to be here. With you.

y/n's pov

Azriel turned to face you completely, his eyes softening with love and gratitude, something only meant for your eyes and you smiled at him, trying to convey what words couldn't: how much you loved him.

The shadows swarming around both of you erupted as Azriel stepped closer and cupped your cheek, bringing his head toward yours. He gently pressed his lips against yours, his other hand going around you to hold your waist. You arched into the kiss, your hands reaching for his hair. You smiled against him and you felt his lips tilt as well, both of you eventually dissolving into snorts and chuckles.

When you pulled away, you grinned at him and held him tight.

When the priestess moved to step off the slightly raised podium she had been standing on, Rhysand and the others stood up immediately to rush at you both.

"y/n, my precious little, baby sister," your brother greeted as he wrapped his arms around you, giving Azriel a pat on the back. The two males grinned at each other, Azriel more carefree than you had ever seen him.

Cassian swung an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into a side hug. Feyre offered you a warm smile and you reached for her hand, clasping it gently. Cassian whooped with joy for you and his brother. Even Amren gave you both a smile, the expression on her face showing more emotion than normal.

"Alright, let's all get stupid drunk and then pass out!" Cassian hollered, heading straight for the drinks set out on a table near the edge of the roof.

In small groups, the Inner Circle broke away to lounge on the chairs set around the roof as they all celebrated Azriel's and your mating ceremony.

You turned toward the rising moon and found Azriel standing by your side like he always would from this point forward.

You reached for his hand, holding it tightly. When he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, you pulled his hand up and pressed a kiss to his scars.

"I love you so much," he whispered, his fingers moving to twine with yours.

"I love you more," you returned, wrapping your arms around his waist, hands still linked together.

"I'll be with you forever. From here on out until the Mother claims us. Beyond that even," he promised, leaning down to kiss your hair. You tilted your head to lean on his chest, squeezing tightly.

"And I'll always treasure you, my precious, sweet, chicken leg," you muttered against his black tunic.

Azriel pulled away slightly to look you in the eyes. "Chicken leg?" He asked with a deep laugh.

"I don't handle on-the-spot decisions well. How about you try thinking of something, right here, right now," you retorted.

"Easy, starlight," he said, his voice soft.

You released a huff, "You got a few seconds to think."

"Yes, that's why," he returned, voice dripping with sarcasm. He wrapped his arms tighter around you held you even closer than before if that was possible.

"I'm glad I'm back. I'm glad that I managed to find you even when I was trying to kill Rhysie," you admitted, glancing at the stars that twinkled in the night sky like small bursts of reassurance.

"I'm glad you're back too. Even though the circumstances which we met through were questionable," Azriel replied. You hummed in agreement, averting your gaze from the stars to his eyes. They were liquid honey, absolutely beautiful, and truly Azriel.

"My beautiful, handsome, absolutely perfect mate," you breathed, staring deep into his soul. You saw everything and held no fear. Azriel was by no means perfect, but he was perfect for you, scars and all. The blood on his hands was there from protecting his High Lord and Court. And you couldn't fault him for that. Hell, you've tortured and killed before. You've tried to kill your brother. Both of you had endured so much as well. Under the hands of his brother, Azriel had suffered, but he was alive. He was alive and living. He didn't let what happened to him affect him. He was as strong as an army of thousands.

And despite everything that had happened to you, from your mother's death to the torture of the King, you lived as well. And when two halves of a whole, both merely surviving met each other, you learned to thrive together. Because that was what you were doing. Both of you had learned to thrive and found love where you thought had been impossible.

The Mother has some strange plans, you thought. But truly wonderful plans.

Incredible plans, actually, because throughout the course of her plan, you had met your mate and you were currently being held by him on the roof overlooking the night sky, surrounded by your family and friends.

Life sucks for sure, but in the end, there is always a turn of destiny and something truly wonderful awaits you.

→ violet dreams masterlist || complete masterlist

taglist : @sassybluebird ,, @starrstrucked ,, @hideing ,, @moonslattess ,, @goldentournesol ,, @eat-cake ,, @owllover123 ,, @imnotsiriusyouare ,, @winnie-the-shoe ,, @xxgenderenvyxx [ striked-out names couldn’t be tagged unfortunately ]

[impossiblescissorspeachpaper]

Not Possible

A little February fluff because I felt like it

Elriel. 2k words

Elain sat in front of the vanity in her old room at the Town House, her chin heavily resting in a palm as her elbow lent against the walnut tabletop, scattered with all manner of books, blueprints for various gardens she was working on, empty cups of tea, and ribbons. She was bored and longing for company. But the boredom was welcomed if it meant she could avoid the alternative that awaited her at the manor.

She didn’t come here very often anymore but she had needed the space tonight. She had opted for the peace and quiet, the solitude. Needed to be away from busybodies and prying eyes and yearning glances. For Lucien was staying overnight in Velaris. He had come through the Night Court after a reconnaissance mission from the continent, reporting to Rhys findings from his travels, before continuing to the human realm. He hadn’t had the time to find accommodation, he’d said, so Feyre had offered him a room at the manor. Which was fine. They were friends, she supposed. But tonight, she couldn’t deal with it all. Didn’t want to deal with her sisters’ fretful glances, Lucien’s awkward attempts at small talk, Rhys’ politics. So, she feigned the excuse of early chores to warrant her stay in the city proper and had Rhys winnow her over just after dinner.

