Chapter Text
The task was meant to be simple: a brief, formal meeting with the Night Court, a show of unity, a chance to speak of strategy, of strength, of numbers.
Nothing more.
She sat stiff-backed in the carved stone chair, her wings tucked tightly to her sides, the soft feathers brushing against her arms in quiet reassurance. Around her, other Peregryns murmured, their voices low, laced with unease. The tension hummed beneath the surface, quiet but undeniable. Whispers about the Night Court’s arrival flowed like court gossip, talk of shadows and powerful beings that spoke of more like myths than fae.
The chamber doors opened.
Sunlight spilled into the chamber, golden and too bright, casting long shadows across the floor as they arrived. The air shifted, and every Peregryn went silent.
The first figure stepped through the archway, a tall male, commanding and unreadable. He wore power like a second skin, cool and self-assured, his violet eyes scanning the room with unsettling precision. Rhysand. High Lord of the Night Court.
Beside him moved a woman, younger, with soft, tanned skin and smooth, golden-brown hair. Feyre, the High Lady, though she had only heard stories about her until now. She hadn’t expected her to look kind while exuding an aura of authority.
Then came another woman, vivid and striking. She wore a red dress, deep and rich. Her golden hair shimmered in the light, and when she flashed a smile at someone in the crowd, the room itself seemed to brighten. Her beauty, her elegance, her effortless confidence, and as she was introduced, her stomach twisted with jealousy, a bitter and unwelcome feeling.
The next male was impossible to ignore. Broad-shouldered, tall, every inch of him battle-hardened. Red siphons glowed at his hands and shoulders like barely-contained fire. His voice was loud, his grin easy, and he was the General of their Illyrian forces.
The last one stepped through the archway, or rather, the shadows entered first, twisting along the floor and slipping through the chamber like smoke, searching for threats.
The room seemed to tilt as he slowly stepped into view, his face set in stone. His skin was golden-brown, his hair dark, and his expression unreadable. Shadows twisted around his shoulders and arms like smoke, seeking an escape.
Their eyes met, and the world snapped.
There was no warning. Just a sudden, violent pull in her chest, as though something invisible had yanked a thread between them tight, and then tighter, until it snapped straight through her ribs.
Her breath caught in her throat. Her lungs refused to fill. Her lips parted slightly, trembling, but no sound emerged. Her fingers clenched in her lap, nails sinking into her skin as she fought to stay still.
Across the room, the man didn’t move. His shadows lashed once, violently, recoiling from her like they’d been burned. He stared, frozen in the archway, not even blinking.
He looked at her, really looked, and all she saw was fear. Not awe. No recognition. Dread.
“Azriel,” Cassian said beside him, quietly.
The name echoed in her skull.
Azriel.
The Night Court’s shadowsinger. The blade in the dark. The spy with a reputation that reached every corner of Prythian. A male forged from silence, from scars, from shadows.
The Cauldron, cruel, chaotic, and blind, had tied her to him.
A half-human girl with just a flicker of magic, more like a dying ember than anything bright. She wasn’t a warrior like the others. Her body was soft where theirs was lean, her curves more evident where theirs were toned. Her skin bore the stubborn marks of human imperfection, acne scars and stretch marks. Her healing was slow. Her flight was strong but not perfect.
She wasn’t made for a male like him, and from the way he looked at her, distant, closed-off, as if fate had betrayed him, he knew it.
Shame bloomed in her chest, slow and thick. She looked away first, heart hammering, cheeks burning. Around her, the Peregryns remained oblivious. The silence between her and Azriel was theirs alone, suffocating and unbearable.
The bond pulsed in her chest, alive and aching, but all she could feel was his horror echoing through it.
She wanted to run. Instead, she sat in silence, her wings curling tighter around her frame like a shield. Azriel moved past her without a glance, as if she didn’t exist, and took the empty seat beside the golden-haired female in red. The woman leaned toward him slightly, their shoulders nearly touching.
He didn’t look her way again.
Jealousy seared through her, swift, sharp, and nasty. It caught her off guard how quick and fierce it was. How fiery.
No one noticed. No one cared.
The meeting began.
She was only there as a symbol, to show the Peregryns were not broken or few. That they had a place at the table, her voice hadn’t been asked for. Her presence was decorative, a formality.
Her fingers clenched the edge of her white and gold robes. The fabric was soft, layered, a thing of beauty and ceremony, but it gave her something to hold. Her thumb found the embroidered edge of her sleeve and traced it again and again. Focus. Breathe.
Her hair had been carefully arranged that morning, half pinned back with a golden clasp, the rest cascading over her shoulders in loose waves. A breeze drifted through the chamber. A few strands stuck to her cheek.
She didn’t move.
She kept her eyes on the table, looking at the maps, the documents, the neat stacks of inked parchment, but none of it registered. The voices blurred into noise, a soft hum through water.
She didn’t look at them.
Especially not him.
The High Lord, Rhysand, she’d heard the name whispered in tense briefings, spoke first. His voice was calm and precise. Beside him, the High Lady offered her own input, sharp and clear. She carried herself as if she were used to silencing a room.
Every now and then, the blonde woman, the one in red, would add something. Her voice was as lovely as her face. Every word she spoke seemed to enchant the room.
Then the Illyrian general spoke. His words were blunt and confident. He spoke of camps, drills and brutal training. Of the Illyrian way.
A few Peregryns exchanged glances. Quiet scoffs. They were warriors, too, fast, clever, sky-born, not brutish Illyrians, but she said nothing. She wasn’t like the others. Her human blood made her slower to heal. She bruised easily. Her body lacked the lean, sharp-edged elegance of her kin; her softness marked her as something less. Her magic was faint, flickering.
She sat quietly, tracing embroidery, pretending the table’s sharp edge didn’t dig into her wrist, and across from her, beneath the table, shadows moved.
They slipped unnoticed between the chairs. Cool tendrils of darkness wrapped silently around her ankles and curled gently around her calves. She tensed, but didn’t look up. Didn’t speak.
She didn’t know if he sent them, didn’t know if he knew, but they touched her like they knew her, like they were claiming her.
The meeting dragged on. Plans were exchanged. Maps were marked. Voices rose and faded. Her heartbeat never slowed, and the shadows never left.
When the meeting finally ended, she didn’t know what came next.
Chairs scraped against stone. Everyone stood. The Night Court prepared to leave, murmuring farewells, adjusting weapons, nodding to Thesan.
Then a voice, low and rough, cut through the quiet.
“I am Azriel.”
She flinched.
He stood closer than she expected, just a few feet away. The golden-haired woman was beside him, as was the general. Both wore the same expression: wary confusion. Azriel’s shadows pooled at his feet like something waiting.
His voice dropped. “Your name?”
Her eyes were still fixed on the floor. Her mouth refused to open. Around them, the room fell into silence. Everyone had gone still, waiting.
Cassian placed a hand on Azriel’s shoulder. Something silent passed between them, but Azriel didn’t look away from her.
She didn’t answer.
Her gaze flicked to the side, to where the Peregryns stood.
“Y/N,” she said at last, barely above a whisper. She stepped backward, closer to her kin.
Azriel stepped forward.
“Wait,” he said, and his voice cracked a little. Not from emotion. From tension. “You’re my mate.”
The words dropped like a stone in the room. She could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re wrong.”
His jaw tensed. “I’m not.”
“You are.” Her wings curled tighter around her body, wrapping her in feathers. “I’m not your mate, your wro—”
“You know it,” he cut in, softer now. Almost afraid to say it. “You felt it.”
Her mother finally stepped forward, voice shaking. “Is this true?”
Tears gathered in her mother’s eyes, not joy. Dread.
“Mother,” she whispered, the word breaking in her throat.
Her mother, who had raised her quietly, outside of tradition and pride, who had taken in a human man and loved him, despite what it had cost her. But mating bonds were sacred, unquestioned and inescapable.
Feyre, the High Lady, stepped forward gently, her voice calm, careful. “You don’t have to come with us. But if you do, you won’t be alone. A mate of Azriel’s is family to us.”
“And if you choose to stay,” she added, “you will not be harmed. Azriel will not force you to accept.”
Her words were soft, but her gaze flicked to Azriel, firm, a warning, just in case.
Azriel didn’t speak. He didn’t move, but he was still staring at her like she was the only thing in the room that mattered.
That look. That dread. That stillness.
She looked back at her mother, and her mother nodded, just once.
Encouragement. A silent push.
Go.
Leave.
Do what is expected.
Her stomach twisted. Her hands trembled. The other Peregryns watched her in silence, faces unreadable. Her shame bloomed in her chest.
Her wings twitched at her back.
She took a single step toward the Night Court.
A glance at Thesan, to her High Lord. He nodded.
“Might I visit?” she asked, voice thin.
“Of course,” Rhysand said gently.
Thesan echoed the same. “Whenever you wish.”
That was all.
She stepped forward, one breath, then another, until she crossed the line between what was known and what was not.
Shadows swirled around her, silent and sudden, swallowing her whole.
She didn’t know if they were Azriel’s or Rhysand’s. She didn’t know where they were going.
All she knew was that in the span of a heartbeat, her mother was gone. Her people were gone—her home, her sky, her legion.
Gone.
She vanished into darkness. The world gradually reformed. Wind caught her wings as she floated down to a broad stone platform, her feet touching down almost silently. The others landed nearby, their landings precise and practised.
One heartbeat, she was standing in the sun-drenched council chamber. The next, she was somewhere else entirely, cold, dim, quiet.
The shadows receded, peeling away from her like smoke and folding themselves back into Azriel’s wings and armour. She blinked, disoriented, as the balcony came into focus, vaulted, grand, carved from white moonstone that shimmered faintly with veins of silver starlight.
The silence here felt thicker, somehow, as though the air had weight. As though magic pulsed through the stone.
She swayed.
The robe she wore shifted around her legs, and for a fleeting second, she could still feel the sun on her back, the wind of the eastern peaks. But it was memory now. A warmth already fading.
Azriel stood a few feet away.
Still. Silent.
The golden-haired female was beside him again, poised and radiant. The general, Cassian, watched her with a furrowed brow, unreadable. Rhysand and the High Lady stood at the edge of the platform, their expressions carefully neutral.
No one spoke.
They just looked at her, as though she were something unexpected. A creature dragged out of some quiet place and dropped, uninvited, into the middle of their home.
Then, finally, the golden-haired woman stepped forward, a soft smile forming on her lips. “I’m Morrigan,” she said gently. “This is the House of Wind. You’re safe here.”
Safe.
The word scraped against her ribs.
Nothing about this felt safe.
Azriel hadn’t said a word. His shadows writhed around him, still twitching, uneasy, like they too didn’t know what to do with her.
She swallowed, the silence stretching too thin, too loud.
“I’m sorry,” she said at last, voice low. “If you didn’t want me to come with you. I know it’s what was expected. The shame of staying would have ruined my family. More than we already are.”
Morrigan shifted slightly, a flicker of emotion crossing her face. Pity? Sympathy? She didn’t know.
Azriel’s expression shifted. Just slightly, his voice, when it came, was rough with something she couldn’t place.
“Of course I wanted you to come,” he said, pausing.
The rawness in his tone cracked something in her, and based on the glances exchanged around them, that kind of honesty was rare coming from him.
“Let’s give them some space,” Feyre said quietly, but with the unmistakable authority of a High Lady.
“We’ll be in the living room when you’re ready,” she added with a softer smile, guiding the others away. Morrigan lingered for a moment, then followed, her eyes lingering before she disappeared down the corridor.
