#this is also the same scene that introduces my illyrian worldbuilding but shhhh that's still secret for now

[goldenspringmornings]

WIP Wednesday: The Dinner Scene

AN: I took a bit of a break from writing for a little while but I was going over this scene in my wip I remember not being happy with and now I think I was actually kinda cooking here so here's azriel ripping the ic a new one (my boi💙)

Feyre hesitates. “You, don’t think it sends a bad message if people see me learning how to fight- using weapons?” 

Azriel could tell the words weren’t her own, and mentally thanked Tamlin for repeating them enough for them to actually leave something of an impact on the girl. “It would.” Azriel confirms into the silence. Not out of any sympathy for Feyre’s ignorance, but to rub salt in the wound. “Prythian is in a delicate balance at the moment, and it’s essentially your fault- even if what you did was a good thing. Fifty years is a long time even for fae, most of the people you freed had given up any hope of leaving Amarantha’s Court. To see their very public, very young, savior readying for war? It sends a message that they’re still not safe, their families are still not safe.”

Rhysand’s anger is nearly a physical weight as Feyre curls in on herself and Azriel just wants to laugh. Whatever plan Rhysand had tonight was not Azriel’s problem. The girl didn’t belong here, and he had no problems being the one to let her know. She was and would always be closer to Jocasta’s age than anyone in this room, Made as a young adult or not, and it seemed it was high time someone reminded her and Rhysand both.

“What’s your problem tonight, Az?” Cassian finally snaps. “You’ve been weird all night.”

The gossamer thread holding back his temper breaks. 

“My problem? My problem is that you’re perfectly content to lie to this girl- promising something that you can’t give her. Selling your lies of a ‘Court of Dreams’ when you’ve done nothing to make those dreams real after five hundred years. You’re all willing to sit here, playing pretend and crying about how hard your lives have been, while the people outside of Velaris’ wards suffer and die for your negligence. Because Inanna was right. She’s always been right about you. You’re selfish, craven, miserable people who can’t stand to face your pasts so you’re content to wallow in centuries old grief and hurt and complain about how ‘change takes time’ all while you refuse to light the spark of progress you claim you want to reignite. My problem is that I’ve had to sit here all night, wondering just who it was I was sitting next to- because it turns out that I can’t recognize you. Or maybe it’s that I never knew you in the first place. And I’m ashamed that I let myself be fooled for so long.”

The shadows deepened with every frigid, clipped word, and cobalt Siphons flared in time with his breath. Rhysand’s eyes were black with rage, while Cassian gaped at Azriel in stunned silence. Morrigan was pale, looking at him like she were seeing the ghost of someone else. Feyre’s eyes were flicking back and forth across the table and she leans closer to Rhysand to try finding a new sense of equilibrium. Only Amren was even somewhat amused, her silver eyes half hooded and shining with interest. 

“Oh, and Rhysand? Your wife gave birth four days ago. You have a daughter.”

Azriel notices when Rhysand stiffens but his focus is on Feyre and the betrayal seeping into her eyes as she freezes then slowly inches away from him. He had never felt more vindicated. “Till death do you part, old friend.” He taunts, slipping into the shadows at Rhysand’s rage-filled growl.