shadowsovergold

[shadowsovergold]

Read more at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66677668/chapters/175338886

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66677668/chapters/175338886

The restaurant Azriel chose for lunch was on a wide street, open to the afternoon sun that bathed Elandor in liquid gold. Walls of clear, almost translucent stone reflected the light in golden and pink hues, while flowers hung from elaborate balconies—white jasmine, pink bougainvillea, and climbing purple wisteria that perfumed the air with sweetness. Transparent curtains swayed with the warm breeze, creating plays of shadow and light that danced across the facades like invisible fingers.

Solana thought it looked like a dream—the kind of place that existed only in imagination, where every detail was designed to be perfect. The streets were paved with polished stones that glittered like diamonds, and musical fountains bubbled on every corner, their crystal-clear waters singing soft melodies that mingled with the cheerful murmur of passersby.

They sat at a table near an open window, from where she could see a circular square filled with Fae chatting in small groups, their flowing clothes catching the sunlight like liquid silk. Children played, chasing colorful birds—small creatures that seemed made of pure light, with feathers that changed color with the angle of the sunlight. The soft music of a lute drifted from somewhere inside the restaurant, mixed with the scent of fresh grilled meat, citrus spices, wild rosemary, and the faint clinking of glasses in distant toasts.

The interior of the restaurant was a symphony of white and gold. Marble columns supported a vaulted ceiling where mosaics told ancient stories of the Day Court. Climbing plants cascaded from the beams, creating a natural canopy that filtered the light into delicate patterns. The floor was made of polished stone, inlaid with gilded veins that looked like rivers of light flowing beneath the customers’ feet.

Solana rested her elbows on the light wooden table, not realizing how relaxed she was until she felt Azriel’s gaze on her—attentive, almost watchful, as if he were filing away every detail. His golden eyes caught her every movement, every expression, as if he were memorizing a moment he knew was precious.

“It’s all so... light here,” she commented, her eyes dancing from facade to facade, observing the colors that shifted as clouds passed over the sun.

“But I don’t know if I’d get used to so much sun all the time. In the Summer Court, we have the heat, but we also have the storms, the cloudy days. Here, it seems the sun never fully sets.”

Azriel arched an eyebrow, studying the parchment menu the waiter had left—an elaborate document, written in terrific calligraphy that shimmered under the light. “It suits you.”

Solana blinked, looking back at him. There was something in his voice, an intensity that made her heart quicken. “What?”

“The sun,” Azriel replied, without raising his eyes from the menu—but she saw the corner of his mouth curve into an almost unnoticeable smile. “It suits you. You shine in a way you don’t seem to realize. Even when you’re serious, even when you’re worried... there’s a light in you that can’t be hidden.”

Solana felt her cheeks warm, a wave of heat rising from her chest to the tips of her pointed ears. She looked away to observe the shadows dancing between the restaurant’s white columns, trying to regain her composure. “You, on the other hand, seem... out of place.” She gestured vaguely around. “All this brilliance, all this light... and you, made of shadows and secrets.”

This time Azriel met her gaze—direct, firm, penetrating. There was something vulnerable in his eyes, an unasked question. “And does that bother you?”

She opened her mouth to answer but only laughed. The laugh came out more nervous than she intended. “You just make the shadow seem darker here, that’s all. A beautiful contrast. Like... like when the moon appears in the still-blue evening sky. It shouldn’t work, but it’s perfect.”

Azriel didn’t smile, but a muscle in his jaw relaxed, as if that compliment lifted a weight he didn’t want to admit carrying. His shadows, which normally danced around him like living creatures, seemed calmer, almost dormant in the golden afternoon heat.

The waiter brought a pitcher of water with lemon slices floating in it, along with a basket of still-warm bread that exuded the scent of fresh herbs. Solana, without thinking, extended her hand over the surface of the water—she saw the droplets rise, playing on her fingertips, forming small circles that danced in the air like liquid jewels.

Azriel watched her, elbows on the table, chin slightly tilted. There was fascination in his eyes, but also something deeper—admiration, perhaps even envy for that ability to find magic in simple things. “You can’t stand still, can you?”

Solana bit her lip, laughing. “Perhaps not.” The water spread in a graceful arc, forming the shape of a tiny fish. It swam in the air, translucent as crystal, its fins shimmering before dripping back into the glass. “I still feel like a child when I do this. My father used to say that if I played too much with the tides, the ocean would take me away.”

Azriel’s expression grew more serious, more protective. “Your father was afraid of losing you.”

“He was afraid I wouldn’t be strong enough to resist the ocean’s call,” she corrected, her tone lowering. “My maternal family’s connection to the sea was very strong. That should have been the first sign we were part of something greater...” Solana paused, thoughtful. “My father saw my mother in me, and she... she got lost to the sea when I was very young. Not literally, but... she became so one with the ocean that sometimes she forgot she had a family on solid ground.”

Azriel didn’t comment immediately. He just reached out—slowly, as if she were something fragile—and took her hand, stopping the water from rising again. His gloved fingers were cold, but firm, bringing her back to the present moment. His shadows softly intertwined around both their wrists, like a silent promise.

“You’re not a child anymore,” he said, his voice too low for others to hear. “Now you decide what the ocean can or cannot take.”

Solana exhaled, a little breathless, feeling the heat rise to the back of her neck. His touch was both anchor and storm—reassuring and unsettling. She wanted to pull her hand away, but she didn’t truly want to. And, for an instant, she thought about what Tarquin would say if he saw that scene—so simple, yet so charged with things she didn’t want to name.

She pulled her hand away before it was too late, the abrupt movement causing a few drops of water to splash onto the table. She looked at the glass, at the water that still trembled with the agitation of her powers, at anything but Azriel. Her pulse still raced where he had touched, her skin tingling as if tiny electric sparks danced beneath the surface.

“Do you remember your first mission here in the Day Court?” Solana asked, trying to sound casual, but knowing he would notice the change in her voice—the slightly higher pitch, the subtly faster breathing. The question came out as a desperate diversion, an attempt to steer the conversation to safer waters.

Azriel didn’t answer immediately. She could feel his gaze on her, studying her as he did all his targets. Slowly, he leaned back in his chair, the movement causing the fabric of his shirt to stretch across his chest, revealing the strong line of his shoulders. The shadow from the awning cast lines across his face, creating a pattern of light and darkness that made him seem even more mysterious—as if he were made of the very essence of twilight.

“I remember,” Azriel finally replied, his tone a whisper, his eyes carefully watching her. As if he knew she needed distance, but he didn’t want to give too much.

Solana still couldn’t look directly at him. Instead, she watched her own hands, noticing how they trembled faintly. “Was it an official mission? Or...” She made a vague gesture with her fingers, trying to seem nonchalant. “The kind you do when no one’s supposed to know you were here?”

A silence stretched between them. When Solana finally looked up, she found Azriel observing her with an expression she couldn’t decipher—something between understanding and frustration, as if he were fighting the urge to reach for her again.

“It was espionage, of course,” Azriel shrugged, but the gesture seemed forced. “I was young. Very young.” His voice carried a note of something that could be nostalgia or regret. “Rhys’s father sent me because I was the only one who could get in and out unseen. I spent weeks hidden on Elandor’s rooftops, watching Helion negotiate with emissaries from the Autumn Court.”

Azriel paused, his eyes losing focus for a moment, as if he were seeing not the gilded restaurant in front of him, but the marble rooftops from centuries ago. “I slept under the stars, lived on stolen fruit and rainwater. I didn’t speak to anyone for days. Sometimes I wondered if I’d forgotten the sound of my own voice.”

Solana imagined Azriel, much younger, a shadow between columns of sunlit marble. A boy—because that’s what he was, just a boy—trained to be invisible, to not exist. To be a tool, not a person.

Her chest tightened with unexpected pain, so strong that she had to press her hand against her heart to try and alleviate it.

“How old were you?” she asked, her voice coming out softer than intended.

Azriel hesitated, as if the question caught him off guard. “Seventeen, maybe eighteen. I’m not sure—we didn’t celebrate birthdays at the camp where I grew up.”

Seventeen. Solana closed her eyes briefly, trying not to imagine a teenage Azriel, scared and alone, carrying out orders that could have killed him. When she opened them, he was looking at her with a concentration that made her stomach clench.

“Were you scared?” The question came out as a whisper, loaded with a tenderness Solana didn’t try to hide.

Azriel looked up at her, as if he didn’t understand the question—as if the idea that someone cared about his fears was completely foreign. Then, he laughed—a short, almost ironic sound, but there was something broken in it. “I was always scared. I just learned not to let it paralyze me.”

Azriel leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and she saw beyond the mask he always wore. She saw the boy he had been, the male he still fought to be.

“Fear of light,” Azriel confessed, his voice so low she had to lean in to hear. “Fear of being discovered, fear of failing. Fear that if I wasn’t useful, I’d be discarded like...” he trailed off, his jaw clenching.

“Like what?” Solana asked gently, though her heart already knew the answer.

“Like trash,” he finished, the word coming out like broken glass. “I was a tool. Broken tools are discarded.”

The honesty in his voice was so sharp that Solana had to look out the window, to keep him from seeing how it completely dismantled her. How the idea of a young, scared Azriel, forced to hide from the world, trained to believe his worth as a person depended entirely on his usefulness, shattered her heart into a thousand pieces.

Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked rapidly, trying to ward them off. When she could finally speak, her voice came out thick with emotion. “You were never just a tool. Never.”

“Solana...” Azriel began, but she interrupted him.

“No. Listen,” she forced herself to look at him, allowing him to see the anger and sadness in her eyes. “Whoever made you believe that is wrong. Completely, absolutely wrong. You are...” Solana paused, searching for the right words. “You are one of the most extraordinary people I have ever met. Not because of what you do, but because of who you are.”

Azriel remained still, as if her words were a foreign language he was trying to translate. His shadows, which had stirred during his confession, now seemed to have stopped completely.

Outside, the children still laughed, carefree, chasing white doves that lazily flapped their wings. A brown-haired girl managed to touch one of the birds, that transformed into sparks of light before reforming a few meters away, eliciting delighted giggles.

“You should have been one of them,” Solana murmured, watching the scene through the window. Her voice carried a deep sadness, as if she were lamenting not only his lost childhood, but for all the children who never had the chance to simply be children. “You should have had a childhood. You should have played in the sun, unafraid of being seen. You should have...” She stopped, swallowing the lump in her throat. “You should have been loved for who you were, not for what you could do.”

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with everything that couldn’t be changed. Azriel didn’t respond right away, and when Solana looked at him, she saw he was observing his own hands, fingers intertwined on the table. His shadows moved restlessly around him, as if they were extensions of his thoughts.

“Perhaps,” he finally said, his voice lower, more reflective. “But then I wouldn’t have become who I am.” Azriel raised his eyes to her, and there was something new in his gaze—a kind of painful acceptance, but also an unexpected gratitude. “And then perhaps I never would have met you.”

His words hit her like a wave, stealing the air from her lungs. Solana’s heart skipped a beat, then two, before beginning to pound so hard she was sure he could hear it. She turned to Azriel completely, finding his eyes fixed on her with a force that made the air around them seem denser, charged with electricity.

“Azriel...” Solana began, but her voice came out as a strangled whisper. She didn’t know how to finish, didn’t know how to say that she was starting to care for him again in a way that should scare her, but instead made her feel more alive than ever.

Azriel leaned slightly forward, as if to shorten the distance between them without breaking the delicate spell that had formed around them. “You don’t need to say anything,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, as if listening to her thoughts. “I know this is... complicated. I know you have responsibilities, loyalties. I know I shouldn’t be saying this.”

“Then why are you?” The question came out harsher than she intended, with a frustration directed more at herself than at him.

Azriel was quiet for a long moment, his eyes searching hers as if trying to read her soul. “Because in you,” he said slowly, each word heavy with meaning, “I finally found someone who looks at me and sees more than just the shadows. Someone who makes me want to be more than just a tool, more than just useful.”

Solana’s eyes filled with tears she tried desperately to hold back. “You don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice broken. “You don’t understand what this means. What this does to me.”