The moment they were alone, the silence returned, thicker now. Denser.
The mountain wind tugged at her robes and hair, sending loose strands brushing across her face.
She didn’t look at him, and he didn’t move closer.
“You didn’t want this,” she said at last, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I saw it. The dread. The fear in your eyes.”
Azriel didn’t flinch. His eyes stayed on her. “I was surprised.”
She let out a faint breath. “That’s one word for it.”
He stepped forward, just once. Not enough to close the distance, only to be slightly closer. “I didn’t expect my mate to be there, or to be you. That doesn’t mean I didn’t want it.”
She didn’t believe him. She turned away, arms wrapping tightly around herself, wings curling inward behind her like a shield.
“You looked at me like I was a mistake,” she murmured.
Azriel’s shadows stirred faintly, slipping across the balcony floor like smoke. “I looked at you like I didn’t know what to do, because I didn’t.”
Silence settled again. Cool. Unforgiving.
Her voice, when it came, was small and tired. “Neither do I.”
She felt rather than heard him shift closer again. Still, he didn’t reach for her, didn’t try to touch her or force proximity.
“I’ll give you time,” he said softly. “As much as you need.”
She turned toward him then, slowly. “I don’t know if that’ll be enough.”
Azriel nodded once. Not in agreement. Just understanding.
“Then I’ll give you more.”
It wasn’t a promise. Not exactly, but it was something.
Behind her, the wind shifted, tugging gently at her golden pin. The sky beyond the balcony had darkened, the sun slipping behind distant peaks.
After a beat, his voice turned slightly warmer, a tentative softness beneath it. “I can show you around if you’d like. The others can be intense.”
She nodded, but said nothing, tucking her hands into the folds of her robe to hide the trembling.
As they walked, he kept a respectful distance beside her. Not leading and not crowding.
“There are a few people who live here, or come and go often,” he explained quietly. “Cassian and Nesta, Feyre’s eldest sister, stay here. They are… you’ll understand when you meet them.”
A strange hesitation in his voice.
“Cassian and I train often. Nesta joins sometimes. Her friends, too, Emerie, a female Illyrian, and Gwyn, a priestess.” He paused again before adding, “And of course… Feyre, Rhysand, Morrigan, and Feyre’s other sister. Elain.”
The way he said those names, careful, restrained, told her there was more to the story, but that was the thing about fae: when you lived long enough, the past and feeling followed you for centuries.
“Oh,” she said quietly.
He led her through the sprawl of the House: the training grounds, the terraces carved into the cliffside, and spoke of the library hidden beneath. She followed wordlessly, absorbing it all but feeling none of it. When he mentioned training, offering it to her, something inside her twisted.
“I can train you, if you’d like.”
Innocent words, but they sank into her like thorns.
She knew why he offered. Knew what he saw. The curves she’d never shed. The softness she’d tried to hone into strength. It didn’t matter how many hours she flew or how long she trained; that softness never left.
She wasn’t the kind of fae he wanted, and that belief solidified when they reached the living room.
It was full, too full. More than the inner circle she’d met back in the Dawn Court.
Feyre’s sisters stood near the arched windows. The one at the far end had a sneer carved into her sharp, beautiful face, Nesta, undoubtedly. The other woman, brown-eyed, warm, radiant in a way that felt more human, met her gaze. Elain. That look, that softness, cut her differently as those large eyes looked to Azreil’s, and her lip twitched in what seemed to be soft affection.
Morrigan relaxed beside Cassian, Rhysand nearby, watching with an unreadable calm. Another woman stood near the fireplace. Short, fierce, silver-eyed, her attitude reeked of judgment. Ameren, she introduced.
Beauty. Confidence. Strength.
She felt it, like a wave crashing into her chest.
You don’t belong here.
They were warriors. Slim, poised, powerful.
She was softness. Curves. Caution.
Jealousy, shame, and old, deep wounds flooded her chest like a rising tide. She wrapped her arms tighter around herself.
Azriel glanced at her, his shadows curling faintly, as if they, too, sensed her unravelling, but she said nothing. Not here. Not in front of everyone.
She stood just inside the threshold, spine rigid, eyes scanning the room without really seeing it.
Too many faces. Too much beauty. Too much space between her and everything else.
Nesta’s sneer didn’t fade. The warrior female’s icy stare flicked from her robes to her wings, then to Azriel. That look said more than words ever could.
Elain, on the other hand, blinked slowly. Her gaze was unreadable, but not unkind. It slid past her sisters, past Morrigan, and landed gently on her, as though trying not to startle her.
She hated it.
Hated the part of herself that wanted to shrink into the stone beneath her feet. To vanish. To be unseen.
“You must be exhausted,” Feyre said softly, rising from her seat. “I can have the House draw you a bath, or food, if you’d like.”
She managed a small nod. “Thank you.”
Rhysand inclined his head from the armrest he leaned against. “You’ll have whatever you need,” he said, his voice calm but unreadable. “This place is yours now, too.”
That statement rang in her head, hollow and unreal.
Yours now, too.
She didn’t know what to say to that. She wasn’t sure she believed it.
Azriel hadn’t moved from beside her, but his shadows had thickened again, rising and coiling low around his boots, as if they, too, felt the scrutiny, the tension simmering just beneath the surface.
“You’ll find the House quite accommodating,” Morrigan offered, rising and crossing the room with elegance.
Morrigan’s golden hair gleamed in the dimming light. Her voice was kind, but not patronising, genuine in a way that surprised her.
“It understands more than most of us,” the female added.
She swallowed and nodded once. “Thank you.”
A flicker of something passed through Azriel’s eyes, but he said nothing.
“Come,” Morrigan said gently, “I’ll show you your room.”
Azriel tensed beside her, almost imperceptibly. A muscle in his jaw twitched, but she didn’t look back at him. Not as she let Morrigan guide her away.
She felt the gazes on her retreating, the judgment, the curiosity, the cold calculation from some, the uncertainty from others, and Azriel’s.
She felt his eyes follow her until she disappeared down the hall.
The bedroom was beautiful. A little too beautiful. The kind that made her feel like she shouldn’t touch anything.
The windows were wide and framed with gossamer curtains, the sky beyond already veiled in night. The bed was enormous, draped in rich fabrics that shimmered like starlight. A fire crackled quietly in the hearth.
“It’s yours,” Morrigan said, stopping just inside the doorway. “You can move things around if you’d like.”
She nodded. “This is fine.”
Morrigan tilted her head, studying her, but didn’t press.
“I’ll let you rest. If you need anything, just ask. I asked the Dawn Court to send your things; they should be here in the coming days. Until then, I’ve stocked the wardrobe with clothing I thought you might like. As well as some books and other things here and there.”
Morrigan’s voice was warm and sincere.
Then the door closed behind her with a quiet click, and she was alone again.
She stood in the centre of the room for a long time.
Not moving. Not thinking. Just feeling.
The weight on her shoulders was unbearable. Like a second set of wings, heavier, colder, not hers. Not really.
The silence pulsed. Not peaceful, not soft. It was a kind of silence that made every thought louder, every heartbeat harder to ignore.
Finally, she turned toward the bathing chambers.
The water shimmered, a pale silver sheen rippling across the surface. The sunken pool looked like it had been carved from moonlight itself, perched along the edge of the mountain, open to the wind and stars.
Steam curled in the air, carrying the scent of lavender and cedarwood, gentle and grounding.
She undressed slowly and stepped in.
The heat wrapped around her like a cocoon, but it couldn’t reach the ache inside. She sank deeper until only her face remained above the surface. The warmth kissed her skin, humming against her collarbones.
The words haunted her.
I can train you, if you’d like.
They weren’t meant to be cruel, a genuine offer. But now, alone in the quiet, they wrapped around her throat like wire.
Had he looked at her and seen weakness? Softness? A body not carved from war and discipline like the others? Had he spoken those words to be kind? Or to fix something?
Was she broken?
Her fingers clenched the edge of the stone pool. Steam veiled the tears slipping down her cheeks.
She didn’t sob. Didn’t shudder, just silent, painful tears.
After a while, she climbed out and dried herself on soft towels the House provided without her needing to ask.
The wardrobe had indeed been filled, gowns and leathers, silks and wools. All in shades she liked. Soft golds and moonlit creams. Deep blues. Rich earth tones. Nothing too tight. Nothing too revealing.
Thoughtful. Intimate.
She slipped into a loose nightgown and padded barefoot across the room. The bed looked far too large. Far too soft. She stared at it for a long moment before crawling in from the far side, curling into the corner like a cat.
The blankets smelled faintly of starlight and mountain wind.
Still, sleep didn’t come.
She watched the sky through the arched window, where the stars glittered above the snow-dusted peaks. Somewhere down the halls, she heard laughter.
She pulled the blankets tighter around herself.
This is not my home.
The thought rang clear and bitter.
She didn’t remember falling asleep, but when sunlight touched her face the next morning, the ache in her chest hadn’t faded. It clung to her ribs. Her throat.
The room was still. Too quiet. A reminder of how alone she was.
A tray of food sat near the hearth, still warm, as if the House had kept it so just for her. Toasted bread. Fruit. Tea that never seemed to grow cold.
She ate in silence, in a haze of uncertainty. What was expected of her here? What was she, now?
She spent most of the morning wrapped in the oversized robe she’d found in the closet, curled in the window seat, watching the wind chase snow across the mountain peaks.
Hours passed.
A soft knock. Just once.
She rose slowly, tightened the robe around her waist, folded her wings in, and cracked the door open.
She didn’t need to see his face to know. She’d felt it, the shift in the air, the hush of shadows curling beneath the threshold.
Azriel.
He didn’t speak at first. Just looked at her. At the unbrushed hair, the thick robe, the tear-streaked cheeks, she hadn’t bothered to wash.
“I thought you might like some air,” he said, his voice low. “The training ring’s quiet this morning. Or there’s a walk along the northern bridge, it overlooks the city.”
She didn’t answer immediately. The silence between them stretched, not hostile, just uncertain.
“You don’t have to,” he added quickly. “I just thought—” He exhaled. “Just checking in.”
He looked tired. Not in the way warriors look tired after battle. In the way people look when they’ve been waiting for something they’re not sure will ever come.
“You didn’t have to come,” she said, softer this time.
“I know.”
A beat passed.
“I’ll go for a walk,” she said, and the tiniest shift crossed his face, something almost like relief, though he didn’t move.
She left the door slightly ajar and slipped into the closet. When she emerged, dressed in soft navy, her wings folded neatly behind her, Azriel was still there. Standing like he hadn’t moved, hands tucked behind his back as if he didn’t quite trust himself to reach for anything.
They walked in silence through the winding corridors of the House. Somewhere deep in the halls, Nesta’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding. Cassian’s laugh followed like a drumbeat.
“Sorry,” Azriel muttered. “They’re… never quiet.”
She didn’t reply, but she didn’t flinch either.
As they passed the training ring, she slowed without realising.
Cassian was leaning against the wall, laughing at something Emerie had said. Emerie stood beside him, stretching out a shoulder. Nesta faced off against Gwyn in the ring’s centre, both blades drawn, focused and fluid.
Then Gwyn glanced up.
Not at her. At Azriel.
It wasn’t a long look. Barely a second, but there was something familiar in it, like a conversation had already happened without words.
The knot in her chest, the one she’d thought sleep might have dulled, coiled tighter.