Perched on the tufted, blush-coloured velvet seat in front of the vanity, she removed the ribbon from her hair and set to working her fingers through the long strands, untangling the locks from their intricate braid. Bored as she may currently be, if she were being completely honest with herself, there was only one person’s company she wanted tonight. Only one person’s company she wanted any night, really. She reached the top of her braid, her hair finally loosening enough that she exhaled a content sigh, the pressure of the tight hairstyle causing a dull ache in her scalp. She reached for a comb and started on untangling the gnarls in her long tresses.

Through the reflection of the mirror, she thought she saw a flash of cobalt fly by outside. Whipping her head toward the window behind her, she craned her neck to look out into the night sky. Clear, and full of beautiful bright stars. But no Illyrian’s.

Her shoulders sagged slightly.

More disappointed than she cared to admit, she turned back to the mirror, her fingers running through her hair again when she heard a tapping at her window. Once again whirling around, she found Azriel, afloat mid-air, his wings beating in the night breeze, a sly little smirk painted across his handsome face.

She rushed over to the window and unlatched the lock, throwing it wide open so he could scramble inside.

“Az! You came. How did you know I would be here?”

She’d grown accustomed to his presence. In fact, she had grown to enjoy his company more than anyone else’s. Any spare time Azriel wasn’t on missions for Rhysand or assisting Cassian with the Valkyrie’s training, he was with her. Appearing just when she needed him; helping her haul rich, fresh soil across the manor grounds to fertilise her roses, chopping up apples to bake into a pie, flying her across the city so she could aid a young family who lost their father in the war with their garden, babysitting Nyx so Feyre and Rhys could spend a night out at the theatre. Nothing was ever too boring, or menial, or inane. His stone-cold manners remained intact throughout it all and he seemed genuinely happy to be assisting her.

And although he seemed comfortable enough to be spending these moments with her, she never let herself spiral too far in her fantasies. So often, during their time together she would find herself lost in daydream after ridiculous daydream. Wondering what his beautiful hands tangled up in her hair would be like, the feel of his full lips brushed across her skin as he worshiped her, the weight of his strong body pressed against hers in the throes of passion. But no, he didn’t see her like that. He didn’t harbour any romantic feelings towards her. She was sure of it. So, she kept a tight lid on those thoughts, and tampered them down, down, down.  Stubbornly stuffing them into a secret little part of her soul she had carved out especially for him whenever they seemed to be bubbling to the surface again.

“I wouldn’t be much of a Spymaster if I didn’t know where you would be now, would I Ellie?”

Ellie. Mother help her. She wouldn’t ever admit to another living soul what that nickname uttered from his lips did to her.

She huffed a little laugh. “So much for not keeping tabs,” she teased.

He struggled to amble his large body through the open window of her second story bedroom and she snickered at his expense. “Is the front door too ordinary?”

“Wards,” he grumbled, attempting to snap his magnificent wings even tighter into his body so they would stop catching on the frame. “It’s been a couple centuries since I’ve had to sneak in through a females window,” he groused.

She ignored the tinge of jealousy she felt at that admission.

“Oh? Well considering you’ve done it so many times before, you should no doubt be an expert by now, no?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you are talking about, lady.” He finally managed to heave his massive body safely into her room and shot her a smirk that was pure male arrogance, causing a dimple to pop in his smooth, tanned cheek.

“Rogue!” she countered, swatting at his chest and turning to stalk hautily away.

Azriel threw his head back and laughed, the sound so joyous she had to bite the inside of her cheek to not join him, maintaining her feigned contemptuousness. He lurched forwards and gently grabbed her wrist, preventing her withdrawal, and pulled her back toward his chest, Elain turning obediently into his embrace as if he was a courtier leading her in a waltz. She let him envelope her back into his warmth, coming to a halt when they were standing chest to chest. He smiled down at her, mischief still shining in his hazel eyes, and she swore her poor heart stuttered several beats at the sight.

Elain’s eyes widened as she beheld his handsome face, set in an easy smile so few ever saw. She sucked in a breath, her gaze lost in the depth of his eyes, the ribbons of green and brown and gold etching themselves on her soul, cursing herself for not having Feyre’s talents. For in that moment all she wanted to do was capture the colours of his irises and immortalise them in a piece of art she could look at forever. What a pathetic way to wile away the time, she thought. When had she become so tragically infatuated with him?

“You can’t do that,” Elain breathed, still transfixed by his beauty. With her hands resting upon his chest, she could feel his steady heartbeat beneath them. Strong, unfaltering. Just like he was.

The corner of his mouth lifted, that dimple in his cheek popping again and all she wanted to do was dip her pinkie finger into it. “Do what, Ellie?”

That nickname! She almost groaned.

“Look at me like that,” she sighed. “It’s… it’s not fair.”

Azriel considered her for a moment, before his expression softened and his hands came to rest on either side of her waist, the heavy weight of his palms making her positively lightheaded. A daring shadow curled around his ear, down his neck, and she found herself envious of those coils of darkness, envious they had the luxury of whispering across his golden-brown skin at all hours of the day.

Something flickered in his expression, his eyes darting back and forth across her face, as if he was drawing some sort of conclusion. She vaguely wondered what it could be. He swallowed thickly, his throat bobbing with the motion, before his fingers dug imperceptibly tighter into her waist.