“Then tell me,” Azriel pleaded, extending his hand across the table, stopping inches from hers. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

She looked at his hand, so close to hers, and felt as if she were on the edge of a precipice. One step, one choice, and everything would irreversibly change. “I...” Solana swallowed hard, trying to find courage. “I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be feeling this. Tarquin trusts me, and I...”

“And you’re betraying that trust simply by being here?"” Azriel asked gently, no judgment in his voice.

“I am,” Solana admitted, the tears finally overflowing. “Because it’s not just about being here. It’s about how I feel when I’m with you. It’s about how you make me question everything I thought I knew about myself.”

Azriel moved his hand those last few inches, his fingers brushing hers so lightly it could have been an accident. But, of course, it wasn’t. “And how do I make you feel?”

Solana closed her eyes, allowing herself to feel the warmth of his touch for a moment before answering. “Like I’m real,” she whispered. “Like I’m more than just an extension of someone else’s will. Like my choices matter.”

“They do matter,” Azriel countered with a fierce conviction that made her open her eyes. “You matter. Not as an emissary, not as anyone’s representative. You, Solana. Your thoughts, your feelings, your dreams—all of it matters.”

She laughed through her tears, a somewhat broken sound. “You talk as if it’s simple.”

“It’s not simple,” Azriel agreed, his fingers intertwining with hers with a delicacy that contrasted with the intensity of his eyes. “But perhaps it’s worth being complicated. Perhaps some things are too important to be simple.”

The restaurant around them seemed to vanish. There were only the two of them, their hands entwined across the table, and a world of probabilities and impossibilities opening between them.

“I’m scared,” Solana confessed, her voice so low it was almost inaudible.

“Of what?” Azriel asked, leaning further forward, as if he could absorb her fear and carry it for her.

Solana closed her eyes, trying to find the right words to express the terror consuming her. “Of failing,” she whispered. “Of not being able to contain the Tidemaster. Of not being strong enough when the time comes.” Her voice trembled. “All my life, I always knew who I was. I always trusted my intellect, my ability to negotiate, to find solutions. I’m good with words, good at reading people, at building bridges where others only see abysses.”

She opened her eyes, letting him see the pain she felt, a raw honesty Azriel had probably never seen in her before. “But now... now I feel like a fraud. As if everything I thought I knew about myself was a lie. I feel incapable, useless, completely lost.” Tears silently streamed down her cheeks. “And if I fail, if I can’t stop him from destroying everything... the Summer Court will disappear. All those who depend on me, who trust in me...”

Her voice broke. “It will be my fault. Every life lost, every home destroyed—it will all be because I wasn’t able to do what I needed to do. Because I convinced myself I was smarter, more capable than I truly am.”

“You think feeling lost makes you less capable?” Azriel asked, his voice low and deep, his eyes never leaving her face.

Solana hesitated, wiping away tears with the back of her free hand. “I... I don’t know what makes me capable of anything anymore. I used to be sure of everything, and now I’m sure of nothing.”

“What if I told you that’s exactly what makes you stronger?” Azriel gently squeezed her hand. “Courage isn’t the absence of fear, Solana. It’s doing what needs to be done even when you’re terrified. It’s continuing to fight even when you’re not sure you can win.”

He paused, his eyes searching hers. “You’re not a fraud. You’re Fae. And sometimes, being Fae means feeling small in the face of something bigger than you. But that doesn’t make you less capable—it makes you more real.”

Solana looked at him through her tears, seeing not just the lethal spy he was, but the male who understood what it meant to carry the weight of impossible responsibilities. “How do you do it?” she asked. “How do you keep going when everything seems lost?”

“I find something worth fighting for,” Azriel said simply. “Something that reminds me why I need to keep going.” His eyes deepened into hers. “You are one of those things.”

Solana’s heart stopped for a moment, his words reverberating in her chest like an echo of hope she dared not accept. The world around them—the distant laughter, the murmur of conversations, the rustle of leaves in the night breeze—all became a distant whisper compared to the roar of her own pulse.

“Azriel...” she began, but he shook his head gently.

“Don’t say anything,” he murmured, his fingers tracing a soft line along her temple, brushing away a stray lock of hair. “You just need to know that you’re not alone in this. That no matter what happens with Nhamir, with the Summer Court—you don’t carry this burden alone.”

For a moment, Solana allowed herself to believe. Allowed herself to imagine that maybe, just maybe, she could be strong enough not because she was perfect, but because she wasn’t facing everything by herself. His hand was still intertwined with hers, anchor and promise at the same time.

“What if I fall apart?” she whispered, the question escaping before she could stop it.

“Then I’ll help you get up,” Azriel replied without hesitation. “And if I fall, you do the same for me. That’s how it works—it’s not about being unbreakable. It’s about having someone to help you put yourself back together when you shatter.”

Solana remained silent for a long moment, absorbing his words. There was something comforting in the simplicity of that promise—not grandiose, not heroic, just real. Fae, even if neither of them was completely Fae.

“Thank you,” she said finally, her voice still fragile, but without the despair from before. “For reminding me that... that it’s okay not to have all the answers.”

Azriel nodded, his fingers still interlaced with hers. “Some of the bravest people I know are those who admit when they’re afraid.”

Around them, the tavern continued its familiar rhythm—glasses being refilled, low conversations, the occasional laugh. Life went on, oblivious to the fears and hopes unfolding at that dark table in the corner. There was something both comforting and haunting about it: the world would keep spinning, no matter what happened to them.

Solana looked at their tangled hands, then at Azriel’s face, etching every detail into her memory. If everything went wrong, if she truly failed, at least she would have had this—this moment of genuine connection amidst the chaos.

The air between them seemed thick with unspoken things, with possibilities neither of them dared to name. Perhaps it was better that way—some things were too big for words, too fragile to be exposed to the harsh light of reality.

For now, that was enough: intertwined hands, whispered promises, and the silent certainty that, when the time came, neither of them would face the darkness alone.

[shadowsovergold]

Read more at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66677668/chapters/174728661

They had been flying tirelessly for six hours. Solana was impressed by Azriel’s relentless flying—without rest, his arms never faltering around her, his eyes and wings easily finding the best currents to follow along the windy route.

Solana insisted they stop a few times, saying she needed to stretch her legs—which wasn’t a complete lie—but she also wanted Azriel to rest, drink water, relax the arms that carried her so strongly for so many consecutive hours.

Finally, they stopped for good when the sun began to set on the horizon, painting the sky with mesmerizing shades of orange, pink, and lilac. Azriel had admitted that he wouldn’t be able to fly with her in his arms for the entire twelve hours, so they landed in a dense pine forest, still in Night Court territory, but now to the south, closer to the border with the Day Court.

In addition to carrying her, Azriel also had a rucksack strapped to his back, between his wings, while Solana carried another in her arms, containing supplies for the night and the results of their research. Soon they were setting up camp—Solana pitched a magical tent that unfolded when she tossed it into the air, while Azriel searched the surroundings for kindling and pieces of wood to light a bonfire.

When he returned, he systematically stacked the wood but hesitated in front of his work, his jaw clenched.

Solana approached. “I can light it,” she said softly, noticing the way Azriel kept his distance, his gaze lingering on the wood with contained rigidity.

“You know how to do it?” he asked, crossing his arms, trying to appear indifferent. But she noticed—of course she noticed—the way he shoved his gloved hands into his pockets, as if instinctively protecting them.

“I learned from fishermen on the south coast,” Solana replied, smiling gently. “Not everyone in my court uses magic to solve everything with a snap of their fingers.”

She pulled a flint stone and a short, broad-bladed knife from a small leather pouch. The two objects seemed simple, common—but they carried an air of ritual, of practice. Solana pushed a handful of dry moss and thin twigs into the center of the fire pit and began striking the blade against the stone.

Sparks danced in the air. The metallic sound echoed low, rhythmic.

Azriel crouched on the other side of the stone circle, watching. The breeze brought the scent of burning moss and dried twigs. Solana persisted, striking the stone again. Sparks, an ember, a spiral of smoke. She leaned in, blew carefully until the fire finally took shape. The warmth rose, soft, casting flickering light on Azriel’s face.

She looked up, and for a moment, saw him watching the fire with a contained stiffness—not of vigilance, but of discomfort. And then she noticed the detail: the almost automatic way he adjusted his gloves, hiding his hands deeper in his sleeves.

“You don’t need to hide from me, you know,” she said, without taking her eyes off the fire.

Azriel blinked. “What?”

She looked at him, her eyes serious now. “Your hands. The fire.”

He stiffened but didn’t reply. The silence between them stretched for a few beats — until the first timid flame rose from the wood. Solana blew gently, encouraging it, until the fire came to life.

The warm, orange light illuminated the contours of Azriel’s face, revealing the tension in his jawline, the contained gleam in his brownish-gold eyes. His shadows crept away from the bonfire, as if they feared it too.

“You don’t need to hide from me,” Solana repeated, now softer. “Your scars... they don’t scare me. Nor do they make you less than you are.”

Azriel looked away. For an instant, it seemed he wouldn’t reply. But then he carefully removed one of his gloves and extended his hand towards the fire — not too close, just enough for the light to reveal the uneven skin, the ancient marks, deep and pale like old memories.

For an instant, the fire crackled, as if marking an invisible boundary between them. Azriel kept his gaze on the flames, his harsh expression softening only for a moment — a brief, but real instant. Solana settled on the other side of the fire, hugging her knees to her chest, listening to the crackle of the wood, a gentle silence settling between them.

Azriel’s shadows kept their distance from the fire, coiling around the trunk of a nearby pine tree, some hiding beneath the blanket of pinecones and needles on the forest floor.

“Do they always hide like that when you light a bonfire?” Solana asked, breaking the silence.

His eyes moved from the flame, now taking on a reddish-gold color, natural shadows licking his angular face. “I never light bonfires,” he answered simply.

Solana sighed and nodded her head. Azriel preferred to freeze in coniferous forests than warm himself by a fire.

“We’ve already talked about when they appeared,” Solana began, unsure, afraid of pushing him away. Azriel continued to stare at her, intently, as if he already knew what she was going to ask. “But you never told me how they appeared...”

Azriel inhaled deeply, still not taking his eyes off her, his shoulders tensing slightly. “It was a little after... my brothers burned me,” he said in a whisper, looking away toward the forest behind Solana. She almost regretted asking when an intense anguish contoured his features. “The loneliness and darkness were driving me mad. I prayed every day that someone would appear to rescue me, or that simply someone would show to talk to me.” He let out a humorless laugh. “One day, when my father brought food to me in the dungeon, I started seeing shadows dancing on the walls. They were there every time someone opened the door and let a little light in. Then I started hearing whispers and thought I was going insane.”

Azriel returned his gaze to hers. Solana realized she had unconsciously moved closer to him, her knees dragging on the soil until they were only a few centimeters apart.

“Little by little, they began to approach. I could feel them on my skin, coiling around my wrists, my ankles. They started warning me when my stepmother or my brothers were coming, preparing me. They weren’t mine yet, not like they are today. After a particularly heavy beating I took from my father, I thought I was going to die. I had at least fifteen broken bones in my body.”

Solana touched Azriel’s hand, intertwining her fingers with his. His gaze seemed drawn to the sight of their joined hands like a magnet.

“I had never cried so much in my life. I thought that was it for me. And then... they simply merged with me. They covered my body completely, and it was like being bandaged by icy silk wraps,” Azriel let a small smile play at the corner of his lips, his eyes still fixed on their connected fingers. “They’ve been with me ever since.”

Solana also smiled, tightening her grip on his hand. “I’m grateful they found you.”

There was something profoundly intimate in the way she spoke about the shadows—not as separate entities, but as an essential part of who he was. Her voice carried an almost sacred reverence, as if she understood that those shadowy entities were both guardians and companions.

Solana felt it when Azriel squeezed her hand back, noticing how his hazel eyes caught the light of the flames dancing around them. There was a rare defenselessness in his expression that made her heart hasten, as if her words had touched something deeply buried in his chest.

“You’re one of the only people they seem to like,” Azriel’s voice came out low, almost incredulous, and Solana realized he was still processing this impossible reality.