The stone path curved along the edge of the cliff. The air was sharper here, cleaner, wilder. The city shimmered far below like a dream made of light and glass. Azriel unfurled his wings slightly, adjusting to the wind, and then folded them again.
“Your wings are… beautiful,” he said, his voice almost lost to the wind like the words had surprised even him.
She blinked. Glanced at him. “Thank you.”
They climbed in silence, the kind that wasn’t uncomfortable, but careful.
Her steps slowed as they reached a ledge carved into the mountain, one that overlooked the river far below. The cold stung her cheeks. Her hands curled tighter into her sleeves.
She didn’t want to speak, but her chest ached with the words that had built up, quiet and sharp, since the moment she’d opened her eyes that morning.
“I know I’m not what you expected,” she said finally, barely louder than the breeze. “And I’m sorry if this bond is… inconvenient.”
Azriel turned slightly, not sharply, just enough to show he was listening.
“I can find work in Velaris,” she went on. “Keep a low profile. Dawn Court will still believe the mating bond is being unified. That helps my family name, and it gives you space.”
The silence between them deepened.
“You can go on with your life,” she finished, forcing her voice to stay steady, though each word felt like splintered glass in her throat.
Azriel came to a stop beside her.
“You think I want to go on with my life,” he said evenly, “like you’re not part of it.”
She didn’t meet his gaze. “I just thought it would make things easier.”
“Easier?” The word came rough, frayed at the edge. “You think watching you walk away would be easier?”
“I do,” she said softly. “I think it would be easier for both of us if I weren’t in the way.”
His brow furrowed, slowly, like he was trying to translate a language he’d never learned. “In the way?”
Her lips parted, then closed again. She didn’t know how to explain it, how out of place she felt here, in this city full of warriors and power, where the women around her seemed carved from fire and steel.
“You don’t have to make room for me,” she finally said. “I saw the way they looked at you, and then at me. Like they were trying to figure out why the mother was so cruel as to gift you me as your mate.”
Azriel’s wings twitched slightly behind him, but his face didn’t change.
“Don’t,” he said gently, firmly. “Don’t do that.”
Her throat burned. Her eyes did, too.
“I didn’t come here to start a fight,” she said. “But I’m not made for someone like you. I’m half-human. My magic’s useless. Just flickers of light that look nice and mean nothing. I’m soft, Azriel. Curved. I bruise easily and don’t heal. And the women in your life? Morrigan. Feyre. Amren. Elain. Nesta. Emerie. Gwyn…” Her voice cracked. “They’re strong. Sharp. Beautiful. Everything I’m not.”
The last words weren’t meant for him; they were whispered to the cold air, bitter truths she’d held far too long.
Still, Azriel didn’t look away. Didn’t flinch. He just stood there, silent, like each word she gave him mattered.
“You’re not in the way,” he said finally, his voice low and sure. “You’re not some obligation I have to fit around.”
She turned her face toward the horizon, blinking hard. “Then what am I?”
A long pause. Then a step.
He moved closer, slowly, until she could feel the faint heat of him, breaking through the mountain air.
“You are soft,” he said gently. “You are strong. You have curves that make my mouth water and thoughts I should be ashamed of. You are beautiful.”
She blinked at him, stunned.
“You’re my mate,” he added, quieter still. “Mine.”
A beat. Then another.
“I didn’t know what to do at first,” he said. “Not because I didn’t want you, but because I didn’t want to get this wrong. I didn’t want to touch something fragile and ruin it.”
She looked up at him, and he wasn’t the Spymaster, wasn’t shadow and blade and silence.
He was just a man. Tired. Honest. Trying.
Her lips parted, but no words came.
The wind passed between them, curling her hair into her face. She didn’t push it away.
Azriel’s gaze held. “You talk like you don’t belong. Like everyone else deserves this more than you. But I see you. I feel the bond every moment I’m near you. You are not a mistake. You are not a burden.”
She whispered, shaky and small, “But what if I don’t know how to be what you need?”
His shadows softened, his wings folding slightly behind him.
“Then we figure it out,” he said. “Together.”
She didn’t respond. She didn’t need to.
She just stood there, arms wrapped tight around herself, heart thundering in her chest.
Azriel, finally, carefully stepped forward.
He wrapped his wings around her.
“I have been waiting a lifetime for you.”
Chapter Text
In the silence, darkness fell like a curtain; she could see the veins and scars from old wounds in the membrane of his wings.
She stood frozen, arms wrapped tightly around herself, as if trying to hold her soul together. But when they dropped to her sides, he stepped closer, searching her face through the shadows.
“May I hug you?” he asked softly.
“Please,” she whispered.
His wings shifted as he closed the distance, wrapping her in his arms and pulling her into the solid warmth of his chest. Her arms found their way around his waist, and beneath the shelter of his wings, she sensed the scent of her mate, shadows kissing along her skin.
“I can’t do this,” she murmured, her voice muffled by his shirt. “I’m not made for this. I’m not made for you.”
He didn’t reply, not with words. The storm in his eyes shattered, not in anger, but something darker. Deeper. A silent ache that reflected her own.
They stood together, quiet and still, as if the world had disappeared, two souls hanging in shadow, his wings a cocoon against the howling mountain wind.
“I’m not enough for you,” he said at last, barely audible. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be gentle or open. I’ve never cared for someone like this, but I want to learn. I want to learn... you.”
She didn’t know what to say, unable to find words that matched her chest ache. He slowly pulled back, just enough for the light to spill in again, but his wings stayed outstretched around her, a barrier from everything else.
His thumb traced a gentle line up her spine, and their eyes met. Longing. Fear. Hope.
Tears welled in her eyes as she left his arms, blinking toward the horizon, but his voice followed her, quiet, trembling.
“We don’t have to stay here. We can keep walking, or we could fly. Anywhere you want, back to the Dawn Court, or far beyond it. I’d take you anywhere. I’d do anything for you.”
She paused. The wind whispered through their wings, threading between them.
“Anything?” she asked softly.
“Anything and more,” Azriel replied, without hesitation.
A faint smile curved her lips, brief, uncertain.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Let’s keep walking.”
He nodded, and they kept walking along the mountainside. The breeze fluttered through her feathers, pulling strands of hair into her face. His wing occasionally brushed hers, unintentional, but never unwelcome.
She felt his gaze on her from time to time, quiet and thoughtful. Every time she turned toward him, he looked away, letting the rhythm of their footsteps fill the silence as they climbed higher along the ridge.
“Can I ask you something?” he eventually said, his voice hushed but not uncertain.
“Of course.”
“You mentioned the bond, how the Dawn Court sees it as something that elevates your family name.”
She glanced down at the stone path, wings twitching as though the question had weight of its own.
“My father’s human,” she said. “My mother was never meant to fall in love with him. When I was born, it humiliated her family name. I took after him, too human, not enough fae. They never said it outright, but I knew. I always knew. Being mated to someone like you, powerful and respected, changes how they look at me. Suddenly, I’m not the mistake. I’m useful.”
Azriel didn’t speak for a moment. When she glanced at him, his eyes were softer than she’d ever seen them.
“Your humanity,” he said softly, “makes you radiant. Not in spite of it, but because of it. The way you see others. How you carry pain as if it’s taught you something rather than breaking you.”
Her heart fluttered, traitorously.
“You don’t have to say all that, Azriel,” she murmured, her voice fragile around the edges.
When she said his name, Azriel, it affected him deeply. He exhaled like a breath had been held in his chest for years. His shoulders slumped, and his wings drooped just a little.
“I want to say all that,” he said, softer now. “And more. So much more.”
She paused, cheeks flushing. The wind swept the quiet between them.
“Azriel…” she said again, his name tender, like a plea and warning.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “Was that too much?”
“No, no,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s just, I’m not used to compliments, and when they come from you, from someone who could have any priestess on the training mat falling over themselves—”
She trailed off, heat rising to her cheeks before she could stop it.
Azriel smiled, barely there. Quiet. Devastating.
“I’m falling over myself for you,” he said softly. “I feel like I’m a love-sick boy again.”
Her heart stuttered in her chest.
The wind shifted again, brushing hair across her cheek, and she tucked it behind her ear with trembling fingers. Azriel watched the movement as if it meant something, as if everything she did held significance.
They reached a small lookout, perched high above the valley, Velaris stretching below them, golden in the morning light. The sun had climbed higher since they’d started their walk, bathing the mountains in soft, gilded hues.
She stepped to the edge of the ledge, resting her hands on the stone. Azriel joined her a heartbeat later.
“When I was little,” she said, with a warm smile, “before my wings were strong enough to lift me, I used to close my eyes and pretend I could fly. I’d stand on rooftops and cliffs like this one and imagine I could leap into the sky. That the clouds would catch me.”
Azriel turned his head, watching her. “And now that you can fly?” he asked quietly.
Her eyes were fixed on the horizon. “It’s all I ever want to do. Fly and pretend the sky is mine. That the clouds are my home, not the courts.”
The wind picked up, ruffling her feathers and tousling her hair around her face. Her wings shifted, reaching toward the open sky.
“Then fly,” he said. “Pretend. Make the clouds your home if they seem more like one than anything else ever has.”
Their eyes met and held for a long, silent moment.
Her wings stretched slowly, catching the breeze. Her feathers shimmered in the light, responding to the pull of altitude as if they’d been waiting for this moment all morning.
“Will you come with me?” she asked.
Azriel didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”
He spread his wings, shadows softly trailing behind them, and together, they took flight.
The wind hugged them as they soared into the sky, over the city, ridges, and peaks that topped the world. She chuckled softly as the breeze lifted her higher, her hair streaming behind her, her arms outstretched to the wind.
Azriel flew beside her, steady and silent, his eyes never straying far. In that moment, soaring high above Velaris, surrounded by wind, sky, and the hush of wings, she felt at home.
The sky stretched wide around them, endless and blue. Below, the world blurred into rivers, rooftops, and forest edges, but up here, the only thing that mattered was the wind and the steady beat of their wings.
She tilted her wings and caught an updraft, soaring higher and feeling the lift in her bones like pure joy. The wind sang softly against her skin, loosening her limbs and relaxing her muscles in a way they never did on the ground.
Azriel followed. A shadow trailing light.
Always just behind, always steady.
They dipped low over the trees, then pulled up again, their movements instinctive.
She spun once in the air to feel the breeze press against her. Her quiet, surprised laugh was carried off by the wind before it could reach him, but still, Azriel glanced her way.
He didn’t smile, not quite, but his eyes softened.
Like maybe he understood.
Like maybe he needed this, too.
They simply flew.
Sometimes close enough that their wings brushed. Sometimes far apart, tracing their own paths through the clouds, but always tethered by something quiet, something growing, something they weren’t ready to name yet.
The mountains disappeared beneath them, with trees transforming into meadows, and the river shimmering in the distance. The wind picked up again, pushing at their backs as if urging them to go further, higher.
He glanced at her, and although no words were exchanged, she followed as he tilted his wings westward, gliding along the curve of a ridgeline.
Eventually, he descended, and she followed.
They landed on a high cliff edge overlooking Velaris, the City of Starlight, glowing far below, rooftops and river like a storybook painted in morning light.
Her boots touched down softly behind his.
Azriel stood near the edge, shadows curling softly at his feet. He didn’t speak and didn’t need to. How he looked at the view, quiet and reverent, said it all.
“This is your place,” she murmured, stepping beside him.
He nodded once. “When I need to think, or feel nothing at all. I come here.”
“I can see why,” she said softly. “It’s beautiful.”