“I can’t help it,” he began, his deep gravely voice a sinful whisper on the night breeze, skittering along her bones and causing goosebumps to erupt across her creamy flesh from the reverence she heard in it. “How else am I supposed to look at the female I love?”

She startled, her doe eyes widening, before lamely rambling, “You-- what? I don’t—you jest. Az…what?”

Her mind scrambled, short circuited and ultimately went quiet. So utterly quiet. Was this real? A dream? A cruel, sadistic vision the Cauldron had pushed upon her mind?

He chuckled, a blush blooming across his cheeks. “Ellie… you can’t be that surprised. I seek you out every spare minute I get.”

“Yes, but I thought—”

“The gardening?”

“You were just being helpful—”

He cut her off, “And helping you bake, I can’t bake!”

She sputtered “I thought you just couldn’t wait to eat everything!”

“And babysitting Nyx with you…”

“He’s your nephew, you love him—” she exasperated.

“Elain,” he griped, tipping his face towards the heavens as if preaching for sanity. “You and I both know you can handle Nyx better than almost anyone else. You never needed my help. I love him, of course I love him,” he chuckled at the memory of his mischievous little nephew, “but I have fallen in love…with you,” he finished nervously.

“Az…” she whispered, still not believing it. She buried her face into his muscular chest, burrowing into his warmth as she hugged him tightly around his trim waist. She breathed in deeply, soaking in his cedar and mist scent, the delicious perfume sweeping over her very soul, soothing it, like crystal clear waters washing over river stones.

He loved her? How could someone as wonderful as Azriel love her? He was so kind, and gentle, and thoughtful. He loved her. He saw her for all she was…and he remained by her side. He didn’t run. He loved her. He had looked, and listened, when no one else had. Through her darkest days and the seemingly endless abyss of her trauma, he never let her drown in the darkness. He loved her. He had offered her a hand, kept reaching out to her and never faltered. A steady, resolute, stoic presence in her life. He loved her.

“Elain? Please, say something… so I know whether I should go drown myself in the Sidra and never emerge, or…” his words died in his throat as she finally peeled her face from his chest and raised herself up on her tiptoes.

She nuzzled her nose against his before gazing into his stunning eyes. Surer of the next words she was about to confess more than anything else in her life, she breathed, “I love you too, Az.”

The relief and veneration she saw cascade across his handsome face broke her heart in the most achingly delicious of ways as she carded her fingers in the silky black hair at the nape of his neck. The pads of her digits pressed into his skin, and she nudged him down, desperate to get him closer. She saw the question in his expression, her eyes fluttering closed in answer, angling her face just right, as she felt Azriel’s plush lips softly brush hers in the sweetest of kisses.

His mouth melted against hers and she felt herself become pliant in his arms. His tongue swept across her lips, and she opened for him, allowing Azriel to deepen the kiss. Finally, finally, tasting each other. It was like a puzzle piece snapping resolutely in place with a satisfying click. She whimpered in his embrace, tugging on his lower lip gently with her teeth.

Azriel pulled away, something like awe lining his features, his swollen lips slightly parted as he peered down at her. “You love me?” he asked softly.

She nodded, her golden-brown curls bouncing down her back. “I do.”

Azriel’s eyes flicked back and forth across hers, letting the declaration wash over his body, his heart, his soul, before he dipped his face back towards hers and crashed his sensuous lips against her mouth in a bruising, desperate kiss. He knocked the very air from her lungs, rendering her breathless, a boneless golden puddle, limp in his arms. Her head spun and her chest swelled with a sensation she wasn’t familiar with but made her feel as if some intrinsic, elemental part of her was irrevocably being awoken.

He broke away again, delicately cradling her face between his palms as if he held the most precious of treasures there, “I love you more.”

She smiled brightly back up at him. “Not possible.”

*******

tagging: @offtorivendell

[the-lonelybarricade]

A Court of Faded Dreams: Chapter 23

Chapter Title: Turn At Last to Home Afar

Fic summary: In her grief after Rhys sacrifices himself to restore the Cauldron, Feyre accidentally sends herself back in time. Back in her human body, in her early days in the Spring Court, Feyre must be careful how she alters the timeline as she tries to save Rhys and Prythian from Under the Mountain.

Read on AO3 ⟡ Masterlist

Rhysand winnowed them straight to the town house.

He watched Feyre carefully as she took in the familiar entryway, the red-carpet, the wood-panelled walls. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Home. It smelled like home—like Rhys, but with some of their Inner Circle’s scents mixed in.

“Welcome home, mate. Tell me what you need. Anything, and it's yours.”

Feyre looked down at her torn, reeking leathers. “How about a bath and a change of clothes? Then you can invite inside all those busybodies that will be breaking down your door any second and maybe we can all have a meal. I’m sure Azriel’s already caught wind of the fae leaving the Mountain en masse.”

Rhys laughed. “You’re probably right. Consider it done, Feyre.”

“But don’t let them in until I’m done, please,” she pouted. “I want to see their reactions. I promise I’ll be quick.”

Rhys smiled endearingly. “Take your time, Feyre—”

Anything else he was going to say was cut off by a furious banging on the door. The silhouettes of two tall, powerful bodies appeared on the other side of the front door’s fogged glass.

“Rhysand, what’s the deal!?” Cassian called through the door. His voice was tight. “You finally escaped that damned Mountain and the first thing you do isn’t come see your brothers?”