“You can’t be serious,” Solana joked, narrowing her eyes and seeing the shadows approach, cautious because of the flames, but resolute in reaching them.

“They’ve never touched anyone else but you,” Azriel replied in a whisper.

As if to confirm the truth behind their master’s words, the shadows crept up Solana’s legs with surprising delicacy. They were cool against her warm skin, but not unpleasantly so – it was like being touched by liquid satin. When they intertwined with her fingers, she felt an almost childlike curiosity in them, exploring the texture of her skin, the different temperature, the energy that pulsed through her. It was... sweet, in a way she never imagined shadows could be.

Solana couldn’t contain the giggle that rose in her throat, bubbling like champagne. It was impossible not to be overcome with an almost naive joy seeing the shadows swirl between her fingers like rings of black smoke. They were playful, almost timid, testing the limits of her acceptance, and she found herself wanting to embrace this experience completely.

When she looked at Azriel, her heart almost stopped. He was smiling – not the contained, careful smile she usually saw, but a genuine, wide one that completely transformed his face.

It was as if the sun had broken through stormy clouds.

His golden eyes shone with a mixture of astonishment and pure satisfaction, and Solana realized there was something almost sacred in the way he watched her, as if witnessing a miracle. Seeing Azriel like this – so open, so genuinely joyful – made something stir in her chest.

Solana felt the shadows become more playful and confident, seemingly stimulated by her melodic laughter. They entwined in her curly hair like curious fingers, exploring the silky texture of the strands. Some ventured onto her neck, soft tickles that elicited loud, spontaneous chuckles from her.

Solana closed her eyes, surrendering completely to the experience. Her hands moved to squeeze her ribs, which began to ache from so much laughter, but the pain was welcome – it was proof that this moment was real. Through her merriment, she could still hear the laughter that escaped Azriel – a rare and precious sound, deep and rich, that reverberated in her chest like a promise of something she couldn’t yet name.

The shadows seemed to feed on her joy, becoming bolder. Some played with the tips of her hair, others traced delicate patterns on her arms, and some simply contented themselves with wrapping around her wrists like living bracelets.

For Solana, there was a strange effortlessness in how she accepted Azriel’s shadows. She felt no fear or hesitation – there was something familiar in them, as if she recognized gentle souls beneath the dark appearance. They were not monsters or tools – they were companions, they were family. And the fact that they accepted her, that they chose to touch her when they had never touched anyone else, made something expand in her chest.

Observing Azriel watch the interaction with an expression of astonishment mixed with something dangerously close to hope, Solana felt that something had irreversibly changed between them. There was an intimacy in that moment that went beyond physical touch – it was as if she was being accepted not only by him, but by all the dark, hidden parts of his soul.

When the shadows settled around her wrists and forearms, her laughter faded like the last flames of a fire, but a smile still contoured both their lips.

“What are they whispering to you?” Solana dared to ask, her voice nothing more than a breath laden with curiosity and an openness she could barely hide. There was something mesmerizing in the way the shadows seemed to converse with Azriel, sharing secrets only the two of them understood.

Azriel seemed to hesitate, his mouth opening and closing as if trying to find the right words to translate what the shadows sang. His golden eyes filled with deep pain, and Solana realized he was fighting something much larger than simple words. “That you haven’t laughed like that in a long time. Not since the night we... when I...”

The words died on his lips like flowers wilting before blooming, and Solana felt her smile waver, the joy of the previous moment dissipating like smoke. The air between them became dense, electrified with painful memories and regrets that hung like ghosts.

“They speak the truth,” she admitted. “I think something inside me broke that night and I... was never the same.”

The weight of that truth hung over them, dense, suffocating.

“Since peace found Prythian, after Amarantha and Hybern, the Summer Court has returned to celebrating the Solar Bloom Festival,” Solana continued, turning her eyes to the bonfire burning beside them. “I was never able to celebrate again. I spent the festivities in the Azure Archivists’ library, or on Two Brothers Beach.”

Solana turned her eyes back to Azriel and what she found was a culpability that overflowed from his pupils like unshed tears. And an equally great guilt filled her, heavy and viscous.

When Azriel left after that night, she tried to understand the reason he abandoned her, why he begged her to let him go. But she had never understood, not like that very day, when she observed Azriel’s scars so closely. When she could almost feel the self-deprecation, the self-loathing that corroded him, seeping out of his pores like sweat.

“I'm sorry for what I said that day, after I woke up in your apartment,” Solana began, hesitantly. “I know you didn’t run away. That you were doing what you thought was best for me.”

Her fingers tingled to reach his face, so contorted with guilt and shame that it seemed like a mask of suffering. She settled for touching his wrist, feeling the accelerated rhythm of his heart beneath the scarred skin.

“I know you have deep demons that hunt you,” Solana continued, firmly, looking him deep in the eyes as if she could see through all the layers of protection Azriel had built. “And that as long as they continue to control you, you will never be free to be with someone.”

The words might sound cruel, but they were truths Solana wanted him to hear. For she wanted Azriel to be free. Not to be with her—Solana wouldn’t allow herself to think that—but to be truly happy. Finally.

“Then I guess I’ll die alone,” Azriel whispered, turning his palm up and taking Solana’s with a delicacy that contrasted with the hopelessness in his words. His fingers, along with the shadows, explored the lines that cut across her palm, massaging the skin between her thumb and forefinger as if memorizing every detail. “Because I don’t think I’ll ever be able to master those demons.”

There was a broken resignation in his voice that made Solana’s heart contract painfully. It was as if he were accepting a death sentence, and she could feel the weight of centuries of loneliness and self-destruction in every word.

Solana swallowed hard, the next words scratching her throat. She didn’t want to ask that question, didn’t want to hear the answer, but something inside her needed to know. “What about when you find your mate? You are going to run away?”

Azriel’s eyes returned to hers, so intense that her hand trembled while still engulfed in his. There was something fierce and absolute in his gaze, as if he were about to reveal the most fundamental truth of his existence. “I don’t have a mate.”

Solana’s heart pounded so hard in her chest that she knew he had heard. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, and she felt as if she were standing on the edge of a precipice, looking down at something that could destroy her or save her. She asked, in a whisper that barely escaped her lips: “Why do you say that?”

“Because if the Cauldron didn’t make you my mate,” Azriel sighed, his eyes slowly dropping to her lips. “Then there is no one else for me.”

The words fell between them like a confession and a condemnation at the same time. Solana’s chest now rose and fell with shameful speed, her lips pressing into a thin line as she struggled to process what she had just heard. She wanted to release his hand, for hers had begun to sweat, shamelessly betraying her nervousness, but at the same time, she couldn’t pull away from the warmth of his touch.

“Things wouldn’t work out between us anyway,” Solana tried to deflect, her voice coming out louder than intended, almost desperate. “We are too loyal to our courts. I would never be able to leave Adriata, and your whole life and family are in Velaris.”

Even as she spoke, Solana knew she was clinging to practical obstacles to avoid confronting the emotional truth that hung between them like a storm about to explode.

Solana raised her gaze, gathering courage to face him again. She wished she hadn’t. For what she found in Azriel’s eyes... was a calm, unwavering determination that said yes, he would have left Velaris for her. He would leave everything for her. There was a certainty in his gaze that turned her world upside down.

Azriel said nothing, neither agreeing nor denying, just looked at her with that intensity that seemed to burn through all her fortifications. The silence stretched between them, laden with unspoken possibilities and promises neither of them dared to vocalize.

Solana couldn’t bear the intensity of that moment any longer. Every second under that gaze seemed to expose another layer of her soul, and she felt completely vulnerable and exposed. So, she released Azriel’s hand as if it burned her and stood up abruptly, brushing twigs from her pants with nervous and deliberately busy movements.

“It’s late. I think I’ll go to sleep,” Solana said, still not looking at the male sitting on a large fallen tree trunk. Her voice sounded forcedly casual, as if she were trying to convince herself that this had just been another normal conversation.

Without a word, Azriel merely nodded, but Solana knew he was watching her. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her back like a physical caress and had to fight the urge to turn and run into his arms. Instead, she walked away with measured steps, each one a struggle against her own heart.

Solana had taken only five steps when Azriel’s voice cut through the night’s silence like a razor.

“Solana.”

She stopped but didn’t turn. She couldn’t. Not when his voice sounded like that—low, hoarse, loaded with a pain that seemed to echo through centuries.

“I know you felt it,” he continued, and Solana could hear the creak of the wood as he stood up. “That night. When we... when we were together. I know you felt it.”

Solana’s heart completely stopped. She squeezed her eyes shut, her nails digging into her palms until the physical pain could compete with the emotional anguish tearing through her chest.

“That connection. That recognition. Like something deep inside us finally remembered where it belonged,” Azriel pressed, and now she could hear his footsteps approaching.

“Stop.” The word came out as a broken plea from Solana’s mouth.

But Azriel didn’t stop. She could feel his warmth behind her now, so close that his breath touched her neck. “I ran because I felt it too. Because I knew, deep down, that what happened between us was greater than anything I had ever experienced. And that terrified me.”

Solana turned so abruptly that she almost stumbled, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“There’s no point talking about it now,” she said, but her voice trembled, betraying every word.

Azriel took another step closer, and Solana retreated until her back met the rough trunk of a pine tree. He followed her, placing a hand on each side of her head, trapping her not with force, but with the force of his presence.

“Then tell me,” Azriel whispered, his brown eyes burning into hers. “Tell me at once that it’s all in the past. That I mean nothing to you.”

Solana opened her mouth to lie, to say the words that would protect them from an impossible future. But when she looked into Azriel’s eyes, when she saw all the raw helplessness he was offering, the words died in her throat.

“That’s what I thought,” Azriel murmured, his eyes dropping to her mouth.

The air between them became electrically charged, every breath a struggle. Solana could feel his warmth radiating against her skin, could see the intensity in his eyes as he studied her as if she were something precious and broken at the same time.

Azriel leaned forward, so close that she could feel his warm breath against her lips. Solana involuntarily closed her eyes, her entire body trembling with anticipation.

“Solana,” Azriel whispered her name like a prayer, like a curse.

For an infinite moment, they remained like that—suspended between what was and what could be, the space between their lips measuring no more than a breath.

And then, as if someone had poured ice water over her, the image of Tarquin suddenly appeared in her mind. His kind blue-green eyes, always so patient, always so understanding. The way he smiled at her in the mornings, as if she were the first beautiful thing he saw upon waking.

Guilt hit her like a dagger through her chest, cutting through the fog of longing that enveloped her and left her breathless. The contrast was brutal—there was Azriel, intense and consuming, making her feel as if she were on fire inside, while Tarquin was safety and tenderness, a safe harbor she was betraying just by being there.

“Please, Azriel,” Solana pleaded, her hands trembling as they rested against his chest. She could feel his heart beating erratically beneath her palms, an echo of her own. “I can’t.”

Azriel stopped immediately. His golden eyes opened to meet hers, and Solana saw the exact moment reality hit him. The pain that crossed his features was so raw, so intense, that she had to fight the urge to reach out and take back her words.

For a moment, she saw everything there—the frustration, the pain, the reluctant understanding, and beneath it all, a resignation that seemed to have been built over years of disappointments.

“I know,” Azriel whispered, his voice hoarse with contained emotion. He moved further away, his hands sliding along the rough bark of the tree until he no longer touched her, as if he needed that physical separation to be able to breathe.

The cold night air filled the space between them like a third presence, and Solana felt the loss of his warmth as a physical pain that spread throughout her body. They stood there for a moment that seemed like an eternity, looking at each other across the distance that had formed again—she leaning against the tree with tears threatening to fall, he a few steps away with clenched fists and a controlled expression.

“I should go,” Solana finally said, her voice breaking on the last word. She pushed away from the tree, each movement a struggle against her own will.

Azriel simply nodded, putting his hands in his pockets as if he didn't trust himself not to reach for her again. “Of course.”

But neither of them moved further. It was as if they both knew that once she left, something between them would be irretrievably changed.