She settled on a flat stone near the cliff’s edge. After a moment, he followed, sitting beside her quietly. Her shoulder brushed against his, their hands close but not quite touching, her fingers splayed out, his gloved hand resting still, pinky nearly touching hers.
She leaned back, tilting her head toward the sky.
His quiet, controlled voice broke the silence.
“When I was a child…” he paused, like the words were too hard to say.
“My family didn’t let me fly,” Azriel said, eyes fixed on the city below.
She turned toward him, saying nothing.
“They kept me hidden. Away from my mother. From my nature. I’d press my hands to the walls and dream about flying. The wind in my wings. That moment of weightlessness.”
A beat.
“But I was eight when I was finally sent to the camps. I was terrified of heights. All the other boys had been flying since they could walk, and I—”
He stopped, jaw tightening.
“I was the shadows. I was the shame. I was the boy who couldn’t get off the ground without shaking.”
He didn’t look at her, but she looked at him, and what she saw wasn’t weakness.
It was the rawest kind of strength.
“And now?” she asked softly.
Azriel’s expression shifted subtly, but she noticed it.
His gaze dimmed slightly, as if his emotion had folded inward like he’d drawn a curtain across it.
“Now, flying reminds me of everything,” he said. “The good. The bad. The things I’ve done. The secrets I carry. My brothers. My enemies. My shadows. Every part of me has been shaped in the sky, and sometimes—”
His voice wavered just a little.
“It feels like I’ve lost that boy who used to dream of flying.”
Her heart ached deep in her chest.
“This place,” she said quietly, voice barely above the breeze, “you’ve never brought anyone here before, have you?”
“No.”
Her chest tightened with understanding, a soft, real feeling settling deep inside her.
She looked back out over the city, their city, bathed in gold and light.
The back of his hand brushed against hers. Just a whisper of contact. Enough to make her breath catch. Enough to make her heart stutter.
She slowly turned her hand, and their fingers laced together. Glove and skin, rough and soft.
The bond sang, and the warmth blooming in her chest was so strong it made her fingers tingle.
They left the cliff after a long while, wings stretching as they took flight again. This time, they didn’t soar high but glided low along the edge of the city, dipping down towards the cobbled streets of Velaris.
He said nothing; he caught her gaze once, her brow raised in a silent question. She nodded.
So, together, they landed just outside the heart of the city, shadows and feathers settling softly into the rhythm of the day.
It was quiet this morning. It was early enough that the streets weren’t crowded, but alive in that warm, humming way only Velaris could be. A few vendors were setting up fruit stands. The scent of spices and pastries filled the air. The shop windows were softly glowing.
She walked beside him, wings tucked tight, fingers twisting the edge of her sleeve. People looked, subtly, politely, but they looked. Eyes flicked to her wings, her hand so close to Azriel’s, and her face they didn’t recognise.
She lowered her gaze and didn’t speak.
When they entered the first shop, the attendant’s smile flickered for a moment, just a heartbeat, before settling into practised courtesy, but it was enough.
She took a step back and stayed silent.
Azriel stepped forward, slipping between her and the awkward quiet like water filling a space. His voice was smooth, calm, and low. “We’re just browsing.”
The attendant blinked, then nodded and stepped away.
In the next shop, she lingered by a rack of silk dresses, fingers brushing the edge of a gown dyed in shades of deep plum and gold, the fabric catching the light like sunlight through wine. Yet, when the attendant approached, she quickly stepped away again, as if caught doing something she wasn’t meant to.
Azriel stepped forward again, without a word, absorbing the attention, his presence steady beside hers.
It went on like that.
A sweet shop where she eyed honey-dipped pastries but didn’t reach for one. A bookstore where she ran her hands over spines but didn’t ask for a title. A tailor with soft leather that made her wings flutter slightly with want, but she turned before the merchant could speak.
Azriel never questioned her; he simply stood beside her, quiet and commanding, drawing attention when she needed him to.
By the time they returned to the House of Wind, the sun had risen higher in the sky. She stayed at the landing balcony as Azriel stepped back.
“Thank you,” she said, finally.
His eyes found hers. “For what?”
She hesitated.
“For not asking me to be anything.”
He nodded, and that was all.
She slipped inside, her feet silent on the shiny floors, and headed to her rooms. Her steps carried no urgency, only a quiet exhaustion that didn’t stem from being overwhelmed but from feeling too much all at once.
The hot bath she drew was scented with wild lavender. She sank into it slowly, letting the warmth envelop her, and tilted her head back against the tub's edge, allowing herself to rest.
When she finally stepped out, wrapped in a soft robe with damp hair, she padded back into her room to curl up under the covers, but stopped short.
Lying across the foot of her bed was the plum and gold dress.
The one from the shop.
She stared at the dress for a long moment, lips parted, chest tight.
He hadn’t asked if she liked it.
Hadn’t said a word.
He just knew.
She stepped closer, fingertips brushing the fabric. It was soft, luxurious, and for a moment, she didn’t feel like the girl who had to shrink to fit into rooms where she didn’t belong. She felt like someone had seen her.
She smiled.
The rest of the day passed quietly. She curled into bed with one of the books Azriel had left for her, three of them, neatly stacked on her desk. She’d run her fingers over the exact titles in a shop just hours earlier.
Sunlight spilled through the windows, warming her skin as she read. Humming softly to herself, she lost time between chapters. The dress now hung in her closet, and every time her mind wandered back to it, her wings rustled softly with the memory.
Three gentle knocks.
Measured. Polite. Almost nervous.
She didn’t need to ask who it was, Azriel.
She opened the door slightly.
He stood there, hands tucked behind his back. His expression was unreadable in the low light of the hall until he saw her.
His eyes softened, just slightly.
“Would you—” he started, then hesitated.
His gaze flicked over her messy hair, the faint flush in her cheeks, the robe knotted loosely around her waist. She swore she saw a flicker of colour rise to his cheeks.
“Would you join me?” he asked, voice lower now. “Join us. For dinner.”
She blinked. “Us?”
“The Inner Circle,” he clarified. “It’s informal. Just food. Nothing more.”
Her silence lingered, but Azriel didn’t rush it.
He only added, gently, “No expectations. I thought you might want company, or at least… the choice.”
He stood as he always did, quiet, steady, cloaked in shadows, but now, she saw how his shoulders had drawn a little tighter. The way his wings curled closer to his back. A tension he was trying not to show.
She nodded, opening the door a little wider.
“I… I’ll come.”
A small smile ghosted over his mouth. “Take your time. I’ll come back for you soon.”
She nodded once more, then closed the door gently.
Inside, her heartbeat drummed softly in her ribs as she moved toward the vanity. She reached for the oils and lotions she’d once found too luxurious to use.
Her fingers dipped into a cream that smelled like roses as she rubbed the cream into her hips, brushing over the stretch marks and the softness of her stomach. She had come to live with, maybe even love, it, but she paused under the soft vanity light. She traced the acne scars on her cheeks and the faint rise of stress-fueled blemishes across her jaw. All of it was so human.
She gripped the cold edge of the vanity.
Her eyes fell to the scar on her thigh, which had taken months to heal. It was a wound from the Hybern war, earned in the chaos of delivering weapons and medipacks. She had no magic, barely any fighting skills, just her desire to help.
Another memory flashed in her mind, the ash arrows that had torn into her wings. How long it had taken to fly pain-free again. Today, for the first time, she felt the sky welcome her back.
A knock pulled her from her thoughts.
She moved quickly, pinning up her hair with delicate fingers as the decorative pin gleamed in the light. The silk dress slipped over her skin, cool and comforting. It clung to her curves, with the fabric laying over her body like liquid.
When she opened the door, Azriel was still there.
He turned and stopped. Breath catching.
His eyes raked down the gown, across the folds of silk, the gold detailing caught in the candlelight, and then back to her face.
“You…”
He exhaled, almost like it had been knocked out of him.
“You look divine,” he said softly. “I’m so…”
He paused. “Lucky.”
His gaze lingered for a moment longer before he offered his arm, quietly. Not demanding, just offering.
She took it, and together, they walked down the corridor, toward the sound of laughter, candlelight, and the soft hum of his family waiting.
The dining room was warm with low candlelight, the air laced with wine and quiet laughter.
She hesitated just outside the doorway, her hand still resting on Azriel’s arm. He gave her a small nod, no pressure, no push, just quiet reassurance. So she stepped in.
Conversation dulled as they entered. Heads turned. A few eyes widened. Cassian grinned. Mor smiled warmly. Amren arched a brow, unsurprised but watchful.
Feyre stood almost immediately, grace personified. “I’m glad you came.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly, a nervous smile tugging at her lips.
Then her gaze landed on Nesta.
The eldest Archeron sister didn’t rise. She didn’t even blink; she just looked her over slowly, her gaze cold and deliberate, and she was pausing on her wings, hands, and face.
“I wasn’t aware we were opening Inner Circle dinners to just anyone,” Nesta said flatly, her voice cutting through the warmth like ice across skin.
The room went still.
Cassian muttered something under his breath. Feyre stiffened beside her, face pinched in silent apology. Amren looked away, uninterested in drama but clearly bracing for it.
Azriel’s shadows at his shoulders grew darker, slower, and thicker with something sharp.
She could feel the attention shift, and every gaze and breath fell on her.
Her hand slipped from Azriel’s arm.
“Oh,” was all she managed. Quiet. Unsteady.
“Nesta,” Feyre hissed under her breath, clearly mortified.
“She’s my mate,” Azriel said then in a dangerous tone that made the entire room still.
His words hung there like the first crack of thunder before a storm.
Nesta didn’t even blink. “Azriel told us you were half-human, half-fae. You look all fae to me.”
Heat climbed her throat. Not from embarrassment, but from something older. Deeper. The sharp sting of being dismissed.
As if her humanity, something she’d been punished for her entire life, was something to erase. As if she were not enough of either, fae or human.
“You don’t know me,” she said, voice surprisingly steady despite the trembling in her hands. “And maybe you don’t want to. That’s fine, but don’t pretend to understand what my humanity has cost me.”
Nesta’s eyes narrowed. Cassian leaned forward, jaw tight, but said nothing.
Azriel took a quiet step toward her. Not possessive, just present.
“I’m not justifying my worth to strangers,” she murmured. “Not tonight.”
Azriel reached toward her, but didn’t stop her.
“Thank you,” she said softly, to no one in particular.
She turned and stepped into the hallway, cool air brushing her skin. Her hands were shaking now, chest too tight to breathe.
She didn’t look back.
Not when Azriel’s voice rose behind her. Not when Nesta shouted something sharp, something about how her humanity had been taken from her. Not when glass shattered or Rhysand’s voice boomed down the halls, trying to restore order.
She reached her room and closed the door behind her, barely. Then the tears came.
They hit fast and hard.
Sobbing, breathless, she paced the room, shaking. Her heart hammered, legs weak beneath her. It wasn’t embarrassment. It wasn’t even fear. It was grief. The slow, unrelenting ache of never quite fitting anywhere, of always having to prove herself. Of believing, just for a second, that maybe she belonged.
Her sobs almost drowned out the knock on her door.
The door opened with a quiet snap when she cried Azriel’s name, barely more than a choked sound. Shadows slid in first, curling around her like a soft wave.
Azriel.
She reached for him.
“They hate me,” she sobbed into his chest.
“No,” he whispered, holding her close. “They don’t. That’s Nesta. She’s… complicated. She lashes out.”
His voice was soft, but she shook her head, gasping for air as the sobs ripped through her.