Feyre felt flooded with guilt for making them wait. A bath could wait. Rhysand had waited long enough to see his family—

Go, he ushered. You’ve just saved Prythian, I think you’re owed a bath. Those bastards I call brothers can wait.

She chewed her lip as she opened her mental shield enough to ask, join me? We’ll keep it chaste, I promise.

Rhys smiled. “Give me half an hour, you impatient bastards,” he called through the door, sending Feyre a wink. “Your High Lady is in need of a bath and I’m rather inclined to join her.”

They didn’t stick around to hear the males’ reply as Rhys whisked them up the stairs and into his bedroom—their bedroom.

By the time they’d bathed and dressed—delayed only by decadent bouts of kissing—it had taken them a little under an hour. Feyre had thrown on one of Rhys’s sweaters and a pair of trousers he’d summoned from that strange pocket dimension.

The entire Inner Circle had gathered in the dining room, most likely let in by Mor, who was a vision in her red gown from where she sat on the far end of the table, next to Cassian. Amren was there too, sat by Azriel on the nearest side of the table. There was a collective intake of breath when they entered, and they were all staring at Rhys and Feyre, who stood hands interlocked.

Mor was the first one up, stifling a sob as she hurled herself into her cousin. Feyre let go of Rhysand’s hand so that he could greet his family, standing back even though it pained her to be a stranger to them. Feyre knew how much they’d missed him; they deserved this moment to themselves.

Rhysand clasped each of his brothers lovingly, the three of them sniffling back tears—held together by only their male pride—while they murmured about it being good to have Rhys back. Even Amren came forward with a trace of affection on her face and clutched Rhysand’s forearm, nodding her respect to him.

The teary smile on her mate’s face made every ounce of pain and discomfort over the last few months entirely worth it. Feyre knew she’d sacrifice anything for him to always be able to smile like that.

“Guys,” Rhys announced, his voice thick with emotion after they’d all come to greet him, gesturing for Feyre to come forward again. “This is Feyre Cursebreaker—my mate and High Lady of the Night Court… to be,” he added as an afterthought, and Feyre appreciated that he already viewed her as such. “She’s got one Hell of a story to tell.”

“I’ll say,” Cassian said with a snort, then inclined his head to Feyre respectfully. He offered her a small bow. “My lady.”

“We’ve heard some of it from Az already,” Mor piped up, her eyes misty as she regarded Feyre. “Thank you for saving Rhys.” Then, looking as if she squashed the urge to embrace Feyre, Mor bowed as well.

Rhysand laughed, perhaps knowing how strange it felt for Feyre to be among friends who considered her a stranger. “What happened Under the Mountain is just a small piece of a much larger story.”

He somehow managed to coralle them back to the table, after Az and Amren offered Feyre a similar greeting, and summoned a feast of champions. Feyre launched into her tale as they all dug in. She gave a brief explanation of her travel through time, then relayed the entirety of the previous timeline; starting from the first time she’d been taken from her home in the mortal realm up to when Rhys sacrificed himself to restore the Cauldron.

There were of course plenty of interruptions, mostly comments from Cassian and occasionally from Mor. Az and Amren offered insightful observations as they drew connections from the previous future to the goings-on in their current one.

“Classic Rhys with that self-sacrificial bullshit,” Cassian said after Feyre had explained how she’d reforged the Cauldron.

Feyre smiled tightly in agreement, knowing that Rhys sacrificing himself to stay Under the Mountain was still a fresh wound. And they hadn’t even really gotten to the current timeline yet.

Feyre briefly explained how she woke up back in the Spring Court with the timeline reset, how she sought out the Suriel to confirm it. Then she let Rhys launch into a tale of his own, one that warmed her heart to listen to—the story of how they found each other again.

He explained to his family about the dreams he’d started having a few years back, flashes of a mortal woman’s life, and how he’d used them to track Feyre to Calanmai. Rhys explained with amusement how the last thing he’d expected was to be cornered by that mortal woman telling him she came from the future and was his mate. But her memories were proof enough, so together they concocted a plan to take down Amarantha.

Rhys recounted his visit to the Spring Court and the bargain they made with Lucien and Tamlin, including the kiss that was demanded as payment.

“Bastard,” Cassian grumbled and Azriel muttered his agreement. Every fae knew what an affront it was to kiss another in front of their mate. The fact that it had been an enemy High Lord… it was a miracle Tamlin was still breathing, and a testament to Rhysand’s self control.

From there, Feyre and Rhys weaved their tale together. How’d she walked into the Mountain demanding the High Lord she loved be set free, implying that High Lord to be Tamlin but wording the bargain carefully so that it was Rhys she truly referred to.

Rhys gave only the barest details of the way he’d clawed himself into a position of trust by Amarantha’s side, and how he’d used that position to assist Feyre by any means. With no ounce of glorification, he told the tale of how she slayed the Middenguard Wrym. Cassian looked delighted, Az suitably impressed. Mor, bless her, looked horrified on Feyre’s behalf. And Amren was leaning back in her chair, listening thoughtfully.

“Brilliant work, Feyre,” Cassian praised when Rhys finished the story, “You get extra badass points for setting your own shoulder afterwards. Very Illyrian of you.”

Amren snorted, “I wouldn’t take that as a compliment, girl.”

Feyre beamed all the same. “Rhys said something similar when he came to heal me in my cell afterwards—and offer me our ‘bargain’. I reminded him that I was actually trained by three Illyrian warriors, after all.”

“The three best Illyrian warriors,” Cassian corrected, crossing his arms.