“Azriel...” Solana began, not quite knowing what she wanted to say, but needing to say something. Perhaps to explain that it wasn’t about not wanting him, but about not being able to want him. Not like this.

“I understand, Solana,” he interrupted her gently, and there was a devastating tenderness in his voice that made her want to run into his arms and run away from him at the same time. “You don’t need to explain. You are... you are loyal. It’s one of the things I admire most about you.”

The way Azriel said it—as if he were congratulating her on a virtue that was separating them—made something inside her shatter. Solana nodded, not trusting her own voice, silent tears breaking from her eyes.

Finally, with staggering effort, she pulled away from the tree. Each step seemed to weigh tons, as if she were walking against a storm. This time, when she turned to leave, Azriel didn’t call her back. But she could feel his eyes on her back with every step she took—not possessive or demanding, but sad and understanding in a way that made everything even more painful.

Solana walked slowly, part of her hoping Azriel would call her, part of her praying he wouldn’t. Only when she could no longer hear her own footsteps due to the pounding of her heart in her ears, only when the darkness of the forest swallowed her completely, did she hear his voice, low, carried by the wind:

“Good night, Solana.”

It was a whisper so subtle she almost thought she’d imagined it, but it carried so much affection and so much pain that she had to stop and lean her hand on a tree to keep from completely falling apart.

The night wind carried his words, mingling them with the whisper of leaves and the distant chirping of crickets, as if even nature knew that some things were too sacred to be heard by immortal ears. And Solana kept walking, each step taking her further from Azriel, each step breaking her heart a little more.

[shadowsovergold]

Read more at: https://linktr.ee/shadowsgold

“How can you not see?” She whispered. “You’ve carried all this pain alone. You punish yourself for things that aren'’t your fault. You isolate yourself because you think you don’t deserve love. But I see you, Azriel. I see the man you are beneath all that self-pity.”

“Self-pity?” He recoiled as if slapped. “You think this is self-pity?”

“I think you’ve convinced yourself you’re a monster because it’s easier than believing you deserve to be loved.” Solana didn’t let him pull away. “I think you use your darkness as armor because you’re afraid to be vulnerable.”

“I’m not afraid,” Azriel lied.

“You are,” Solana murmured, her eyes penetrating Azriel’s soul. “You’re afraid that I’ll truly see you and decide you’re not worth it. You’re afraid that I’ll realize you’re just a haunted man who desperately wants to be loved.”

“Stop,” his voice came out strangled and he tried to pull free from the hands holding his face.

“You’re afraid to be happy,” Solana continued, relentless. “Because if you’re happy, you’ll have to stop punishing yourself. And if you stop punishing yourself, you’ll have to forgive yourself. And that’s the most terrifying thing of all.”

“I told you to stop,” Azriel grabbed her wrists.

“Why?” Solana challenged, her voice firm. “Because you know I'm right?”

“Because I don’t deserve forgiveness!” Azriel exploded, his voice unbalanced, his face inches from hers. “Because I don’t deserve you, I don’t deserve happiness, I don’t deserve anything but the darkness I created!”

“Who decides that?” Solana shouted back. “Who decides you don’t deserve love? You? Your shadows? The ghosts of the people you killed?”

“I decide!” Azriel let go of her wrists, pulling away. “I decide because I am who I am. Because I did what I did. Because I am responsible for all the pain I caused.”

[shadowsovergold]

Read more at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66677668/chapters/173721502

Hers were so swollen, slightly parted as if Solana was ready to kiss him until it was the last thing she ever did, her eyes completely drunk with a desire that pulsed in Azriel's veins. He then buried his face in the curve of her neck, inhaling that intoxicating scent, letting himself be inebriated, hoping it would cling to his skin forever.

His tongue then traced the column of her neck, from her collarbone to her earlobe, reveling in the taste of her skin, the salty sea clinging to every inch. He tugged the lobe between his teeth, hard, eliciting a gasp from Solana. He then contoured her ear with his teeth and tongue, completely drunk, returning to bite her neck. He delighted in every millimeter of skin like a starving person at a feast, nibbling, licking, his grip on her hair tightening.

With each caress, Solana rocked on Azriel's lap, the friction driving him wild. If he didn't hold back, he thought he might come just from that touch.

Azriel then stood, eager to explore more of her body, and Solana wrapped her legs around his waist, their lips colliding again – the kiss utterly desperate, wet, sloppy. He pressed her against the nearest wall, crushing his hips against her center, and the scent of her arousal made the hairs on his arms stand on end, his mind emptying save for the agony of wanting to feel her, to possess her.

[shadowsovergold]

Read more at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66677668/chapters/173721502

 

They stood in front of Solana's bedroom door, fingers still intertwined, chests subtly heaving from the long walk to the Citadel. The corridor was silent, bathed in the soft light filtering through the windows, creating an intimacy that seemed to suspend time around them.

Azriel wanted to do anything but let go of her hand, anything but end what was becoming the best night of his life. Every passing second was too precious to waste, every shared breath in the space between them was a treasure he didn't want to see end.

Solana seemed just as reluctant as he was, her hand resting on the golden doorknob, refusing to open the door. He could feel her hesitation, the same internal conflict that consumed him – the desire to prolong that moment against the inevitability of separation.

"Thanks for tonight, Sol," Azriel finally whispered, his thumb making circular caresses on her palm. "Sleep well."

He slowly – and painfully – let go of her hand, the immediate emptiness in his fingers like a physical loss. He began to turn, each movement a battle against his deepest instincts. But before he could take another step, Solana pulled him by the arm, stopping him.

"Why don't you come in for a bit?" her voice came out trembling, but it had a certainty that made Azriel's muscles reset with the possibility.

"I shouldn't," he replied, even though what he wanted to do was the complete opposite. His voice was hoarse, betraying the internal struggle he was fighting. "It wouldn't be appropriate."

The words were a fragile shield against the desire that threatened to consume him whole. Despite the fire bubbling in his veins, the almost desperate need to stay with her longer, he respected Solana too much, respected her honor, what she represented.

All Solana did was laugh softly. "I'm not a puritanical maiden, Azriel," she teased, her fingers still firm around his muscular arm. "I don't want to be alone."

The plea in her tone was so raw, so honest, laced with a desperation at the possibility of him leaving, that it cut through all of Azriel's defenses like a sharp blade. There was a fragility in her voice he'd never heard before, a need that echoed his own. In that moment, he realized he had no choice but to fulfill her every wish, because to deny that request would be to deny himself the only thing that truly mattered.

When Solana opened the bedroom door, Azriel hesitated on the threshold for a moment, as if crossing that boundary was accepting something irreversible. She gently pulled him by the hand and he let himself be led, but not before absorbing every detail of the space she called her own.

The room was... her. Completely, unquestionably her.

The first thing that hit him was the scent—not just her personal perfume, which he already knew and made him think of jasmine and exotic spices, but something deeper. The smell of old books, vanilla candles that had recently been burned, and a subtle fragrance of almond oil that must have come from the bottles arranged on the dressing table.

The walls were painted in a soft peach hue that turned golden under the light of the various candles scattered around the room. There was no magical light there—only candles of different sizes and shapes, some in elaborate candlesticks, others in small glass jars, creating an atmosphere that was both welcoming and sensual. The dancing flames cast soft shadows that moved like benevolent ghosts across the walls.

One of the walls was almost entirely occupied by bookshelves—not rigidly organized like the libraries he knew, but in a way that suggested she truly read them. Some volumes were stacked horizontally, others leaned at relaxed angles. Bookmarks made of colorful ribbons protruded from various books, and Azriel noticed sheets of paper with notes scattered among them.

She takes notes as she reads, he observed, fascinated. He imagined her sitting in the dark green velvet armchair near the window, bent over a book, biting her lip as she wrote her reflections.

The bed dominated the center of the room—an imposing piece with a dark wooden canopy, but the fabrics that adorned it softened any harshness. Golden silk curtains hung from the posts, tied back with cords that allowed the candlelight to filter through them, creating golden patterns on the covers. The sheets were a rich cream color, rumpled in a way that suggested she had slept there the night before, and several pillows of different textures and shades—gold, terracotta, moss-green—were scattered against the headboard.

Solana led them to a window that took up almost the entire back wall, with the view of the Two Brothers hills and the dark ocean creating a living painting. They sat side by side, their legs touching, her hand resting on his knee. They stayed for a long time watching the landscape, their breaths synchronized, their fingers exploring each other's skin, the breeze messing up their hair, and at one point, Solana's head rested on his shoulder.

"Do you always come here when you're thinking?" he asked after a few minutes of silence, keeping his voice low so as not to break the intimate atmosphere that had molded between them.

"Since I was a child," she replied, without taking her eyes off the sea. "This has always been my place to... process things."

Azriel noticed how she avoided his gaze, how her fingers now nervously toyed with the hem of her dress.

"And what are you processing now?"

When Solana finally turned to him, Azriel felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. She was closer, close enough for him to see the small freckles on her cheekbones, to feel the warmth emanating from her skin, to observe the golden flecks in her dark eyes. Close enough to notice how she looked at his lips before meeting his eyes again.

"You know what," she whispered, and it was almost a confession.

Azriel's heart pounded. They had danced around that moment for so long that he had begun to think he was imagining the tension between them. But now, seeing the way she looked at him, he knew he wasn't alone in that feeling.

"Solana..." he began, but she shook her head.

"No. Don't say anything yet."

She turned completely towards him, crossing her legs on the windowsill, and Azriel had to concentrate to breathe normally. Now they were face to face, knees touching, and he could feel her breath mingling with his in the salty night air.

"I don't want you to say something that could change everything between us," Solana continued, her voice trembling, and Azriel realized she was just as nervous as he was. "Because once you say it, there's no going back."

Without thinking, Azriel raised his hand, stopping inches from her face as if asking for permission. When she didn't recoil, he touched her cheek, his thumb tracing a soft line along her smooth skin. Seeing her lean into his touch almost undid him.

"What if I don't want to go back?" he asked and heard the vulnerability in his own voice. He was completely exposing himself, but he could no longer pretend that what was between them didn't exist.

Solana closed her eyes at his touch, and when she opened them again, there was a determination in them that made his heart beat even faster.

"Then you'll have to kiss me," she whispered, "because I'm tired of pretending I don't want this."

Azriel felt as if the whole world had stopped. For a moment, they just looked at each other, and he memorized every detail of that instant—the way the moonlight bathed her face, how her lips were slightly parted in anticipation, how she looked at him as if he were the answer to a question she'd been asking for years.

He leaned forward, slowly, giving her time to change her mind, but desperately hoping she wouldn't. Solana didn't pull back. Instead, she met him halfway, and when their lips finally touched, Azriel understood that he had spent his entire life waiting for that moment without knowing it.

At first, it was just a subtle, delicate, timid touch. But then Solana brought her hand to the back of his neck and pulled him closer, parting her mouth and running her tongue over Azriel's lower lip.

His eyes rolled back under his eyelids when he felt his tongue meet hers. Azriel groaned against her mouth—a husky, muffled sound, a secret lost between teeth and lips. The taste of her mouth was exactly as he imagined—honey, red berries, and green wine, intoxicating, sweet, maddening.

He deepened the kiss without asking permission. His mouth shaped to hers, urgent, hungry, yet still controlled in an almost cruel way—each movement of his tongue calculated to provoke, explore, savor every gasp that escaped her throat.

Their lips explored each other with a torturous calm, their tongues entwining in a seductive dance that sent waves of heat throughout Azriel's body. He brought his hands to her waist, his fingers spreading over her skin through the thin fabric of her dress, pulling her body closer. Any distance between them was simply unthinkable now.

His fingers tightened on Solana's waist, slowly moving up the soft curves beneath the fabric, feeling the heat emanating from her like an ember hidden under satin. When he pulled her lower lip between his teeth, he did it slowly, with a precision that almost hurt him. The taste, the texture, the sound she made—Azriel swallowed it all, feeling desire build at the base of his spine like liquid fire.

When they parted, breathless, Azriel rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed, trying to process the intensity of what had just happened. She was so close he could feel her every breath.

"So," he murmured against her damp lips, his chest heaving, "no turning back?"