“I—I can’t do this, Azriel. I can’t stay here.”
He didn’t hesitate.
“Okay,” he said. “We’ll go. My townhouse. In Velaris. Right now.”
She nodded fiercely, hands clutching the front of his leathers.
“Please.”
Without a word, he wrapped one arm around her waist, the other securing her gently beneath his cloak of shadows. With practised ease, he turned toward the open window, and then they flew into the quiet night sky.
Velaris twinkled below, unaware of the storm that had passed through the House of Wind, and above it all, in the arms of a male who held her as if she were something sacred, she finally exhaled.
She didn’t need to be brave, not right now. She just needed to be held.
The townhouse was quiet. Tucked in a quiet part of Velaris, Azriel’s private home was nothing like the House of Wind. No towering ceilings. No echoing halls. Just warmth, low lamplight, and a quiet that didn’t feel empty.
She hadn’t stopped crying.
Not fully.
Azriel didn’t speak much as they landed on the balcony. He only guided her in, his hand never leaving her back, his shadows curling protectively around her ankles like they too were worried she might shatter.
Inside, he moved quietly, lighting a few lanterns, drawing the curtains closed with a sweep of his shadow. He didn’t ask what she needed. He saw what she needed.
“Come on,” he said softly, leading her to the bathroom. “You can wash up. I’ll get you something comfortable to wear.”
She nodded, barely, and stepped into the bathroom. She didn’t bother to close the door all the way.
When she emerged, still raw, eyes red, and skin blotchy, a folded bundle of soft cotton was on the bed: one of his shirts, a pair of drawstring pants, and him.
Azriel stood near the window, turned slightly away to give her privacy, but close enough to step in if she needed him. He looked at her when she stood there, unmoving, unsure of what to do.
“You’ll take my bed,” he said gently. “I’ll sleep in the guest room down the hall. You’ll be more comfortable here.”
She didn’t answer, not right away.
Her lip trembled. She clutched the soft shirt in her hands like a lifeline. Her voice cracked when it came out.
“Can you—” She swallowed. “Can you just… stay? Just for a little while?”
Azriel’s wings lowered slightly, as if in quiet relief.
“Of course,” he said.
No hesitation.
She changed, and when she slid into the massive bed still faintly scented like him, he waited until she looked at him before crossing the room. He sat down gently on the edge of the mattress.
Her eyes were still glassy. Her cheeks flushed and raw.
She curled toward him, unable to stop the tears that spilled again. Softer now. Like a tide slowly retreating.
Azriel leaned back against the headboard, then reached out, undoing the pin from her hair. He brushed his fingers lightly through in slow, steady passes, soothing in their rhythm, and then he began to hum.
A lullaby.
Low, warm, old.
The kind of song that felt like it was sung in a language older than war and grief. The type of song someone might have once sung to a scared boy with clipped wings and shattered trust.
It wrapped around her like a blanket. She didn’t recognise it, but it didn’t matter.
He sang only for her.
Her fingers found the hem of his leathers and curled into it. She burrowed against his side, cheek pressed to his ribs.
“I didn’t mean to make a scene,” she whispered, voice nearly lost in the dark.
“You didn’t,” he said, still stroking her hair. “You were honest. That’s brave.”
Her breath hitched, and another tear slipped down her cheek.
He just kept humming.
No pressure. No expectations. A quiet, fragile moment, where she didn’t have to be anything other than what she was.
Eventually, her breathing slowed, her grip loosened, and her still-trembling body finally began to settle.
Azriel stayed.
Even when sleep claimed her, he didn’t move.
His shadows circled the room in silent vigil, and his soft and steady voice carried on long after her dreams had begun.
Chapter 3: Falling
Chapter Text
That morning, she woke alone in Azriel’s bed, wrapped in the warmth of dawn.
The light poured in through the tall windows painting everything in a muted glow. The sheets were warm, smelling faintly of cedar, leather, and him.
Her eyes stung when she blinked, still raw from the tears she hadn’t been able to stop the night before. Her wings were spread across the sheets, feathers splayed like scattered petals. She was still dressed in his clothes, soft, the hem brushing the tops of her thighs, the fabric carrying the steady scent that clung to him.
She lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, not certain what she expected to find when she finally looked around, but it wasn’t this.
Across the room, near the low-burning fire, Azriel was asleep.
His dark grey shirt clung across his shoulders, the fabric shifting with each breath. Loose sleep pants hung low on his hips, and the planes of his stomach caught the light, warm and defined. A book lay forgotten in his lap, one hand braced against his temple as though he’d tried to fight off sleep for hours and lost.
His shadows pooled at his feet like black water, but a few had wandered, curling over her wings and bare forearms in soft, silent vigils.
They moved like a heartbeat she could feel against her skin, as if they had kept watch over her while their master slept. Before she could shift or sit up, one of the shadows slipped from her and darted toward him, whispering in his ear.
His eyes opened instantly, fully aware. His body tensed, every muscle ready, shoulders squared for a fight.
His gaze found hers.
The tension left him instantly. His shoulders relaxed, his head dropped, and when he exhaled, his breath came out shaky with relief. He ran a hand through his hair, with shadows swirling loosely around his ankles now. His voice was rough from sleep.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“It’s fine,” she whispered, pulling her wings in tight, wrapping herself in their dark, feathered cocoon.
He stood slowly, stretching his arms overhead, and his shirt lifted just enough for her to catch the sharp dip of muscle where his hips disappeared beneath the loose waistband.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, voice low, searching.
Her throat tightened, her eyes prickling again.
His head tilted slightly, that unreadable expression softening into something unbearably tender.
“My love,” he murmured. The words seemed to catch in his throat.
He slowly crossed the space between them, as if afraid she would vanish if he moved too quickly, and then sat on the edge of the bed.
“Please, don’t worry about Nesta,” he said, his voice quieter now. “She’s… complicated.”
Her hands rose to her face. “She spat my humanity back at me like it was something to be ashamed of, or maybe it’s my faeness she hates. I don’t know.”
Azriel’s fingers laced together in his lap, knuckles whitening as though he was restraining the urge to comfort her.
“Nesta and Elain had their humanity taken from them, violently. All they wanted was their old lives back. Seeing you, someone who has both, it brings out old wounds. Fear. Anger. That doesn’t make it right, and you don’t have to prove your worth to her, or anyone.”
She lifted her head just enough to meet his eyes.
“You agree with her,” she whispered, the fear curling inside her twisting the meaning of his words.
His expression changed sharply, alarm flickering across his face.
“No. I don’t. You never need to justify yourself to her, to me, to anyone.”
His words failed to resonate, drowned out by the voices that had haunted her for years. The feelings of isolation and the cruelty of the Dawn Court weighed heavily on her. The unshakable truth she feared was that the family she thought she had found might never truly accept her as one of their own.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, as if he could pull her out of that spiral with nothing but the sound of his voice.
She sank back into the pillows, the grief she’d refused to name settling over her.
His voice came again, a thread in the quiet. “Please don’t let Nesta take your comfort, your home, from you.”
Her eyes stayed closed. “This isn’t my home.”
The air between them shifted. He went utterly still, as though her words had stolen the breath from him.
“I could be your home,” he whispered.
Silence followed, thick, pulsing with something unspoken.
“You’re mine.”
Her eyes opened, and she saw everything: restraint, fear, hurt, and something much deeper carved into every line of him.
She sighed, and he leaned forward, tugging the blankets higher around her until she was wrapped in warmth.
His fingers brushed her hair from her face, so light, so careful, as though he didn’t quite know where the boundaries between them were yet.
“Please. Stay, just for this morning. Tonight, if you still want to leave, I’ll winnow you back to the Dawn Court myself. I’ll make sure no one ever dares to see you as lesser again.”
Her eyes closed gently as his fingers glided through her hair. She hadn’t realised until now how desperately she needed that small, steady comfort.
“Rest and read. The house is yours,” he murmured. “I’ll bring us breakfast from that bakery you were eyeing yesterday.”
“You don’t have to,” she whispered.
“Yes, I do.”
His touch lingered for a heartbeat longer before he stood, turned, and left without looking back.
She stayed where she was, wrapped in his scent, her chest aching with a longing she couldn’t quite name.
Maybe home wasn’t a place.
Maybe it was him.
She stayed in his bed until the warmth of the morning light lulled her back to sleep. The dreams that followed were no longer dark, as they once had been; instead, they felt like a deep longing, intertwined with the memory of Azriel’s touch.
It was not desire, but a need.
When she woke again, it was to voices, distant at first, then sharp enough to cut through the quiet.
“Az, Nesta’s sorry. Please, she wants to apologise,” Cassian’s voice carried up through the house.
“She’s not apologising until she’s ready,” Azriel’s voice replied, steel wrapped in shadow.
“But Rhys and Feyre—”
“I don’t care what they’re doing,” Azriel snapped.
She pushed herself upright, frowning, and slid out of bed. The door muffled the voices, but as she opened it slowly, their full force hit her.
“Az, after everything with Nesta, you know why she reacted—” Cassian tried.
“I understand what happened. I was there,” Azriel cut in, low and lethal. “But this is about more than what she said.”
There was a pause, and she could imagine the strain in his shoulders, the hard set of his jaw.
“My mate wants to leave. Not just the House of Wind, the Night Court. She wants to leave me. Because Nesta couldn’t understand that she’s a person, that she has feelings.”
Cassian hesitated. “Nesta does understand. She just has to apologise, or Rhys and Feyre are going to—”
“Get out,” Azriel hissed.
“Az,” Cassian said, voice bruised.
“You chose your mate. I am choosing mine.”
Fury etched every word, the sound of it ringing in the silence between them.
“When she wants Nesta to apologise, she can. If she never wants to see Nesta, you, or anyone else from the Inner Circle again, then that’s what will happen. Now get out of my house.”
“Az, she’s part of our family too now—”
“Then treat her like it. Respect her boundaries, and mine. Out. Now.”
A muffled exchange followed, then the slam of a door.
Silence.
She heard him exhale, long, tired, before footsteps began a slow, measured climb up the stairs. He appeared in the doorway moments later, a frown carved into his face.
He stopped short when he saw her. “You heard that?”
“You weren’t quiet,” she whispered, fingers trembling against the doorframe.
She stepped aside to let him in.
He crossed the room, and sank into the same armchair he’d slept in last night, watching her like she was the only thing in the room that mattered.
“If she needs to apologise to get out of whatever Feyre and Rhysand are doing, she can,” she murmured, taking the chair opposite him.
He shook his head. “You’re not ready for that.”
Something warm bloomed in her chest. He was right, she wasn’t ready to face Nesta, Cassian, or anyone but Azriel.
“I’m sorry you had to hear us arguing,” he said quietly. “This isn’t how I wanted your arrival to go.”
“I think it’s me,” she admitted softly. “Not you or your family. Everywhere I go, I’m unwelcome.”
“It’s not you,” he whispered. “I’ll get your things from the House of Wind, if you want. You can move into my house, only if you still want to stay.”
She stared at the table, unable to meet the softness in his eyes.
“I think that would be better,” she whispered.
“You can have my room. I’ll take the guest bed.”
She shook her head, already feeling like she had invaded his home.
“No, I’ll stay in the guest room and find a job to pay you back for everything,” she said.
“If you want to work, feel free, but you’re not going to pay me anything,” Azriel said, shaking his head.
“But—”
“My love,” he said, the word like velvet, “I promise you, I get paid plenty. I enjoy spoiling you.”