Feyre shot Rhys a furious grin. “With the largest wingspans as well, I’ve heard.”

Mor choked on her drink and Feyre could see the twinkle in her eye at the wing-measuring contest that would surely ensue, especially as Rhys bristled.

Before they could get into an argument about which male sported the title for largest wingspan, Feyre quickly told the story of their “bargain”, gesturing to the tattoo on her arm, explaining the nightly parties where she’d played Rhysand’s harlot, and the second trial.

Rhys elaborated where he felt necessary, adding in details from his perspective. He noted the way the crowd changed after her second trial—the spark of hope that had ignited from watching Feyre stare down the Faerie Queen.

“About halfway between her second and third trial, the mating bond snapped,” Rhys said, not mentioning how it had snapped. Feyre tried to hide her blush at the lewd memory, which seemed to be enough of an indication for Cassian to tilt his head back with a bark of laughter. Azriel had a knowing smile as he too guessed what had been the cause. “Which wasn’t funny,” Rhys said with an edge to his voice as he glowered at his brothers, “because it meant that Amarantha could scent it on Feyre.”

“Did she?” Mor asked, leaning forward in her seat as though it were a particularly gripping story.

“She did, but only after Rhys’s instincts kicked in so intensely he gave himself away first. I’d refused to do the third task and attacked her. She’d been about to kill me and Rhys came forward snarling, talons out and all. She took one look at him and then sniffed out the bond on me.”

Rhys growled. “I wasn’t going to stand there and watch her torture you to death.”

Feyre reached for him under the table, her fingers brushing his consolingly. The tension in his posture visibly relaxed at the touch. “She told me that if I stabbed Rhys through the heart with an ash dagger, she would count my third trial as successful. And when I refused, she ordered Rhys to kill me instead. He couldn’t resist her control over him, though it was obvious he tried.”

Rhys swallowed thickly. “I thought it was going to kill me, trying to resist that order. Like it was going to tear my body apart from the inside out. But I still threw everything I had at it, it just wasn’t enough. The feeling of plunging that dagger through Feyre’s heart is something that I will never be able to forget. Killing my own mate.”

They all went quiet at the anguish in his voice. Feyre squeezed his hand, sending warm, comforting thoughts down the bond.

“I was able to say the answer to the riddle before the dagger killed me. And when I did, Rhys was instantly given back all of his power, freed from her spell over him. I watched through his eyes as he misted her on the spot. Then, one by one, every High Lord came to help resurrect me. And I woke up High Fae once more.”

“What of your powers?” Amren asked, and they all looked curious at that.

Feyre hadn’t had a chance to try to use her magic, yet, but she could feel it dancing under her skin. A familiar, comforting presence.

With a small smile she cupped her hands out in front of her and summoned a droplet of water, which froze and fell into her palm as a glass crystal, then melted and evaporated as a flame flared brightly. The flame guttered out when a gust of wind flew in, kissing each of her friends with its gentle breeze. Everyone was watching her, mouths agape.

Feyre tried not to laugh as she focused her attention to the muscles at her back and summoned a pair of Illyrian wings. Rhys’s grin turned wicked as a shiver of desire ran through the bond. She threw him a wink as she summoned his darkness, letting the tendrils trail up along her arms before they vanished.

It was Az who let out the long, low whistle.

“I’m also a daemati,” Ferye said matter-of-factly.

The others looked bemused by her nonchalance, but Rhysand’s eyes had taken on a mischievous glint. She couldn’t place what, exactly, had spiked his interest, since she’d already explained to him the power she’d possessed in the previous world. Perhaps seeing it in person—the wings in particular—had a different impact than seeing it through memories.

“What of the Dawn and Day court?” Amren pressed, eyes glittering as she strategically fleshed out Feyre’s potential as an ally.

“From the Dawn court, I can heal injuries with my blood. I haven’t tested it yet in this timeline, but I’ve no reason to suspect anything’s changed. And from the Day court, I can cleave spells like Helion, and also… glow.”

Feyre’s face flushed. Aside from the burst of light she’d released in Hybern, Feyre had mostly glowed from moments of intense ecstasy with Rhys. Her mate tapped at her mental shields curiously, as perceptive as ever, and Feyre sent him flashes of the memories she’d been recalling. She watched as a self-satisfied smile bloomed on his face, causing her flush to deepen and her heart to skitter.

It would be my honor to help you test out that power, Feyre darling. For purely strategic reasons, of course.

“Having a spell cleaver on our side will certainly be useful,” Amren noted, oblivious to the mental flirtations—or simply choosing to ignore Feyre’s rising blush and Rhysand’s smug grin.

Feyre realized she and Rhys had been staring at each other, not saying anything, only after Cassian cleared his throat. Feyre snapped her attention away, looking towards the winged male, who had a shit-eating grin on his face.

Azriel was flicking his gaze between the two of them, but said nothing, even as Mor giggled.

Their attention was enough to draw Rhys away from his depraved thoughts, too, because he promptly turned to Azriel and asked for a status report on Hybern’s movements in the last 50 years.

With a knowing twinkle in his eyes, Az enabled the change in subject, beginning a debrief that Feyre desperately tried to pay attention to. It seemed Rhys was struggling too, because almost instantly his talons were scraping sensually against her mental shield.

I can’t stop thinking about how good you tasted before the mating bond snapped. It’s been driving me crazy ever since. I’m trying to sit here and enjoy this meal with my family, but all I can think about is how badly I want to spread you out on this table.