Solana smiled, her eyes still closed, and her fingers still intertwined in his hair. "No turning back," she confirmed, and when she kissed him again, Azriel knew he was lost forever.

The kiss was now urgent, desperate, tongues, moans, and teeth, as if they wanted to consume each other. Solana got up and sat on Azriel's lap, one leg on each side of his waist, and the contact of her body pressed so close to his made his cock—already hard since their lips had touched so fleetingly—throb in his pants. She seemed to feel it, as she grinded her hip against his, forcing him to bite her lower lip—hard—to stifle the growl that escaped his mouth.

One of Azriel's hands explored her bare thigh, her skin so silky, so perfect beneath his fingers. He slowly moved up to her buttock, deliciously nestled in his lap, squeezing and pulling her even closer. Her full breasts pressed against his chest, and through the thin fabric of her dress, he could feel her nipples hardened. All he wanted was to touch them with his tongue, bite them, until he heard Solana scream. The thought made his pants feel even tighter.

Azriel's other hand went to her hair, that curly cascade he loved so much, and he tangled his fingers in it, caressing her scalp, weaving them between his fingers. He coiled her curls in his hand and pulled her head back, firm but gentle, causing their lips to separate.

Hers were so swollen, slightly parted as if Solana was ready to kiss him until it was the last thing she ever did, her eyes completely drunk with a desire that pulsed in Azriel's veins. He then buried his face in the curve of her neck, inhaling that intoxicating scent, letting himself be inebriated, hoping it would cling to his skin forever.

His tongue then traced the column of her neck, from her collarbone to her earlobe, reveling in the taste of her skin, the salty sea clinging to every inch. He tugged the lobe between his teeth, hard, eliciting a gasp from Solana. He then contoured her ear with his teeth and tongue, completely drunk, returning to bite her neck. He delighted in every millimeter of skin like a starving person at a feast, nibbling, licking, his grip on her hair tightening.

With each caress, Solana rocked on Azriel's lap, the friction driving him wild. If he didn't hold back, he thought he might come just from that touch.

Azriel then stood, eager to explore more of her body, and Solana wrapped her legs around his waist, their lips colliding again – the kiss utterly desperate, wet, sloppy. He pressed her against the nearest wall, crushing his hips against her center, and the scent of her arousal made the hairs on his arms stand on end, his mind emptying save for the agony of wanting to feel her, to possess her.

His wings flared slightly behind Azriel, the shadows as frenzied as he was, intertwining around Solana's ankles, her wrists, her neck. He pulled his mouth away just enough to look at her. Solana's face was flushed, her lips red, swollen, glistening with a mixture of saliva and desire. Her eyes — Gods, those eyes — looked at him as if devouring him, as if wanting him whole.

Azriel brushed his nose against hers, his breath heavy, words grazing the damp skin of her lower lip: "If you only knew... how much I've fantasized about this."

Solana didn't answer. Instead, she pulled his mouth back with a hunger that burned away any remaining patience. Her tongue claimed him, demanding, bold, and Azriel surrendered everything — his breath, his self-control, the part of him that never allowed himself to be vulnerable.

Azriel blindly led them to the desk near the window, one hand firmly gripping her ass, while the other swept all the objects on the furniture to the floor. Ink jars shattered, scrolls flew, books splayed open, but he didn't care. He cared for nothing but the female in his arms, the urgency he had to taste every inch of her skin.

He sat her on the table and broke the kiss again, but without wasting time. He kissed the skin of her collarbone to her shoulder, biting the thin strap of her satin dress, pulling it down with his teeth to her arms, lowering the other with trembling fingers. Azriel slowly, with a reverent touch, lowered the top of the garment, exposing her full, upturned breasts.

Azriel shook his head, disbelieving that a female could be so beautiful as to make his soul ache. He looked into Solana's eyes, still hungry, still blazing, and brought his mouth to one of her breasts. Still staring at her, he circled her nipple with his tongue, a slow, almost lazy movement that made her head fall back and a wild moan escape her throat.

He licked, sucked, bit that delicious piece of skin, while his hand went to the other breast, squeezing, feeling its weight, experiencing its texture. Soon his fingers were playing with the other nipple, flicking it, twisting, pinching.

Solana's legs tightened around his waist, her fingers tangling and pulling his hair mercilessly. Azriel then brought his other hand to her center, and his cock twitched, feeling how devastatingly wet she was, even beneath her laced underwear. He let out an animalistic howl against her skin, his fingers instinctively touching her clit and making circular movements, slow and deliberate.

"Azriel," she called his name like a lament, and her fingers pulled his hair harder, until his lips were back on hers. The pain of having his hair pulled was delicious, and he didn't know how he was still sane in that moment.

"Let me taste all of you," he murmured against her mouth, his voice so low and hoarse it sounded like contained thunder.

"Yes," Solana responded, her teeth clamped on his lip. "Please."

The plea was so desperate that he immediately knelt, as if in prayer. Azriel slowly lifted the hem of her dress and took one of her feet, the anklet he'd given her still entwined around it. He placed a light kiss there and began to explore every inch of her skin with his lips, just as he'd wanted when he'd first fastened that jewelry on her.

Each kiss drew a gasp from Solana, each kiss made her heart pound harder, and Azriel was certain he had never felt that way in all his centuries of existence. No one had ever brought him to such a point of despair, of a desire so profound it dominated all thoughts, all emotions.

He lightly bit the inside of her thighs, and when he finally reached her groin, he let his nose brush against her core, inhaling, caressing, completely spellbound, utterly lost. Azriel ran his tongue over her clit through the thin fabric, feeling her thighs tighten against him.

Azriel then draped her legs over his shoulder, pulling Truth-Teller from its sheath. With a penetrating gaze into hers, he tore the side of her panties, pulling them down one of her thighs.

Solana's chest heaved, as if the air in the room wasn't enough to meet her demand, her breasts rising and falling in a hypnotizing rhythm. Still with his eyes fixed on hers, Azriel approached her naked center with deliberate slowness, her breathing becoming even more erratic, and with the same languor, he licked her, from her entrance to her clit.

He saw the moment her eyes rolled back in her head. He then pulled back to observe her – so exquisitely wet, her taste tickling his tongue, as sweet as the honey of the figs they had shared that night.

He returned to licking her, savoring every second without the slightest hurry. He traced circles on her core, at first only the tip of his tongue, and then its full length tasted Solana, wanting to drink every last drop of her arousal.

Azriel kissed her entire slit, desperate to explore every centimetre of skin and nerves, squeezing her thighs that now began to tremble under his hands.

He opened his eyes and found Solana already staring at him, her lips parted, her eyes completely consumed by scorching desire, and the scene almost made him climax right there, with her on his tongue.

Azriel couldn't stand to see her breasts so hard and ready for him, so his hands went to them, but not before exploring the skin of her belly, her ribs, until they found her nipples.

That touch seemed to be the last straw for Solana's restraint. She arched her back, threw her head back, and roared, the sound reverberating through Azriel's bones and awakening something animalistic within him. He now licked her frantically, sucked every inch of her, thrust his tongue into her entrance, and rolled her nipples between his fingers.

"Is that how you like it, Sol?" Azriel asked between licks, teasing, his eyes roaming Solana's face, wanting to memorize every feature of pleasure, wanting to engrave the sound of every moan into his memory.

"Yes," Solana said between moans, her fingers finding his hair again, grabbing it, pulling it ruthlessly, grinding against his tongue. "Just like that, Az."

The words hit him like a flaming arrow, setting his stomach on fire. He had to reach for his pants, adjusting his throbbing, aching, already slightly wet cock.

He began to suck with more urgency, circling her clit, licking, drinking, and when her thighs tightened around his head, Azriel knew she was close to climax. So he continued to stimulate her breasts—grabbing, flicking, circling—at the same time she was grinding against his tongue.

"Az..." his name came out muffled, between sobs, Solana's eyes squeezed shut. "I'm going to come."

The warning made Azriel groan, his eyes rolling back behind his eyelids.

"Come for me, Sol," he said, with desperation. "Come on my tongue."

The encouragement seemed to unravel Solana, who sighed, arched her back further, her legs trembling around Azriel.

Her body convulsed, her fingers pulled his hair harder, and Azriel held on with all the force in the universe not to come himself, just feeling her pleasure spill into his mouth.

When the waves of her climax began to disperse, Solana's body collapsed onto the table, while he still lingered there for a moment longer, licking up every last drop she could offer.

Azriel knew he would never be able to erase that taste from his mouth.

He stood, wrapping his arms around her waist and back, pulling her body close to his, and Solana rested her head in the curve of his neck.

"That was..." she whispered, her voice heavy, unable to finish her sentence.

Azriel chuckled, his fingers making light caresses on her ribs, on her arms. He pushed her curls away from her shoulder and placed soft kisses on the nape of her neck.

Solana's breathing gradually calmed, and when she finally seemed to regain her strength, she straightened, looking Azriel in the eyes.

Without another word, she touched his lips with hers again, this time slowly, delicately, unhurriedly.

"I want you," Solana sighed, her mouth pressed against his, and that plea broke something within Azriel. There was something in her voice—a vulnerability, a desire that went beyond the physical and the fire, a deep yearning.

She disengaged from his arms, slid off the table, intertwined their hands, and led them with slow steps to the bed. When they were just inches away, Solana released his fingers and reached for the collar of his tunic.

"I don't know how..." Solana murmured with a shy smile.

Her eyes were fixed on him, a golden flame reflected in the dimness of the room. It was the kind of gaze that could make any warrior drop their blade—or pull it even harder, depending on the war. In Azriel's case, all that remained was surrender.

With a light brush of his lips against hers, he moved his body away, just enough to create space between them. He kept one hand firm on Solana's waist, like an anchor, while the other went to the base of his neck, where the collar opened. His fingers, so accustomed to untying ropes and secret latches, slid to the hidden clasps at the top of his back.

He turned slightly, exposing part of a wing—large, black, almost alive in the dim light. The clasps came undone one by one, grating softly against the fabric, and the cool night air touched his skin, damp with heat. The linen yielded, slipping over his broad shoulders. Azriel slid the fabric down slowly, passing it carefully between the base of his wings, unhurriedly, without brutality—an almost reverent gesture, as if he knew that every inch of revealed skin was a confession he wouldn't make to anyone else.

Solana watched, in silence, but he felt her breath quicken, brushing against the bare skin of his chest, against the scars that marked his flanks. When the shirt fell softly onto the cold stone floor, Azriel lifted his face to her again. Now there was nothing left between them—nothing to cover his broad back, his chest sculpted by battles, his strong abdomen marked by lines of ancient shadows.

His wings opened a little more, breathing with him. Every beat of his heart echoed there, pulsed at the bony base, in the membranes that bristled under the touch of the wind coming through the window.

He felt Solana's gaze travel over his entire exposed form—chest, shoulders, scars, wings—and instead of flinching, he let her see. Every part of him. Every flaw. Every promise of strength.

When he approached again, his body bare from the waist up, Azriel held her face with both hands. Solana's heat flooded his fingers, spreading through his wrists, rising to the center of his chest, where his bare skin pulsed like a bonfire.

He smiled—a crooked, almost humble smile. He lowered his head, brushed the tip of his nose against hers, his mouth touching the corner of her lips still stained with passion. And then Azriel kissed her again—naked, real, whole—as if every beat of his wings was a whispered oath in the dim light.

Solana soon pulled back, not just her head, but her body, her eyes sweeping over Azriel from the top of his wings to his feet.

He watched the way her lips parted, an almost inaudible gasp escaping between them, how her eyes darkened to near black, pupils dilated by longing. How her breasts heaved with each deep breath, the delicate fabric of her dress moving hypnotically with the quickening rhythm.

She seemed to drink in every detail of his outspread wings—the way the black membrane seemed to devour the moonlight filtering through the window, creating dancing shadows on the wall behind him. Her eyes traced the fine veins that wove across their entire expanse like a delicate web, from the powerful base to the sharp tips. Azriel felt a shiver run through his entire winged structure as her gaze lingered on the joints where muscle and bone met, on the most sensitive points that no one had ever touched with such visual reverence.