Her heart stuttered at the way he said it, as if the pet name had slipped out without permission.
“I’ll make us tea and get our pastries.”
He disappeared into the hall, leaving her spiraling.
That word, love, echoed in her mind, tangled with doubt.
Maybe he’d called plenty of Fae that before.
Maybe she was nothing more than the next to warm his sheets, only this time, he got nothing in return.
She leaned forward, burying her face in her hands as her thoughts began to spiral, one of her oldest downfalls.
Her thoughts whispered that this was a mistake, that the fragile warmth between them would break, that she was more alone than ever.
Her mind churned, feeding itself on doubts until they thickened in her chest like smoke. She barely noticed the faint clink of mugs against the counter, the kettle’s low whistle.
His shadows slid in first, cool tendrils curling over the arm of her chair.
“Hey,” Azriel’s voice came, low and careful, before she even looked up.
She lowered her hands from her face and blinked at him as he crossed the room with a tray. On it were two mugs of tea, steam curling into the air, warm cherry danishes, and fruit tarts that had flaky, crisp, and golden layers.
He set it on the table, then crouched in front of her instead of taking his seat.
“You’re spiralling,” he murmured.
She tried to look away.
“You don’t have to make any decisions today,” he said. “You don’t have to confront Nesta, Cassian, or anyone. Just focus on this. Just me. This morning.”
Something in his tone, low, steady, pulled her back from the edge, enough to breathe again.
He reached for the blanket draped over the arm of her chair and laid it over her legs, his touch lingering longer than necessary.
“Eat. You haven’t had anything since yesterday,” he said, but softer than before.
She looked at him, noticing the quiet steadiness in his eyes and the way his shadows curled protectively between them.
“I am sorry,” she whispered, staring at the tea in her lap.
Azriel paused, his expression unreadable. “Why are you sorry?”
“Because I am ruining everything.”
“Don’t do that,” he said firmly, though his tone was softer. “Don’t blame yourself for this or anything. You’re not ruining anything; you are enough. You are my home.”
Her heart tightened, and all she could manage was a small nod.
They ate together in the silence, her fingers brushing crumbs from the blanket. He didn’t urge her to speak or push her toward anything she wasn’t ready for.
When their mugs were nearly empty, he asked, “Would you like to see the rest of the house?”
“Okay,” she whispered, rising from her chair.
He looked her over slowly, standing in his clothes, her messy hair, and lips stained with cherries as though he were committing the sight to memory.
“You look beautiful,” he said, the corner of his mouth curving into the faintest grin.
Her cheeks warmed as she followed him out into the hallway.
Light spilled from skylights above, creating golden paths across the hardwood floor.
To her left, he opened the door to the spare bedroom. The bed was spacious enough to accommodate her wings. A mostly empty desk under the window held blank parchment and pens, while a narrow balcony overlooked the garden.
Downstairs, the home opened up with a spacious sitting room with a low burning a stone hearth and shelves filled with books. The large kitchen had gleaming copper pots hanging from racks.
He led her into a small corridor with an office and a small library. The library smelt of book and parchment A pair of armchairs faced a low fire, and she imagined him there at night, shadows pooling around him as he read.
At the back of the house, glass doors opened to the garden. She stepped outside and found herself surrounded by blooming flowers and fruit trees, including apricots, cherries, and figs intertwined together.
“Elain planted them,” Azriel said quietly beside her. “She loves to garden.”
Jealousy pricked at her, but before it could settle, he said, “We can add Dawn Court blooms, blue and purple dawnflowers. Elain thought you might like them; they remind her of your wings.”
Her gaze lifted to his. “She told you that?”
“She did, and I think she’s already planning an entire Dawn Court garden just for you. Yesterday she asked to walk the space so she could picture it.”
“She seems nice,” she murmured.
“She wants you to feel welcome,” he said. “She doesn’t feel like the Night Court is her home either.”
They returned inside, the light now softer and golden. Upstairs, Azreil led her into the bathing chamber and silently drew water, pouring in oils that swirled in iridescent blooms. The scent of lavender and vanilla filled the warm air.
“I’ll get your things and set the spare room for you,” he murmured, testing the water’s heat with his hand.
When he looked at her again, his eyes softened. “I’m glad you’re here.”
She stepped closer, reaching for him. He tensed before melting into her touch. His arms wrapped around her waist.
“Let me take some of your stress, your fears, everything you feel is too much,” he whispered against her hair. “That’s what I’m here for.”
“I don’t know how to let someone do that,” she admitted.
“We’ll learn,” he replied, his voice sure, his hold tightening before he let her go.
He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering at her temple.
“Relax. Take your time. I’ll be back soon.”
She nodded, and he pulled away slowly, like he didn’t quite want to. The door clicked softly shut behind him.
She slid into the bath, the lavender scent enveloping her like a promise. The knots in her body loosened, and the ache in her chest softened. This time, she didn’t spiral. She allowed herself to be held by the warmth of the water.
The bath had cooled by the time she finally rose. Her hair clung damp to her temples as she wrapped herself in a thick towel.
She padded softly into the spare room and stopped.
It was no longer the empty space she’d seen an hour ago.
Azriel had been here.
Her belongings had been brought in and carefully arranged.
A new vanity stood by the wall, its surface dotted with delicate glass vials, creams, and jewellery both new and old.
Clothing she had never seen lay folded on the bed, delicate gowns in her favourite silks and cottons. Through the open door to the bathing chamber, she saw shelves filled with luxurious oils, soaps, and salts.
On the vanity, now sat a tall vase of dawnflowers, blooms in the pale blues and purples of morning light.
Her chest ached at the thought of him doing this while she bathed, quietly making the room into hers.
The door creaked open.
Azriel stood there, his hair slightly messy as if he’d run a hand through it too many times, a tray balanced in one palm.
“Oh,” he said, pausing mid-step. His gaze flicked over her once before he quickly turned away. “Sorry, I thought I had more time. I’ll let you get dressed.”
“I’ll just be a moment,” she murmured.
When the door clicked shut, she slipped into a soft, violet sundress made of layered fabric, which flowed loosely against her skin.
When she opened the door again, Azriel stood waiting. The tray remained in his hands, his gaze fixed on her. His mouth parted slightly, and a quiet breath escaped him.
“You look…” His voice trailed, the thought unfinished, but his expression said enough.
She stepped aside to let him in.
“I thought you might be hungry again,” he said, setting the tray on the dresser. A small bowl of strawberries, pieces of chocolate, and two steaming mugs of tea waited there.
“You didn’t have to,” she said, smoothing her skirt.
“I wanted to.”
His gaze lingered on her damp hair. “Do you want me to brush it for you?”
She hesitated, then nodded.
He took the brush from the bed and motioned for her to sit. The chair was cool against her legs, but everything warmed when his hands worked through her hair. He moved slowly, detangling each section with careful strokes, the bristles gliding through the strands.
His shadows slid over her shoulders, curling softly around her arms as if they, too, wanted to help.
“How was the bath?” he murmured, his tone almost approving. “You didn’t rush.”
“I didn’t want to,” she admitted. “The bath was nice.”
He paused for a fraction of a second.
“Good.”
After combing her hair, he set the brush aside and used the towel to wipe away the dampness.
The words she wanted to say.
Thank you.
This means more to me than I can express.
I am scared of falling for you.
The words were left unspoken.
They worked together in silence, carefully putting away the last of her belongings. The books Azreil had brought her now sat on the bedside table. Gowns and dresses hung neatly in the closet. Her bathing chamber shelves were lined with oils and creams that caught the light.
When everything was in its place, she sank back onto the bed.
He smiled faintly before speaking.
“Before you get too comfortable,” he said, offering his hand, “I want to show you my favourite place in the house.”
She took it, and he led her down the hall to the back balcony.
The garden lay below in twilight. Flowers and blooms swayed gently in the evening breeze. The air had a perfect balance between the warmth of the day and the coolness of the night.
Above the treetops, the sky glowed with streaks of rose and gold, deepening into indigo. Slowly, the stars emerged, first faint, then brighter, waiting for the sun to retreat.
“This is where I seek quiet,” Azriel said softly. “Sometimes I stay until dawn.”
He leaned against the railing, his muscles shifting under the soft light.
She stood next to him, her hands lightly resting on the rail. She watched as the last glow of sunlight faded away and the world entered the night.
The first cool breeze lifted strands of her hair, carrying with it the mingled scents of the garden: jasmine, night-blooming lilies, and something sharper, sweeter, she couldn’t quite name.
“If you ever need space,” Azriel whispered, glancing at her, “or a place to escape from the world, this will always be yours.”
Something inside her relaxed at his words. She wasn’t sure if it was the fading light, the scent of the flowers, or the way he looked at her, unguarded, but she knew, without fully understanding why, that she wanted to stay here.
Not just for tonight.
Maybe longer.
They lingered, arms brushing occasionally. His shadows curled around the railing and slipped past her wrist, as if testing the air. They shared a silence that felt full rather than empty.
When the air had cooled enough for her to shiver, he said softly, “Come on. You’ll get cold.”
Inside, the house felt warmer, with amber sconces casting pools of light that softened every shadow.
He didn’t take her to the dining room or the kitchen, but instead led her down a quiet hallway to a sitting room tucked behind the library.
It was smaller than the others and felt more personal. Shelves lined the walls; some were crammed with books, while others held small objects: a polished obsidian sphere, bits of stone, delicate wood carvings, and even an old brass spyglass that looked well-used.
He crouched by the fire, coaxing it to life. The flames caught slowly, painting his face in gold and shadow. When the fire was roaring, he poured tea into two mugs and handed her one.
She curled into an armchair, legs tucked beneath her, letting the steam rise against her face. Azriel didn’t sit immediately; he stood there for a moment before lowering himself into the chair opposite her.
They spoke quietly, about the garden’s seasons, about how the night court’s mountains changed in the winter. He told her about a hidden spring in the far north where the water was as hot as a bath, surrounded by snow-capped peaks.
His mouth quirked slightly, almost shy, when he added, “That’s where we’ll go… after our mating ceremony.”
Her breath caught at his unexpected words; she saw his unease and fear as he waited for her reaction.
“It sounds beautiful,” she whispered, and he felt the tension in his shoulders ease.
They discussed how his work sometimes took him away for days, where Feyre and Rhysand lived, in case she needed them. He mentioned that he would take her into town soon to show her the bookshop he liked.
As a soft bell rang from deep within the house, they got up together and made their way to the dining room. Dinner was already set on the table, clearly prepared by unseen hands. They sat side by side, enjoying their meal in a comfortable silence.
They returned to the sitting room and settled by the warmth of the fire, shadows moving between them and brushing her skin with quiet curiosity.
He eventually left his chair and moved to the lounge beside her, close enough to drape a blanket over both their laps.
They read in silence, the fire popping softly in the background.
By the time the tea had gone cold and the logs burned to glowing embers, her head had tipped against the armrest, her eyes drifting closed.
He was already on his feet when she stirred again, offering his hand.
“Come on,” he said gently. “You should sleep.”
She allowed him to guide her back to her room. Before he left, he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek with surprising tenderness.
“Goodnight, my love.”
“Goodnight, Az.”
Chapter 4: Falling into Rhythm
Chapter Text
Two weeks after moving into Azriel’s home, they had fallen into a rhythm that felt more natural than she had ever imagined.
The only flaw was his absence. Work pulled him away before dawn and returned him to her long past midnight.