The deep, hungry rumble to his voice would have been enough to set Feyre’s blood pumping, but paired with the mental image he laid out for her—Feyre tried not to drop her fork as a deep, primal need speared through her. Suddenly it was all she could do not to leap over the table and drag Rhys to their bedroom.

I was hoping to have a more traditional mating ceremony this time around, Feyre whispered weakly back through the bond.

Then we’re doing it tomorrow, he said, because if I have to wait one moment more than that to have you, I might very well explode. And take half of Velaris with me.

My, what happened to that famous self-control?

I hadn’t tasted you yet. It hasn’t left my tongue. And I thought waking up with your scent in my nostrils every day was driving me wild. That was nothing compared to this.

Now it was Feyre’s turn to sprout that self-satisfied smile at him. Rhys growled. Actually growled. Feyre didn’t even know what they were talking about anymore, but the conversation halted as they all turned to stare at their High Lord.

Feyre stifled a giggle, especially as Cassian’s bemusement turned to feral glee and he opened his mouth, no doubt to taunt his brother.

“Feyre and I are going to have our mating ceremony tomorrow,” Rhys announced to cut him off. “We would be honored if you all could attend.”

Cassian cackled. “If you’re this riled up now, brother, I’d hate to see what you’ll be like after you’ve mated. Perhaps you’ll be wound up enough to finally have a chance at besting me in a fight.”

“I don’t want to see any of you bastards for at least a week after the ceremony,” Rhys said sternly.

Cassian’s eyes lit up, and Feyre wouldn’t be surprised if he showed up during that week just to see if Rhys truly could beat him in an instinct-fueled rage.

“Cassian,” Feyre stepped in. “If you show up just to wind up Rhys, I’ll be the one kicking your ass. Then I’ll let him deal with what’s left of you.”

“Which means I’d have very little fun,” Rhys said solemnly. “It’s not very entertaining to brawl with a pile of ash.”

The twinkle did not leave Cassian’s eyes, nor did the shit-eating grin, but he had the good sense to nod at Feyre and say, “If I’m stupid enough to take you on, then I’d deserve to be reduced to a pile of ash.”

Feyre’s heart soared at the respect and approval implied in those words, accompanied by the wink Cassian added and the small smile on Az’s face. Feyre understood that some of that approval was perhaps earned solely because they were all grateful to see Rhys freed and happy, but the rest would come with time.

“What meal are you going to offer him, Feyre?” Mor asked, probably in an attempt to guide the conversation away from male bickering. But her eyes were bright and keen.

“I don’t know how to cook,” Feyre admitted. “So whatever it is will have to be simple. But I think I can at least do better than canned soup.”

I’d eat mud if that’s what you offered me, Feyre, Rhys told her earnestly. Don’t fret too much about making me something.

“I’ll help you!” Mor insisted and Feyre beamed at the offer, before Cassian snorted and even Az let out a small chuckle.

“Careful, Feyre, it won’t be much of a mating if Rhys is retching from food poisoning the whole time.”

Mor gasped in outrage, shooting Cassian a filthy look before she chucked a dinner roll at his head. It hit its mark with deadly precision, thunking against his forehead. Cassian caught it in the air before it could fall back onto the table and tore a massive bite out of it around his fits of laughter.

“As if you’ve any right to mock my cooking after that witchberry pie you fed us at Solstice! We were prone on the dining room floor for the rest of the evening and I was sick for a week!”

Feyre broke into laughter. She’d thought Rhys had made up the story about Cassian’s pie.

Mor turned an accusing finger to Azriel, whose smile instantly disappeared into a stoic mask. But his eyes still glinted with amusement.

“And you. The betrayal!” she cried dramatically. “You said you loved my birthday cake!”

Azriel cringed, but Feyre couldn’t tell if it was from the accusation or the memory of the cake. “The decorations were very lovely, Mor. It was so… colorful.” At the fury in Mor’s eyes he hastily added. “And it was very thoughtful of you to bake me a cake.”

“Oh for Cauldron’s sake, Mor, it was inedible,” Amren cut in, to Feyre’s surprise. She, too, pointed a finger at Azriel, and the male looked very uncomfortable to be under the collective gazes of Rhys’s second and third. His shadows loomed close, as if preparing for a threat. “And this foolish male choked down half of it out of a misguided sense of duty before I took mercy on him and chucked it away.”

“It took him three days to recover,” Cassian recalled grimly.

Amren turned her focus back to Feyre and Azriel visibly relaxed, shadows lightening as he flitted his eyes back to Mor apologetically.

“Have Nuala and Cerridewen help you, girl,” Amren instructed.

Rhys looked guilty. “I’ve actually given the twins time off, since they’d been Under the Mountain with me.”

Amren looked at Mor, who seemed ecstatic at the news, then back to Rhys and shook her head. “Mother save you, High Lord.”

Cassian clapped Rhys on the back. “It was nice having you back while it lasted, brother. Mind leaving me the House of Wind in your will?”

Rhys shook his head, but as his eyes met Feyre’s he did look a little nervous.

Maybe a can of soup isn’t so bad after all, she thought down the bond sympathetically. I’ll try not to poison you.

‘Try’ does not exactly fill me with confidence, Feyre darling. He teased, already grinning again.