His wings involuntarily fluttered under her scrutiny, a primitive response he couldn't control. The membrane contracted and relaxed, as if breathing independently, and he saw Solana's eyes widen slightly with the realization that his wings were a living, sensitive extension of his being.

Her eyes descended to his torso, following the intricate map of tattoos that spiraled from one chest, traveled over his shoulder, and descended his arm. Each line and curve seemed to pulse under her hungry gaze, as if the ancient marks gained new life under her attention. Azriel felt every muscle contract involuntarily, his body responding to the close examination as if it were a physical touch.

When she finally lifted her eyes to meet his again, there was something wild and feverish in her gaze that made Azriel's wings open even wider, instinctively expanding to impress, to dominate the space around them. It was a primitive, Illyrian response to the core, and he saw the exact moment she realized the raw power he contained, the predator lurking beneath the civilized facade.

Her eyes roamed to his abdomen—an expanse of muscles that seemed carved by the blade of a merciless god, descending to the curve of his pelvis. Her gaze lingered, heavy, on the bulge between his legs, and a shiver ran down his spine like a wave breaking inside his chest.

Solana took a deep breath—as if she had held her breath for centuries until that moment. Her fingers, trembling with anticipation and fear, reached for the waistband of his pants. It took her two tries to unfasten the leather clasp, but Azriel didn't move, didn't pressure her. Time seemed to fold around them, silent, expectant.

Now he stood completely naked before her. Not just his body.

He also reached for her and pulled the hem of her dress, drawing it over her head, stripping her.

He almost gasped. Nothing was more beautiful. Nothing. And Solana's beauty was cruel—because it made Azriel desire things he had no right to ask for. Like a home. Like peace.

He moved closer, cupping her face with his hands, looking deep into her eyes. He wanted to uncover all her secrets, he wanted to see the color of her soul, he wanted to lose himself in her gaze.

"Let me get lost in you..." Azriel whispered against her mouth, as if each word were a confession that could break him. "Until I don't remember who I am."

Because with Solana, he almost forgot about his stained hands,p the dried blood under his nails. He almost forgot he was made to kill, to spy, to obey. With her, he was just a male. A whole male.

Solana responded silently, touching her forehead to his. "Azriel, I..."

She couldn't finish the sentence, the words lost in the sea breeze. But he knew what she wanted to say.

Because he... he did too.

Azriel touched Solana's lips with his own, a response he hoped she understood.

Their tongues met, entwined, explored.

Solana intertwined their fingers again and took the last few steps to the bed, lying down and pulling him over her. Her hair fanned out across the sheets like a wild crown, and the way Solana looked at him in that moment... Gods, he would be lost. He was already hopelessly lost.

She lifted her legs, closing her ankles around his waist. The contact of her damp skin on his length made him hold his breath—as if holding thunder between his teeth. The kiss deepened, hungry, a shock that ignited every nerve.

His hands explored everything—the strong thighs that held him like chains, the fragile ribs, the full curve of her breasts, the pulse beating beneath his palm. When his hand found her neck, he squeezed gently, and the groan that vibrated in his mouth was a melody that promised destruction.

Solana moved her hips, slow and merciless, grinding just enough for his tip to brush her clit — a touch that made her body arch like an offering.

Azriel bit her shoulder, her collarbone, savoring every sound she let slip. Each whisper was another rope tightening around his sanity.

“Take me, Azriel,” she whispered, her hands wrapping around his cock, stroking him, testing his length and thickness with her fingers.

Azriel growled. He was no shadow, no Spymaster — he was only desire, only a male who wanted her until it hurt.

He would lose his mind completely and never find it again.

Solana rubbed his length through her wet center, circling him with his own tip, making him clutch the sheets hard, wings trembling behind his back, body strung tight.

He buried his face in the curve of her neck, biting down without mercy, and Solana squeezed him in her hand.

“Please, Sol,” Azriel begged, his teeth tugging at her earlobe. “Let me fuck you.”

Solana arched her back in answer, a raw moan falling from her lips. “Since you ask so sweetly,” she whispered, guiding his length to her entrance.

Azriel thrust his hips forward, feeling her heat swallow him, pull him in like home. A home he’d never had — and now it burned, burned away everything he was. The sound that tore from him didn’t even sound fae; it was a statement, a cry of everything he couldn’t say aloud.

Solana’s legs clamped tighter around his waist, forcing him deeper. Her breath hit his jaw, hot, damp, laced with soft moans that fed a hunger as old as the emptiness that had haunted him since boyhood.

He moved slowly at first, as if he needed to feel every inch, as if he needed to memorize her from the inside out — as if he wanted to carve himself there. His hands gripped her waist, thumbs digging into skin, almost like he needed to make sure she wouldn’t run. Like she’d vanish if he blinked.

But Solana never ran. Never from him. On the contrary — she arched into him, offered her neck, her chest, her mouth, her soul. Azriel buried his face in the hollow between her breasts, breathing in salt and heat and want, and when he lifted his eyes, he found hers locked on him — so deep it hurt.

Every thrust was an apology for all he was. Every moan from her, a reminder that here, he didn’t have to be anything but a male. No spy, no shadow, no soldier. Here, he was just flesh. Just heart.

He picked up the pace, urgency swelling like a tide that refused to retreat. The entirety of the room was filled with the wet slap of their bodies, the beat of his wings opening, trembling behind him as if they too wanted to wrap around her. Azriel didn’t know if he was shielding Solana or if she was shielding him — but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but her.

“Look at me,” he ordered, his voice rough, almost a growl against her skin. And when Solana opened her eyes, the way she looked at him… He let out a short moan, unable to bear so much surrender. So much light.

The shadows around him pulsed, restless, but they didn’t dare touch her. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was respect.

Maybe it was love.

He brought a hand back to her throat, feeling her pulse, feeling her life. He squeezed — not enough to hurt, just enough to remind her that he was there, inside her, completely. Solana moaned, her back arching, her hips lifting to take him even deeper.

“Again,” she begged, her voice breaking between kisses. “Harder.”

Azriel laughed — a humorless, ragged sound, because she had no idea who he became when he let go of control. But she wanted it. She always wanted all of him.

“You’re mine,” he growled, each word punctuated by a deeper, harder thrust, pulling a sound from her he’d carry in his memory forever. “Mine.”

His wings shuddered when Solana dug her nails into his back, scratching over old scars that would bleed again if she asked.

He was hers. To the bone. To the darkest shadow.

And when he felt her tighten around him, her muffled cry against his neck, it took every ounce of Azriel’s strength not to come with her. But he didn’t want to — not yet. He wanted to have Solana all night long, bury himself deeper and deeper inside her, fuck her until there was nothing left but sweat, trembling legs, and his name on her lips.

Still inside her, her walls gripping him tight, Azriel kissed her neck softly, then traced her jaw with his tongue, until their lips found each other for what felt like the thousandth time that day.

Solana laughed against his mouth, a weak, delirious sound. “How many times do you plan to make me come today?”

A moan slipped from Azriel’s lips. “As many times as it takes to make you mine.”

Solana pulled back just enough for their eyes to meet — searching him, stripping him bare. And he let her see it all.

She then pushed him by the shoulders, making him lie back on the bed. On all fours, Solana crawled toward him, and when she was close enough, she kissed him again. Her lips trailed down the line of his jaw, teeth grazing the length of his throat.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her hand open the nightstand drawer beside the bed, and from inside she pulled out a black silk ribbon. When Solana straightened up, her smile dripped pure mischief.

Azriel arched a brow, but she gave nothing away. She simply intertwined her fingers with his and guided his arms above his head, kissing him with a renewed urgency.

He felt her quick hands wrap the ribbon around his wrists, tying him to the headboard.

Azriel couldn’t hold back a smile as wicked as hers. “You want to torture me.”

Solana’s smile widened. “I just want… to play.”

He let out a long sigh when her lips went back to exploring his skin — now his chest — biting one of his nipples. Her tongue trailed down to his stomach, as if tracing every ridge of his abs, savoring every inch of muscle.

“So fucking gorgeous…” Solana whispered, biting along his ribs, making him squirm.

She then licked the muscles of his pelvis, her mouth slow and torturous as she lowered over the short, dark hair until she hovered over his throbbing cock.

When her tongue brushed his groin, a shudder ran through his thighs. Azriel arched his back, a growl ripping free, raw and unrestrained. This was what she did to him: the Illyrian, master of shadows, reduced to a chained, starving, vulnerable male. And he loved it. Damn him, he loved it.

Azriel couldn’t breathe. He no longer remembered how to.

And when her tongue licked that sensitive spot at his tip, a growl tore from Azriel’s lips — loud, hoarse, feral. He dropped his head onto the pillow and clutched the silk restraints binding his wrists, trying not to come apart completely.

He felt her warm laughter against his length, and then his eyes found her again. He didn’t want to miss a single second of that sight.

Solana wrapped her hand around the base of his cock, her thumb brushing the pulsing vein there. Azriel moaned, as if each touch was another nail in his sanity. And then she licked him — slow, merciless — her hot tongue circling his already sensitive tip, pulling a ragged sigh from him.

He looked down, struggling to focus. Her hair fell in dark waves over his hips, a perfect frame for the delicious hell she was dragging him through. Her eyes lifted, locking onto his. A silent command: Feel. Watch. Endure.

How he’d survive past that moment, Azriel had no idea.

He would die. He was certain he’d die with Solana’s lips devouring him.

Then she swallowed his head, tongue teasing, taking him all the way down until her lips met the base. Azriel knew he was hitting the back of her throat, but she didn’t pull away. She held him there for a few heartbeats, ripping more brutal moans from him.

When Solana lifted her lashes, her eyes locking on his again, he saw reflected in her the same fire burning him alive from the inside out.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, completely spellbound by the sight of her savoring him.

She didn’t answer — not with words. Her tongue swirled, slow, torturous, then she sank down again, her throat squeezing him in a way that made him cry out. Yes, cry out. No battle, no torture in war, no nightmare had ever broken him like the pleasure on her lips did.

“Solana…” He moaned, voice rough, breaking. “Please…”

Solana looked up at him again, pupils blown wide, her smile fierce as she sucked him hard, wet sounds echoing through the room. She was beautiful. Beautiful enough to destroy him.

When she squeezed his balls, a wave of pleasure detonated inside him. He let out a growl that was half a confession, half a plea for forgiveness for every sin he’d commit to have more. More of her mouth. More of that fire.

“Untie me…” Azriel begged, his voice dripping desperation. “Let me touch you… feel you…”

Solana lifted her head, her lips glistening, the tip of her tongue trailing slowly along his length, tasting every drop. Her smile was pure ruin. “Not yet, Spymaster.”

And then the heat of her mouth wrapped around him again — deeper, more ravenous. And Azriel knew, between ragged breaths and hoarse moans, that there was no going back. There never had been.

Solana released him with a wet pop, her fingers still wrapped around him, stroking him slowly as if she wanted to prolong the torment. Azriel panted, head thrown back against the pillow, his wrists trembling against the headboard from how hard he fought the urge to tear those bindings apart.

But he didn’t dare. He didn’t want to dare.

Solana climbed over him slowly, letting her hair brush his skin like a spell. Her breasts hovered over his chest, the heat of her skin radiating like a live ember. Azriel shut his eyes, gasping, when he felt the press of her sex — hot, slick — nudging his tip. A spark of pleasure shot down his spine like an electric current.

She took his face in her hands, forcing him to open his eyes. “Look at me,” it was her time to command, her voice low but more powerful than any battle cry he’d ever obeyed. Azriel opened his eyes — and almost groaned just from seeing the way Solana looked at him: devouring him, claiming him before she even took him fully.

She positioned herself, bracing her hands on his broad shoulders, and without breaking eye contact, she lowered her hips. Azriel felt his tip slide in, felt her heat swallow him inch by inch. His head fell back, a rough growl tearing from his throat.

Solana let out a soft sigh, almost a moan, throwing her head back when he filled her completely. The tightness, the heat, the way she controlled every movement nearly killed him. Azriel pulled at the restraints — useless — he wanted to touch those strong thighs, feel her hips riding him, brand his hands into her waist. But all he could do was feel.