She woke each morning with sunlight streaming through the tall windows, her bath already drawn, the water shimmering with fragrant oils. In the kitchen, a pot of steaming tea always waited for her, alongside warm pastries and bowls of fruit fresh from the garden.
Each night, she stayed awake as long as she could, waiting for him until her eyelids grew too heavy.
Before sleep could claim her, she would set his dinner beneath a silver lid charmed to keep its contents warmed. A meal and a glass of wine always waited for him on the kitchen counter, still steaming when he arrived home.
It became their routine: she waited, and he returned.
On the fourth day, the gifts began to appear.
A book, the title she had wanted but never spoken aloud, was left on her desk. Then came the dresses, flowing fabrics, and expensive creams and oils.
They were beautiful. Too beautiful.
At first, they stirred that old, familiar fear that he was trying to polish her into something more acceptable, something less her, to cover the soft edges of her humanity.
As the days went by and the gifts kept arriving, that fear gradually faded, replaced by something closer to appreciation.
Slowly, she began to understand: Azriel wasn’t trying to change her; he noticed her.
The way her eyes had lingered in a shop window. The way her fingers had traced the spine of a book before putting it back. The way she had brushed her hand across fabric, she would never buy for herself.
The dresses, books, and oils weren’t meant to change her. He was showing her that she was seen and worthy, and with every gift, the ache in her chest deepened.
Only she didn’t want books, gowns, or expensive creams.
She wanted him.
She wanted him beside her at the table, his shadows trailing her through the house, the silence that never felt like silence with him.
By the fourteenth day, the house had become too quiet; the gifts around her reminded her more of his absence than the appreciation she had once felt for them.
She was in her bedroom when there was a gentle knock on the door.
She expected Elain, who stayed with her most days. The two got along well. Elain had planned to start planting the new garden this week.
As she opened the door, she was surprised to find Azriel standing in the threshold, shadows curling around his shoulders, and his hair tousled from his hands.
Her heart raced at the sight of her mate after so long.
“Is everything alright?” she asked, fear coiling up her spine.
“I’ve been away so much,” he murmured. “And I promised I’d take you to my favourite bookstore.”
The tension in her shoulders relaxed.
“Az, you don’t have to,” she said.
“I want to,” his gaze flickering down, almost shy. “I want to spend time with you.”
His voice cracked slightly on the words, a hint of vulnerability he rarely let anyone else see.
“I don’t think you’ve left the house in weeks,” he added. “Elain told me you sit in the garden with her, but that’s all. I think you’re avoiding me.”
She had considered searching for a job and leaving the safety of their home, but fear always held her back.
She worried about rejection, failure, or being perceived merely as Azriel’s mate, delicate and unworthy.
Her lips parted, and her head tilted in disbelief.
“How could I be avoiding you? You’re never here. You’re gone before I wake and come home long after I’ve gone to bed.”
He flinched as if she’d struck him, his gaze dropping to the floor.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, then again, more desperate, “I’m sorry. Rhys has me on missions, long, complicated ones. I try to get away earlier, but I never seem to manage it. Please… please don’t ever think I don’t care. I always care.”
Their bond thrummed, raw and aching.
“Then don’t say I’m avoiding you,” she replied quietly. “When all I’ve done is miss you.”
He looked up then, and something in his eyes broke open.
“I’ve missed you too,” he confessed, voice rough. “God, I’ve missed you.”
His hands flexed at his sides as though holding back from reaching for her.
“Seeing you here only reminds me how much.”
She wanted to tell him that the gifts didn’t matter compared to him, but the words got caught in her throat.
Instead, she whispered, “I’ll get my shoes.”
He was still waiting in the doorway when she stepped back out, wearing one of the many sundresses he had gifted her. Her hair was half-pinned, and her boots were laced tightly.
His dark tunic clung to him, sleeves rolled to his forearms, shadows restless at his shoulders.
“Beautiful,” he breathed, as if he hadn’t meant her to hear. “You're so beautiful.”
He reached for her hand, and for a moment she hesitated before sliding her fingers into his.
Together, they stepped out of his house’s sanctuary and into Velaris, her hand warm in his.
The morning light was golden and warm, the river sparkling in the distance.
Velaris was alive with fae, laughter spilling from cafes along the river, shop bells ringing as doors swung open and shut, the hum of voices blending with the music of a street performer.
Her grip on Azriel’s hand tightened. Every instinct screamed at her to turn back, let go, and slip into the shadows, disappearing from view.
The townsfolk stared, their eyes darting from the shadowsinger to her and then down to their intertwined hands. Although no one spoke, she could picture their thoughts.
Why her? Why was Azriel with her?
His thumb brushed over the back of her hand, as if he could feel her worry and fears, and maybe he could.
Maybe she was sending every feeling straight down the bond.
They moved slowly through the winding streets.
“This is Meryn,” he said at one bakery, nodding toward a cheerful older fae woman whose apron was dusted in flour. “Best pastries in the entire city.”
Meryn beamed at him, her eyes flicking curiously to her.
Her hand tightened in his as she asked, “Are these the ones you leave for me every morning?”
Azriel nodded, while Meryn smiled and winked towards Azriel.
“Every morning,” Meryn said, placing two pastries in a paper bag. “While these are just for you two lovebirds.”
Next door was an apothecary filled with glass vials and herbs strung to dry. The shopkeeper pressed a sprig of lavender into her palm.
“For calmness,” the older fae murmured, before disappearing into the back room.
She whispered her thanks, her voice barely louder than the clink of jars.
The further they wandered into the city, the more her nerves began to dull.
At some point, she found herself leaning closer to Azriel, her free hand resting lightly on his arm as he whispered bits of history and quiet stories about each street they passed.
The bookstore he had spoken about was tucked in a narrow corner street, its windows so crowded with spines she could barely see through.
Azriel held the door open for her, and his shadows slipped ahead. She stepped inside and felt as if she’d entered another world.
Books lined the walls, stretching up to the ceiling, with ladders leaning dangerously against them. A tabby cat dozed on a stack near the counter, its tail twitching in sleep.
The shopkeeper, a tall man, glanced up, and Azriel's shoulders relaxed. A quiet sigh escaped him.
She realised how often he must visit this place, as the shopkeeper mentioned a shipment of books he thought Azriel would enjoy.
“This place…” she murmured, looking around.
“Go on,” Azriel said, lips brushing close to her ear. “Take your time.”
She wandered slowly, fingertips grazing titles, inhaling the scent of parchment and ink.
Azriel lingered in the aisles, shadows pooling at his boots, his gaze never straying far from her.
When she picked up a volume of poetry, she turned it over in her hand, flipping through its pages.
Azriel glanced up from the book he held, his eyes catching on hers, then dropping to the one in her hands.
“I didn’t know you liked poetry,” he said softly.
“It helps me fall asleep,” she admitted.
By the time they left, her arms were filled with books she hadn’t meant to choose, while Azriel carried a bag stacked high with more.
As they walked back through the sunlit streets, his hand still warm around hers, he leaned close and whispered that he would cook tonight.
In that moment, with his shadows curling lazily around them and his eyes full of something quiet and unguarded, she understood the truth she had been trying not to name.
She was falling in love, and so was Azriel.
Another week passed. This time, Azriel was home for dinner every night.
It was warm and soft between them now, their meals shared not in silence but in gentle conversation.
She talked about the books she had read, the lines of poetry that lingered in her thoughts. He shared snippets of his work, not the darkest parts, but enough to make her feel included in his world.
After dinner, they would sit side by side, their shoulders brushing against each other.
Tonight, she nestled beneath a blanket, a book forgotten in her lap, as he sipped his tea. Their wings were no longer pulled in tight; instead, they hung softly, grazing hers and his shadows curled lazily at their feet.
“The winter solstice is next week,” Azriel said, quiet and careful. “I’d like you to come with me. As my date.”
Her gaze fell to her lap, to the slim book of poetry she had abandoned.
“Is it… a dinner?” she asked, though she knew the answer.
“It’s a ball. Music. Wine. Dancing.”
“I can’t dance,” she whispered. “I’ve never been to one.”
“Never?” His brows drew together. “Not even a gala?”
She shook her head.
“Never.”
The silence stretched, heavy, waiting.
“No one wanted to take me,” she confessed, eyes fixed on the fire. “Half-human, half-fae. I was less than the beasts in the woods. Disgusting, they called me.”
The bond flared, sharp and hot with his fury. She looked at him and saw his fists tighten, his jaw clench, shadows sharpening like blades around him.
“When I was younger,” she continued, voice barely steady, “my family used to go. They’d dress in gowns and jewels, drink wine, dance beneath chandeliers…”
She blinked rapidly, trying to stop the tears.
“I used to practice, you know. Alone. Just in case someone asked me.” A bitter laugh escaped. “But no one ever did. I stood in corners. In shadows. Eventually, I forgot the steps.”
Her voice cracked, and she turned away, but the tears slipped free anyway, soft trails catching the glow of the fire.
“I’ll teach you,” Azriel said softly.
“It’s fine,” she whispered, swiping at her cheeks. “You go. Take someone else. One of the priestesses, maybe.”
His voice turned rough. “Don’t. Don’t say that. I don’t want anyone else. I want you. Only you.”
She rose, the blanket falling to the floor. “I’m not made for this, Azriel. I’ve told you—”
“And I keep telling you,” he cut in, low and desperate, “that you are more than what they made you believe. Stronger. Worthy. You are mine. I want everyone to know it. I want to stumble with you, laugh with you, dance with you until we collapse on this floor.”
Her breath came fast and uneven as she looked at him, at the raw need in his eyes, the bond thrumming with truth.
“I’ll… think about it,” she whispered.
“Please,” he said, softly.
She nodded once, slipping from the room, her book forgotten in the tangle of blankets.
That night, for the first time since her argument with Nesta, she cried.
It wasn't that she didn’t want to go; in fact, she desperately wanted to.
She wanted him.
She wanted to dance.
The fear still clung to her, and she was beginning to realise how much of her life it had already taken.
The next evening, she sat across from him at dinner, silent, pushing food across her plate.
Azriel set down his wine. “Dance with me.”
Her eyes lifted, startled. “No—”
He didn’t argue.
He only rose, crossed the room to the symphonia, and set it humming with soft orchestral strings.
When he turned back, he bowed slightly, hand outstretched, eyes never leaving hers.
“Would you honour me with a dance?”
Her heart was racing, but she slipped her hand into his.
“Don’t think about the steps,” he murmured as he drew her close, shadows brushing over her arm. “Just think about me.”
One step. A turn.
His hand steady at her waist, his other warm around her fingers.
She was stiff, breath shallow, but slowly, the fear eased. Finally, as her feet moved in sync with his, no longer resisting, he leaned in close, his lips grazing her ear.
“There,” he whispered. “You’re dancing.”
They did it night after night.
She tripped, apologised, and blushed when he told her she was a natural despite her stiff shoulders and shallow, anxious breaths. His hand was in hers, the other on her waist.
By the third night, she even laughed, stumbling against his chest, and the sound drew a rare, smile from him.
By the fourth, she closed her eyes, trusting his steps, his hands, and the steady count of his breath.
By the end of the week, she told Azriel she would accompany him. She wanted to show him how far her dancing had come and to make him proud.
The night of the winter solstice was stunning; the stars shone brighter than she had ever seen, and their silver glow spread across Velaris.
When she returned to her room that evening, a gown lay across her bed.
She paused in the doorway, breath catching.
It was navy blue, with delicate threads of silver and crystals stitched into the fabric, shimmering like a piece of the night sky.