Feyre marveled at it, that ease that had returned to him so quickly—not even a day after they’d fled the Mountain. She knew there were still wounds there, and she’d give him whatever he needed to heal, but… there was happiness, too. Real, genuine happiness. Feyre almosted sobbed in relief, right there at the table, to see it.

And when their friends left and she and Rhys went to bed, he held her like he couldn’t quite believe it, either.

He tucked himself tightly against her, pressed his head into her chest so he could listen to her heartbeat. Rhys held his breath as if he believed that at any moment it would suddenly stop. Feyre stroked her fingers through his silky raven locks soothingly, feeling her mate relax against her.

I’m safe, Rhys, she murmured through the bond. I’m here. We made it through.

It doesn’t feel real, he said as he shut his eyes. It feels blasphemous to have been this lucky. I keep waiting for the cold water to be dumped on my head. Like maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and this will all have been a cruel dream.

If this is a dream, Feyre mused—she stared down at her mate, slowly relaxing between the combined efforts of her steady heartbeat, her slow strokes through his hair, and her gentle voice—then you might as well let it be as blissful as possible, hmm? Give yourself something wonderful to remember when you wake up.

Is that your way of telling me to embrace it and stop second guessing everything? Came his quiet reply. His words were slurred with the tender drowse of sleep.

Essentially, Feyre responded with a soft giggle. But I swear to you I’ll be here when you wake, Rhys. I’ll be here for you, always.

As Feyre watched night itself be lulled to sleep, she too closed her eyes and let that weightless relief settle against her. She held her mate close, listening to the metronome of his breaths. She almost swore the stars listened, too, as she fell into darkness and her dreams embraced her.

Taglist: @cretaceous-therapod @feybaenc @uniquelyboringmusings @imsecretlyaherondale-blog @rhysandswingspan @inejsarrow

[dawneternal]

Just a Favor | pt 8 | Gwynriel

✦ Notes: thinking about Jules in that one episode of Euphoria "Are you talking to your mama about me?"

Find the inspo for Gwyn's ring here

And if you missed it, I drew Gwyn waiting for Azriel in chapter six! Link to post

✦ Warnings: all fluff. Lil suggestiveness at the end.

✦ Word Count: 1k (Sorry it's a short one again)

✦ Masterlist

✦ AO3 Link

Azriel lay awake sometime in the early morning, soft light creeping through the windows, Gwyn curled against his side. She looked so cuddly like this, wearing nothing but his shirt (even though she had packed pajamas of her own). She murmured something in her sleep and tucked herself further into him, resting her head on his chest. His heart warmed, glowing bright and golden, and he swallowed the desire to stroke his thumb along the freckles of her cheekbone. 

A few warning stars twinkled in his vision, and then Rhys's voice drifted into his thoughts. 

How's it going, brother? 

She made me sourdough bread, Az responded. He hoped he didn’t sound as dreamy and lovesick as he felt.

I heard, Rhys said, and Az could hear the grin in it. The cabin still standing? 

None of your business, Az said, albeit half-hearted. 

I'll leave you be, brother, Rhysand chuckled, I picked up your order. Sending it over, now. 

Thank you, Rhys.

Always. I'm happy for you, Azriel. 

Then the High Lord's presence was gone from his mind. With a snap and a spark, a silver box appeared on the nightstand, tied with white ribbon. Azriel's heart leapt into his throat and he resisted the urge to reach for it. He didn't want to wake Gwyn. She had admitted that, between making her decision and baking bread and getting ready, she had not gotten much sleep the night before. 

So he let her rest. He pressed the softest kiss he could manage to the top of her head and wrapped his arm around her. In her comfort and safety, he found his eyes closing, too. 

Gwyn woke late in the morning, closer to lunchtime than breakfast. She almost panicked, but then she remembered that there was no training to rush to and no Cassian to scold her for being late. 

It was strange to wake up with her body flush against another. Azriel radiated warmth, his breathing soft and steady. She studied him for a moment, his messy black curls sticking up in all directions, his long lashes fluttering as he slept. The rush of love she felt was monumental, and she tried to shield it from the bond to keep from waking him. She knew that he rarely got enough sleep and she planned on changing that.

A silver glimmer caught her eye - a little box on the nightstand. She glanced at Azriel again, wondering how it had gotten there. She was sure she felt his arms around her all night. 

Gently, she pulled away from him and sat up. He stayed asleep, though he let out a little sound, like his absence pained her. 

Gwyn reached for the box, just to examine. It was tied with a lovely white ribbon, a tag hanging from it. 

Shadowsinger, it was a pleasure to complete this order for you. I hope that your mate enjoys your gift. 

Curiosity got the best of her. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth as she untied the ribbon, quickly and quietly. She opened the box just a touch, enough to peak inside and find another glimmer of silver and something blue. 

“Hey,” Azriel's croaky voice startled her and she jumped. 

She turned to him with a sheepish grin, revealing the box in her hands. 

“Busybody,” Az chuckled. He sat up beside her and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Well, open it.”

Gwyn lifted the lid and revealed two rings. A silver band carved with a pattern of Illyrian tattoos and stars, one tiny blue gem tucked into the pattern. The other had a glittering sapphire, cut into an oval and wreathed with tendrils of silver and tiny stars with diamonds in their centers. Her breath caught in her throat. They were so beautifully made, the blue matching Azriel's siphons perfectly.