She began to move. First slow, a torturous dance. She rose almost to the point of letting him slip out, then dropped down hard, the wet sound echoing through the room. Her thighs gripped his waist, her hips rolled in circles, grinding her clit against his base with every thrust.

Azriel couldn’t hold back the moans. They came out rough, raw, so bare they sounded like secrets of everything he was — and everything he stopped being with Solana above him.

“Solana…” he panted, his voice cracking when she squeezed tighter, her inner muscles pulling him deeper. “Gods… you’re going to… going to destroy me.”

She laughed — a warm, wicked, delicious sound — and leaned in, brushing her lips against his without giving him the kiss he silently begged for. “That’s the idea, Az.”

She rode him faster, the sound of skin slapping filling every corner of the chamber. His pleasure came in waves — and each wave hit harder than the last, dragging everything with it, shattering any scrap of sanity left. His wings trembled, beating against the bed, the shadows swirled, trapped, starving.

Solana dug her nails into his chest, marking his skin, scratching over old scars as if she wanted to carve a path straight to his heart. Azriel growled, thrusting his hips up against her, begging for more friction, more speed, more of her.

She grabbed his face again, her eyes burning. “Say you’re mine.”

He nodded, frantic, his whole body throbbing, muscles hard as stone beneath her. “I’m yours. Only yours. Always.”

Solana smiled — that cruel, beautiful curve that could make a god kneel — and lowered her lips to his neck, biting hard, sucking the skin until it bruised dark. As she marked him, her rhythm quickened, a wild gallop that made Azriel let out a moan so loud it felt like the whole room trembled.

When she felt his body pulse, tension coiling at the base of his spine, Solana locked her eyes on his, gripping his face tight. “Look at me when you come.”

And Azriel obeyed. Because he no longer knew how not to obey her.

When release hit him, it was an explosion — fire, shadows, light — everything merging into a blaze that swallowed his mind whole. He came deep inside her, body arched, wings spread wide in a powerful arc that sheltered them both like a sanctuary.

Solana rode him through every last spasm, until he had no strength left for anything but whispering her name through gritted teeth, like a broken prayer.

When it finally ended, his chest rose and fell in ragged, uneven breaths. And even with his wrists still bound, Azriel felt — more than knew — that he was free. Because there was nothing left that she didn’t own of him.

Not even himself.

[shadowsovergold]

Read more at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66677668/chapters/172022866

Azriel watched the sea waves crash against the structure of the floating restaurant. The waves were so strong they rose to the large opening that would be a window, but magic prevented the water from invading the hall. The view was breathtaking, even under the night sky. The ocean presented itself in colors of navy blue with some turquoise streaks, small black islands floating in the distance, while seagulls flew high, settling in for the night.

The restaurant hall was small, almost like a dining room of a beach house. There were only a few tables, all made of polished wood, each lit by thick candles in bronze candelabras that cast flickering shadows on the walls decorated with shells, corals, and tapestries in oceanic tones. The cold stone floor kept the coolness of the night, while the music—soft, of harp and flute—mixed with the distant sound of the waves.

Azriel was lost in the sight of the tide breaking on the high wall of the restaurant when the door opened, and the sound of sea bells announced a new arrival, drawing his attention to the hall's entrance. What he saw made a gasp catch in his throat.

Solana's eyes slowly wandered through the small hall until they finally landed on him. She wore a thin-strapped yellow satin dress, so clung to her body that he could clearly see every curve—of her breasts, her waist, her hip. The dress had a slit on her right thigh, exposing a large portion of her brown skin, which sparkled with a golden glow.

Her hair was wavy, falling like black cascades over one shoulder, a large pearl earring hanging from one of her pointed ears. Her eyelids were painted with gold, a slight blush tinged her cheeks, and her bright lips parted in a wide smile as she also analyzed him.

Solana seemed to walk in slow motion toward the table where Azriel sat, her thigh exposing more with each step she took, a sight that sent waves of heat throughout his body. When she was finally close enough, Azriel jumped, his chair nearly toppling behind him.

Solana placed one hand on his shoulder and, still with that smile on her lips, pressed a light kiss on his cheek, so subtle and delicate that he could barely feel it, but it still made his face burn.

"Hello, Spymaster," Solana greeted, her hand still resting on his shoulder. Azriel clenched his fists to keep from wrapping his hands around her waist.

"Emissary," he replied, his voice rough, pulling out the chair opposite his for Solana to sit.

Gods, she was so beautiful that Azriel suddenly felt inadequate, dressed in black leather pants and an equally dark linen tunic, the first buttons open revealing his tanned, muscular chest. He straightened in his chair, his wings slightly uncomfortable behind him due to the furniture's lack of adaptability, and fastened another shirt button to not appear so disheveled.

A waiter soon appeared before them, two menus in hand. It was designed to highlight fresh seafood: oysters served in mother-of-pearl shells, shrimp flambéed in citrus wine, grilled fish with herbs from the chef's own garden. Solana quickly ordered a bottle of green wine, and Azriel ordered some appetizers—a board of seaweed and artisanal bread, flambéed boreal shrimp, and figs stuffed with cream cheese and drizzled with honey.

Azriel had already tasted the excellent food from that restaurant during his last visit to the Summer Court, accompanied by Solana, Tarquin, and Cressida. The others couldn't join them this time, and Azriel suddenly felt as if he were on a date with Solana.

His hands began to tingle at the thought, droplets of sweat staining the pearlescent tablecloth. Azriel took a deep breath, trying to ignore the heat spreading inside his shirt. Solana seemed oblivious to the silent battle he was fighting—or perhaps she wasn't oblivious at all, considering the smile that danced on her lips as she settled into the chair across from him.

She leaned back, one leg crossed over the other, causing the golden fabric of her dress to open even wider over her thigh. Her eyes scanned Azriel from his feet to his wings, and she raised an eyebrow, amused.

"So…" Solana began, her voice low, sweet as the honey they would soon have on the table. "The great Spymaster can track entire armies in the night… but gets nervous sitting at a dinner table with me?"

Azriel shifted his gaze to the magical window, watching the water crash and break against the enchanted structure. A bead of sweat slid from his temple to his jawline, and he offered a slight, crooked smile.

"I'm not nervous," he replied, firmly, but the hoarseness in his voice betrayed him. "Just… observant."

Solana let out a small laugh—the sound light, sparkling, seemed to blend with the clinking of glasses at other tables. She leaned in a little, resting her elbows on the table, her décolletage illuminated by the warm candlelight.

"Observant, hmm? Are you going to tell me you're on watch, Azriel?" Her fingers reached for his across the table, tracing a soft path over the back of his gloved hand. "Here, in the middle of Adriata, inside the most enchanted restaurant in the Summer Court?"

He held his breath when he felt her touch. His thumb lightly brushed the soft skin of her wrist. "Maybe I'm watching you," he retorted, softer, a slight predatory glint in his eyes.

Solana burst into laughter, so sudden it made the waiter, who was approaching with the wine bottle, offer a discreet smile before stepping away to fetch the glasses. She composed herself, still laughing, and bit her lower lip, tilting her face toward his.

"And what do you think you'll find, Spymaster?" she whispered, her eyes shining like the moonlit sea.

Azriel held her wrist more firmly, yet still delicately. A spark of courage—or confession—ignited in his voice:

"Perhaps I'm just… trying to forget. Trying to ignore how selfish it is to be here—while Rhys… is there, Under The Mountain. And I am here. With you."

For an instant, Solana said nothing. The sea roared, muffled by the magical structure, as if holding its breath too. Then she released his hand only to place it on his face, her thumb tracing the firm line of his jaw.

"Azriel," she said, her tone low, grave, without sweetness now—but warm as the summer sun. "We would be doing our High Lords a disservice if we stopped living. If we let ourselves wither while they fight. You are more useful this way—whole. Alive. Capable of feeling."

Azriel held her gaze, but the shadows behind him seemed to tremble. A muscle twitched in his jaw. "I know," he murmured, almost as if he didn't want to believe it.

Solana smiled faintly, leaning in even closer, their knees brushing under the table. "Then live, Azriel," she whispered. "At least for tonight. Live for him. For us."

He let out a slow sigh—almost a tired laugh. And then, as if that permission was all he needed, he raised his glass.

"For us," Azriel repeated.

The glasses clinked softly, and for a moment, even the sea seemed to respect the toast. The silence stretched for a few more moments as they savored the sweetness of the wine, each other's company, the smell of spices wafting from the kitchen.

Azriel watched Solana swirl her wine glass, and every movement of hers was like sweet torture. He could feel his own heart hammering against his ribs, a desperate rhythm he feared she could hear above the sound of the waves. For centuries, he had learned to control every beat, every breath, every micro-expression—but she... she disarmed all his defenses without even trying.

"It's fascinating," Solana said, and her voice glided over his skin like silk. "How Prythian's most feared Spymaster becomes so… docile, at a dinner by the sea."

Docile. The word echoed in his mind like a taunt. He didn't feel docile—he felt like a hungry predator who had finally spotted his prey but was still fighting his own instincts. Every fiber of his being vibrated with an almost unbearable tension, the shadows whispering confusedly in his ears, torn between protecting him and pushing him forward.

Azriel raised an eyebrow, forcing himself to appear casual as he rested his face in one hand while watching her. She was radiant under the golden candlelight, and he allowed himself a moment of pure admiration, etching every detail into his memory as if it were the last time he would see her.

As if I deserve this, he thought, a familiar pang of self-deprecation trying to creep in. But tonight... tonight he wouldn't let his insecurities rob him.

"Who said I'm docile?" The question came out rougher than intended, loaded with a hunger he had tried to suffocate for so long it physically ached. "I'm just… focused."

Focused on not ruining everything. Focused on not falling to my knees and begging her to let me touch her. Focused on not admitting I've been lost for years.

Her soft laughter was like honey poured directly into his wounded soul. When Solana leaned in and their knees touched under the table, Azriel felt as if he'd been electrocuted. Such a simple, innocent touch, yet it sent waves of heat throughout his body. He held his breath, the entire world reduced to that point of contact.

He couldn't retreat. Not this time. All his life he had retreated—from Mor, from love, from the possibility of happiness. But Solana... with her, he wanted to be brave. Needed to be brave.

Deliberately, Azriel moved his leg, brushing his knee against the inside of her thigh. The gesture was bold by his standards, and he felt his own face warm with the audacity. But when she didn't pull away—when, on the contrary, she seemed to lean even closer towards him—something wild awakened in his chest.

"Focused on what?" Solana provoked, her voice dripping with sugar and challenge.

Her provocation was accompanied by an almost imperceptible tremor in her voice, and Azriel clung to that sign that she also felt the electricity between them.

He didn't answer immediately. He couldn't—he was too busy trying to process the magnitude of the moment. Slowly, as if approaching something sacred that could unravel at the slightest abrupt movement, he extended his free hand across the table.

His fingers trembled. He, who could slit throats without hesitation, who could torture enemies without flinching, was trembling because of a simple touch. The vulnerability of the gesture terrified him, but he didn't stop.

When his fingers found hers, the world realigned. First it was a timid touch—he was still half-convinced she would flee—but then his fingers intertwined with hers, and it was as if all the pieces of a complex puzzle had finally found their places.

She didn't flee, he marveled. She's still here. She's letting me touch her.

What made him so direct? Perhaps it was the growing certainty that life was too fragile to waste on hesitations. Perhaps it was the constant fear, since Rhysand's imprisonment, that everything could end at any moment. Or perhaps he was simply exhausted from living on the fringes of his own life, always observing, never participating.

"On you," he finally replied. "On what you're trying to say… without saying anything."

When Solana turned her palm upwards, offering herself to him, Azriel thought he would faint. It was a surrender—hers, but also his. A silent admission that they both wanted more than polite words and furtive glances.

He accepted the offer with an almost religious reverence. Every line of her palm was a mystery he wanted to spend eternities deciphering. His thumb traced hypnotic circles, and he marveled at the softness of her skin, the warmth, the unbelievable fact that she was letting him do this.