Her gown hugged her body like no other dress had, designed to accentuate her curves rather than conceal them. The sheer, sparkling sleeves cascaded down from her shoulders, draping past her wrists like threads of starlight.
Beside the gown rested a circlet, so fine it seemed spun from moonlight itself. Its silver band dipped delicately in the centre of the forehead, nestling a single pearl, while diamonds and small gems sparkled like constellations.
She had never owned anything so beautiful.
Her hair was left loose in gentle waves, tumbling down her back, and the gown flowed around her like liquid midnight.
For the first time in her life, she felt… beautiful.
Her hands trembled as she descended the townhouse stairs.
At the bottom, Azriel waited.
The moment his eyes found her, he froze.
His mouth parted, his wings gave the faintest rustle, and shadows coiled tighter around his feet as though even they had been startled into stillness.
“You are…” His voice broke, softened into reverence. “Beautiful.”
As she reached the last step, Azriel extended his hand toward her. She placed her fingers on his arm, and her nerves fluttered in her chest.
“Ready?” he asked softly.
“Yes.”
In the next heartbeat, shadows curled around them, and the townhouse vanished.
When the world reappeared, it was golden and alive, music and laughter crashing over her all at once.
The ballroom was vast, chandeliers casting light across the polished marble floor.
Velvet gowns and dark jackets moved in elegant sweeps, with couples gliding in practised circles to the sound of a swelling orchestra.
Azriel’s hand was steady at the small of her back, guiding her through the current of silk and jewels. Her pulse thrummed with every step, but his warmth grounded her. When they reached the Inner Circle, the chatter slowed.
Morrigan, stilled mid-laugh, her glass pausing halfway to her lips.
Cassian blinked, his grin faltering just a moment. Even Amren tilted her head in measured appraisal.
Rhys and Feyre exchanged a look, their hands still twined, the crown on Feyre’s head glinting like starlight.
Her hand tightened around Azriel’s, her breath catching in her throat.
Azriel cleared his throat, a deliberate, quiet sound.
Voices rose again, warm and smooth, as if nothing had faltered. Morrigan was the first to step forward, her perfume rich and floral as she pulled her into a hug.
“You look divine,” Mor murmured before she leaned back, eyes bright. “I’ve missed you at our dinners.”
Her chest tightened as she whispered thanks.
Her gaze slipped past Mor to Nesta.
Nesta stood half-hidden behind Cassian, shoulders tight.
Her eyes were fixed on the floor, but as if sensing her gaze, Nesta’s eyes suddenly flicked up, meeting hers for a moment, then Nesta dropped her eyes again, and Feyre was there, warm arms wrapping around her.
Later that night, Azriel guided her onto the dance floor. At first, her hands trembled in his, her body stiff as the music swelled around them.
“Don’t think about them. Think about us.”
Slowly, step by step, she let him lead her.
His hand was low on her back, his movements unhurried. She focused on the rhythm of him, the way his shadows curled at her ankles like reassurance.
Soon, she was moving, not perfectly, not flawlessly, but enough that laughter bubbled from her lips when she stumbled into his chest.
Azriel froze for a heartbeat at the sound, as if he’d never heard it before, and then his mouth curved into the faintest, rarest smile.
They danced again, and again, until her cheeks were flushed and her lungs burned with quiet laughter.
When she paused to catch her breath, he led her off the floor, into the crowds of people. Wine found its way into her hand, sweet fae wine that loosened the knot in her chest.
It was after her second glass that Nesta found her.
She had stepped away from Cassian’s side, her face uncertain. She paused a few paces away, and for a moment, it looked like she might turn back. Then Nesta lifted her chin, and her voice, though gentle, was steady.
“I owe you an apology.”
The music swelled, laughter echoing from the other side of the hall, but between them it was only silence, heavy and sharp.
Her heart pounded painfully as she met Nesta’s gaze. For once, her eyes were not cold or sharp, but raw and vulnerable.
“I was cruel to you,” Nesta said. “I let my anger blind me, and I hurt you in ways I can’t take back. I’m sorry.”
Something in her chest cracked at the words.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
Nesta looked like she might say more, but then her gaze darted toward Cassian, and she gave a stiff nod before retreating to his side.
Azriel found her again, pressing a fresh glass of wine into her hand, his eyes soft as he studied her face.
He didn’t ask what had been said.
He didn’t need to.
He leaned close, his lips brushing her temple as he whispered, “Dance with me again.”
She did.
Again and again.
The night blurred into music and candlelight, into swirling gowns and clinking glasses.
Her cheeks were flushed from wine, her body warm and loose from dancing. Azriel had hardly left her side, his hand steady at her back, shadows curling protectively around her whenever the press of the crowd grew too close.
At one point, she leaned against him, laughter spilling from her lips as he caught her after another stumble.
His arm wrapped around her waist effortlessly, his eyes gentle as they stayed on her face. She felt she might drown in his gaze, as if she were the only thing in the room.
It was late when the music softened, the couples thinning from the floor, the chandeliers burning lower.
Feyre and Rhys had long since slipped away, Mor and Amren laughing over a final glass of wine. Even Cassian had persuaded Nesta onto the dance floor, their steps stiff but closer than they had been all evening.
Azriel bent his head toward her ear.
“Ready to leave?” His voice was soft.
She nodded, too breathless to form words.
Shadows curled around them, and in the next moment, they were back at the townhouse. The sudden quiet wrapped around her, broken only by the crackle of the hearth still burning low.
For a moment, she simply stood there, staring at the floor as if her body didn’t quite remember how to move without the music guiding her.
The wine hummed in her veins, but it wasn’t that making her chest ache; it was the memory of the way he’d looked at her all night, like she was something precious.
When she looked up, Azriel was watching her, his expression unreadable, his hands loose at his sides as though he didn’t trust himself to reach for her.
Her heart pounded.
Slowly, she crossed the small space between them until she was standing just before him. His wings shifted slightly, a ripple of shadow curling in the dim light.
“Azriel,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
His jaw worked, his gaze searching hers as though waiting for the words she hadn’t yet spoken.
“I’m ready,” she said, her voice soft but sure. “To plan the ceremony. To make it official.”
The shadows stilled, as though even they were holding their breath.
Something fierce and unguarded flashed in his eyes, and before she could lose her nerve, she raised her hand to his face, her fingers grazing the sharp line of his jaw.
His breath caught. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” The word left her without hesitation.
There was no fear in it.
Only truth.
Azriel’s hand cupped her cheek, his calloused thumb softly brushing over her skin, so gentle it made her knees go weak.
His forehead touched hers, and she could feel the steady thrum of his heart through the bond.
Finally, his lips touched hers.
It was soft at first, careful, as though she might shatter beneath him, but when she leaned in, when her fingers slid into his hair and her breath mingled with his, the kiss deepened.
When they parted, her lips tingled, her chest aching with the weight of what had just passed between them.
Azriel rested his forehead against hers, his voice barely more than a whisper.
“You’re mine.”
She smiled, breathless, heart wide open. “And you’re mine.”
The bond hummed, golden and alive, as if sealing the promise between them.
For the first time, she felt exactly where she was meant to be.
A month later, their mating ceremony arrived.
She wore a gown of pale silk, its fabric shining in the faint sunlight. A circlet of silver leaves rested in her hair.
Before her stood Azreil, his hands in hers as shadows curled around them while they kissed her skin, promising a vow to her.
The priestess’s voice was gentle and melodic, speaking words of unity, of soul and bond, of the Mother’s blessing upon those who had found each other against all odds.
Azriel’s scarred hands trembled slightly as he lifted hers, cradling them.
“I never thought I’d have this,” he began. “I spent centuries believing the bond wasn’t meant for me, that I’d been passed over, forgotten by fate. Then I met you, and you… saw me. Not the shadows, not the scarred skin, not the title I wear. Me.”
Her eyes stung, tears already brimming.
Azriel’s lips curved in the faintest smile, though his voice shook.
“You are my mate. My equal. My light, even when I can’t see the stars. I vow to protect you, not because I must, but because my soul won’t allow me to do otherwise. I vow to honour you, to listen when you speak, to hold you when you cannot stand. I vow to love you, fiercely, endlessly, until the Mother herself takes me home. This bond is my oath, and so is my heart. Both belong to you.”
The bond burned, golden threads of their souls weaving tighter.
Her breath came unsteady as she lifted his hands to her lips, pressing a kiss to each scarred knuckle before speaking.
“I used to believe I was less. Less than human, less than Fae, less than what anyone could want. I hid in shadows not because I loved them, but because I thought I belonged there. Then you found me.”
Her voice cracked, but she didn’t look away from his eyes.
“You showed me that I wasn’t too much or not enough, that I was worthy. You’ve given me a home not just in your house, not just in your world, but in your heart. Azriel, I vow to protect that heart. I vow to stand by your side, not behind you or beneath you, but with you. I vow to remind you, on the days you forget, that you are more than shadows, more than duty, more than scars. You are mine. My mate, my equal, my forever. I will love you, in every life, in every world, in every moment the Mother grants us.”
Her voice broke on the last word, tears slipping free.
Azriel released a breath then, as though he could no longer bear the space between them, he leaned forward and kissed her.
It was slow and reverent, a promise. When he pulled back, their foreheads pressed together, the priestess’s voice rang quietly over the river, blessing their bond.
Her mate.
Forever.
That night, Azriel winnowed her away.
They went north, far beyond the sprawl of cities and villages, to a place tucked deep within the mountains.
The cabin was waiting for them, cosy and intimate, with a golden glow spilling from the hearth. This was the place he had mentioned, his favourite place, the only one he had shared with her.
Out the window, she saw it, the spring. Steam curled into the cold night, rising from the stone-ringed pool, its waters shimmering silver beneath the moonlight.
Azriel opened the door, the cold rushing in. She could feel the heat rolling from the spring.
Her wings twitched, stretching slightly in the crisp air. She looked at him once, and he understood.
His wings spread wide, powerful and dark, and hers unfurled in answer. A single powerful beat from them both sent snow spiralling as they lifted into the air together.
They dove into the steaming water.
The heat swallowed her, stealing her breath.
She surfaced with a gasp, hair clinging wet to her shoulders, wings dripping as they arched above the water. Azriel’s arms found her waist at once, pulling her into him, his lips catching hers.
Snow began to fall, soft and endless, dissolving the moment it touched the steaming pool.
Her wings brushed against his under the water, tangled and warm where they overlapped. His hand traced the curve of hers, reverent, as if they were something sacred.
Her fingers slipped beneath the surface, finding the buckle of his belt, trembling only with anticipation.
Piece by piece, the space between them disappeared, until there was nothing left but skin and warmth and the golden thread of the bond humming through her chest.
Wings dripping, the cold bit at her skin, snowflakes melting against heated flesh.
His mouth was desperate, tender, worshipping, as though each kiss could tell her everything words never could.
“You’re my home,” she whispered into his lips, breath fogging in the cold air.
His thumb traced her cheekbone, wings arching protectively around her as the snow fell.
“You’re my everything,” he murmured, sealing the vow with another kiss.
Her heart burned with it, fierce and aching.
“I love you.”
“I love you,” he breathed back.
The mountains stood tall around them, the spring steaming at their backs. Beneath falling snow and the shelter of their wings, they loved each other as though the world had been made for this moment alone.
RoseyRed999 on Chapter 4 Sun 31 Aug 2025 06:10AM UTC
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seaweedgirlPJO on Chapter 4 Fri 12 Sep 2025 09:42PM UTC
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