“I know it's kind of a human thing to have rings,” Azriel said, and she could hear the nervousness in his voice, “But my mother gave me a pair of her earrings, and she wanted me to have them made into rings. She always admired that tradition. And I couldn't say no.”

“Your mother?” Gwyn breathed, turning to him with tears shining in her eyes. 

“Yes,” He said softly, studying her expression, “I was going to ask if you'd like to meet her, soon. She really wants to meet you.”

“You told her about me?” Gwyn croaked, a tear spilling over. Azriel reached out and swiped it away. 

“Are these happy tears?” He asked, brows knit together. 

“I just,” Gwyn cleared her throat, “I didn't realize I would also be gaining a mother.”

Azriel's heart twisted in his chest and he reached to grab her hand and hold it tight. 

“She's going to love you and she's going to spoil you,” He smiled, “I guarantee it.”

Gwyn smiled at him and wiped away the rest of the tears. 

“These are beautiful,” She said, pulling the band out with her free hand. She untangled their fingers and slid the ring into his finger. Of course, he'd paid to have them enchanted so they'd fit perfectly. 

Azriel had to admit that it helped his opinion of his hands to wear that reminder of her. Something pretty, gifted by his mother, symbolizing his mate. 

He returned the favor, pulling out her delicate ring and sliding it into her ring finger.

“Now we have something even Feyre and Rhys don't have,” He flashed a mischievous grin. 

“I'm never taking it off,” Gwyn said, holding her hand up to the light to admire the shining gemstone. 

“What about training?” He intertwined their fingers again, rings clinking against each other. 

“I'll wear it on a chain,” She said, leaning in to rest her forehead on his. 

“Will you wear it in the library?” 

“Do you think I would willingly miss out on making Merrill jealous?” 

“Will you wear it when your hand is wrapped around my-”

“Find out, shadowsinger,” She grinned, and all else was forgotten.

[kingandfireheart]

Things I want in the next ACOTAR books

Elain

Elain regaining her agency and power (She can be a spy or a seer or a sword girl, idc what kind of power, just fight girl)

Elain using the "sweet, innocent Elain" persona to get away with something

Elain choosing who she wants to be with

Elain healing differently from Feyre and Nesta because Elain is the middle child (and the only one with brown eyes) and deserves her own story

Elain and her sisters having some fun banter (maybe discussing wingspans?)

Maybe a trip to the continent? Since that's the only thing Elain wanted in ACOTAR

Making a bargain/getting a fun tattoo or some other rebellious shenanigans

Nuala and Cerrdiwen teasing her about her love interest

Elain being happy

Azriel

Explanation of Azriel's shadows (Are the sentient? Do they obey him? How does he winnow? I'm tired of reading shadow analysis someone just tell me)

Azriel's love interest (Gwyn, Elain, idc) saying his laugh was "the most beautiful sound she ever heard)

Getting into what Azriel did while Rhys was Under the Mountain (yes, we saw this with Cassian, but I want to know if he sent Nuala and Cerrdiwen)

More Bat Boy Brother moments because I want to see Azriel's sense of humour

Is there a Court of Shadows? How does he have contacts? How does he do his job???

Confronting Rhys about the Bonus POV (yes I want angst, but I want an apology more)

Azriel's mother + Rosehall

Azriel being happy

Mor

Explanation of Mor's power (what does having truth power mean? how does it work? what can she do other than glamour and winnow?)

Mor and fighting her own demons (the dark thing in the woods of Athelwood?)

Some insight into Mor's friendships (Amren? Vivianne? Azriel?)

The Cassian/Mor/Azriel conversation that needs to happen

Mor training with the Valkryies ( I need her to make up for her lack of supportive female energy in ACOSF)

Mor finally confronting Eris about what happened (I need answers)

Mor being happy

Lucien

Lucien healing and being sassy again (seriously, where is the mans who said "Cauldron Boil and Fry Me" when drunk Feyre said she wanted to paint him?? where is the male who was lounging in the meadow and laughing at Feyre's Suriel joke while drinking straight from the bottle?)

Lucien's power (I don't think we've ever seen him wield his fire and I want Aelin Galathynius threatening to burn down Doranelle levels of power)

Lucien being essential in the next conflict (because Beron and Tamlin should have to grovel for him)

Lucien realizing he's the Day Court heir and some banter with Helion (90% of why I read these books is banter)

Lucien being HAPPY this mans has suffered ENOUGH

Feyre and Rhysand:

parenting fluff

apologizing for using Elain and Nesta as pawns, rather than giving them the choice to wield their power

actually ruling their court instead of being busybodies

anything but the imperialism plot line

Nesta and Cassian:

Established Nessian moments and BANTER

Nesta calling Cassian "Cass"

Nesta commanding her Valkryie unit and jokes about her only being Oristian

Cassian telling someone that Nesta will end them (because I love the whole you don't need to worry about me, worry about my mate trope)

The strength of the Cassian/Feyre friendship and the Nesta/Azriel friendship

Other courts

More Helion Spell Cleaver and Tarquin (I miss these high lord bbs)

Someone talk to Thesan (he's lonely)

Someone anyone helping Tamlin because this mans may be evil but he needs therapy

An explanation of the enigma that is Eris Vanserra (I have not forgiven him yet, but I am intrigued)

Random other thoughts

Someone unexpected recapturing and befriending Bryaxis (Azriel? Elain?)

More creatures (the Suriel, the Bogge, Pookah)

Someone complaining about the couples (probably Mor, let's be honest)