"And what am I saying?" Her question came in a whisper, and Azriel caught the vulnerability behind the words—she was also afraid, also exposing herself.

When her knees pressed against his under the table, he felt every nerve ending in his body awaken. It was intimate, secret, and the familiarity of the gesture made him tremble inside.

Azriel leaned over the table, drinking in every detail of her face as if he were a thirsty man before the first sip of water in days. The sparkle in her dark eyes, the way her lips parted slightly, the visible pulse at the base of her neck—everything about her was precious, and he wanted to keep every detail forever.

"That you want to see how far I'll go," he said, and his voice came out lower, rougher, charged with a dangerous promise. "That you want to know if I'll hold back."

Solana's laugh sounded nervous, and he saw her swallow hard, as if his words had surprised her. But then she did something that almost killed him—she turned her hand and stroked his wrist with her fingertips.

The touch ascended his forearm, slow, deliberate, and Azriel felt as if every inch of skin touched by her caught fire. He trembled—visibly, shamelessly—and didn't care. He couldn't care about anything else besides those fingers on his skin.

"Perhaps I want to test you, Spymaster," she murmured, and there was something wild in her voice now, something that made his shadows dance restlessly around his wings. "See if the most restrained among us is really you."

The challenge was like oil on a bonfire. Azriel smiled—slow, dangerous, a smile that revealed the predator living beneath all his polite masks. It was a smile that promised things, that admitted desires, that delivered secrets he had kept his entire life.

"Be careful, Sol," he whispered, his eyes locked on hers. He let her see everything in his eyes—the desire, the hunger, the need that had devoured him for years. "I am patient… until I'm not."

It was a warning and a promise. A last opportunity for her to retreat, if she wished.

But Solana didn't retreat. Instead, she raised her chin in a gesture of pure courage and touched his face with her free hand. Azriel closed his eyes, allowing himself simply to feel. Her thumb brushed his stubble, then descended to his lower lip, pressing it lightly.

He thought he would die. The touch was innocent and sinful at the same time, and he had to use all his willpower not to capture that finger between his teeth, not to show her exactly how little control he truly had.

"Then don't be," she provoked.

The words were like a lit match thrown onto a pile of dry kindling. Something inside him broke—or perhaps, finally, was freed.

The world exploded in flames around them.

A soft sound interrupted the spell: the waiter approached, bringing the appetizers—the aroma of flambéed shrimp and fresh honey mingling with the salty breeze. But neither of them moved immediately. They stayed like that, knees pressed together, fingers intertwined on the table, her face inches from his. The sea crashed hard against the magical wall, casting blue reflections on the ceiling, as if the water also wanted to intrude.

When the platters were set before them, Solana leaned back in her chair, but didn't let go of his hand. Their thumbs continued to brush against each other, small touches that said everything words still refused to say.

And when Azriel leaned in, a contained smile on his lips, he knew—from her eyes—that their game was just beginning.

He barely paid attention to the platters the waiter placed before them—shrimp still steaming, figs glistening under a thin layer of salted honey, the artisanal breadboard surrounded by marinated seaweed. He only saw Solana.

When she slowly released his hand, dragging her fingertips across the back of it as if to engrave an invisible mark, he felt the absence like a physical ache. But then she picked up a flambéed shrimp, dipped it in the citrus sauce, and brought it to her lips without taking her eyes off his.

Azriel rested his face in his hand again, his wings fluttering almost imperceptibly behind him—the only indication that he was still fighting to maintain some semblance of control. He watched her eat like one watches a battle unfold—clinical, heart racing, completely motionless on the outside while a hurricane raged within.

Every movement of hers was calculated. The way she bit, slowly, her lips parting to savor the sauce, her neck arching to swallow. She knew exactly what she was doing, and that only made it more unbearable.

She's teasing me, he realized, and the discovery was like kindling on the fire already burning in his chest.

"It's delicious," Solana whispered, lightly licking the tip of her finger where a drop of sauce had dripped. The gesture was pure seduction, and Azriel felt his pupils dilate. "Want to try?"

He raised an eyebrow, one corner of his mouth curving into a smile that promised trouble. Heat was burning through his entire body now, the shadows dancing restlessly around the outlines of his wings.

"Are you offering me food… or something else?" The question came out lower, hoarser, loaded with innuendos that made her eyes sparkle.

Solana bit her lower lip—a gesture that almost made him groan aloud—and picked up another shrimp. But instead of putting it in her own mouth, she extended it to him, spanning the short distance across the table.

"Why don't you come and find out?" she provoked.

Azriel didn't hesitate. The world might have stopped—and perhaps it had—when he leaned over the table. He could have taken the shrimp with his hand, but he didn't. He needed to feel her touch, the warm skin beneath his mouth, the breath that faltered when his teeth brushed the tip of her finger.

The groan that rose from his throat was involuntary, primal. He was lost—completely, irrevocably lost.

"Did you like it?" Solana whispered, playing with her glass, but her eyes never left his.

Azriel lightly ran his tongue across the corner of his lip, collecting a remnant of the citrus sauce. He did it slowly, deliberately, and watched with wild satisfaction as she bit her lip again.

"I'm still not sure," he replied, his voice so low only she could hear. "Perhaps I need another taste."

When Solana picked up a fig, broke it in half, and ran her finger through the fleshy inside, collecting honey, Azriel knew he was about to completely lose control. She raised her hand toward his face, but this time he was faster.

He held her wrist—firmly, possessively—and brought the tip of her finger to his own mouth. His lips closed around the honey, his tongue slowly brushing against her soft skin, and he felt her tremble, felt her pulse race beneath his fingers.

For a moment that felt like an eternity, no one moved. Azriel kept his eyes fixed on hers as he savored not just the honey, but her skin, the moment, the mutual surrender that hung in the air between them.

When he finally released her wrist, he did so unhurriedly, reluctant to break the contact. The look they exchanged was laden with promises, with hunger, with a need that transcended anything he had ever felt.

"Sweet," he murmured, his voice hoarse, desire dripping from every syllable. "So sweet."

Just like you, he thought, but some words were too dangerous to say aloud. For now.

The dinner that followed was a delicate dance of provocations and whispered confessions. Azriel found he could eat while watching her every move, every smile, every time she ran her tongue over her lips to savor the sauce. He also discovered he could talk—truly talk—without his usual defenses.

"Tell me something no one else knows," Solana asked, delicately cutting a piece of grilled fish. The candlelight danced in her hair, creating golden reflections that mesmerized Azriel.

He paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. For centuries, his secrets had been his armor, his protection. But here, in that suspended moment between the sea and the starry sky, he heard himself say:

"I used to have nightmares about flying." The words came out before he could censor them. "When I was a child. I dreamed my wings would crumble in the air and I would fall... infinitely."

Solana stopped eating, her eyes fixed on him with an attention that made him feel simultaneously exposed and... seen. Truly seen.

"And now?" she asked softly.

"Now…" Azriel hesitated, then smiled—a small, but genuine smile. "Now I dream I'm flying with someone."

She didn't ask who. She didn't need to. The warmth that rose up her neck, the way her fingers tightened on the fork, said everything.

"Your turn," he whispered, resting his chin in his hand. "What's Solana's secret that no one knows?"

She laughed, a nervous, but charming sound. "I… I don't know how to waltz. I never properly learned. At Court parties, I always find excuses to avoid it."

The confession was so unexpected that Azriel blinked, processing. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face—not the dangerous smile from before, but something softer, truer.

"I could teach you," he offered, and the words came out loaded with a promise that transcended dancing.

"Here? Now?" Solana looked around the elegant restaurant, and Azriel shook his head.

"When we're alone," he said simply, and watched her swallow hard.

The conversation flowed after that, as natural as the tide outside. They talked about books they loved, places they wanted to visit, childhood memories they rarely shared. Azriel discovered that Solana had a contagious laugh when she relaxed, that she bit her lip when she was thinking, that her eyes sparkled when she talked about something she was passionate about.

And she… she made him laugh. Not just politely smile, but genuinely laugh, a sound he hadn't heard from himself in decades.

"You should do that more often," Solana commented during a pause, her fingers playing with the rim of her wine glass.

"What?"

"Laugh. You look…" she paused, searching for the right words. "You look even more beautiful when you're happy."

The compliment hit him like a well-aimed arrow. Azriel felt his face warm, and for the first time in centuries, he didn't try to hide the effect her words had on him.

"Solana…" he began, but she shook her head.

"Don't say it's not true. I have eyes, Azriel. And I…" she took a deep breath, as if gathering courage. "I like to see you happy."

I like to be happy with you, he thought, but instead of saying it, he reached across the table. This time, it was she who intertwined her fingers with his without hesitation.

They finished dinner like that, fingers intertwined, talking about everything and nothing, creating a bubble of intimacy that not even the restaurant's movement could break. When the waiter brought dessert—a red fruit tart with whipped cream—Azriel watched, fascinated, as Solana ate each spoonful with an almost sensual pleasure.

"Want a taste?" she offered, and this time there was no provocation, only generosity.

Azriel nodded, and she cut a piece, extending the fork toward him. But when he leaned in to accept, she withdrew the fork at the last moment, smiling mischievously.

"Solana…" His voice carried a playful warning.

"Sorry," she laughed, offering again. This time, she let him eat, but not before stealing a small amount of whipped cream with her finger, which, as she brought it to her mouth, brushed against her cheek.

Azriel watched her for a moment, then, without breaking eye contact, reached out and wiped the whipped cream with his thumb. The gesture was intimate, soft, and when he brought his thumb to his own lips to clean off the sweetness, her eyes darkened.

"There," he murmured, his voice hoarse.

"Thank you," she whispered back, and the word carried far more weight than simple gratitude for wiping whipped cream from her face.

When they finally left the restaurant, the night was clear and starry. The sea breeze played with Solana's hair, and Azriel found himself mesmerized by the way she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as if wanting to cherish that moment forever.

"Tonight was…" she began, searching for words.

"Perfect," Azriel completed, and it was true. It had been perfect in a way he had never imagined possible.

When he offered his hand, she took it without hesitation. Their fingers intertwined naturally, as if they had always fit together like that. They began to walk toward the Citadel, unhurriedly, savoring the feeling of simply… being together.

"I don't want this night to end," Solana confessed after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

Azriel stopped walking, turning to face her. The light of the stars and street lamps created a soft halo around her, and he had to try hard to breathe.

"It doesn't have to end," he said, his voice low, but firm. "Not if you don't want it to."

They looked at each other for a long moment, and Azriel saw the exact instant she made her decision. He saw when fear gave way to determination, when hesitation turned into certainty.

"I don't," she said simply.

They resumed walking, but now there was a different energy between them. An anticipation, an unverbalized promise that hung in the air like perfume.

"You know," Solana said, breaking the silence, "I always thought you were… inaccessible. Untouchable."

Azriel chuckled softly. "I'm quite touchable, actually." The provocation slipped out before he could censor himself, and he saw her blush under the starlight.

"Azriel…" her voice carried a mixture of shock and amusement.

"Sorry," he said, but he wasn't sorry at all. "You bring out sides of me I didn't even know existed."

"Sides like what?"

He stopped again, gently pulling her until she faced him. With his free hand, he brushed a strand of hair from her face, letting his fingers linger on her soft skin.

"Sides that want to laugh. That want to play. That want to…" he paused, not daring to finish the sentence.

The words hung between them, laden with possibilities and promises. Solana gasped sharply, her eyes widening.

"Azriel…"

"I know it's too soon to say this," he continued, his voice firm despite his racing heart. "But I need you to know. Tonight… you… changed something in me. Something I thought was long dead."

Instead of responding with words, Solana rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his cheek. It was a soft, chaste kiss, but charged with all the emotion they couldn't express in words.

When they separated, Azriel rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed, trying to memorize every detail of that moment.

“Let’s go home,” Solana whispered.

Home. The word echoed in his mind, and something unfurled within him, like a tension he didn't know he carried finally dissipating. Adriata. Not Velaris, with its familiar mountains and starry skies he had known since childhood. Not the House of Wind, where he had spent countless nights planning and protecting. But here, in this city of clear waters and golden light, beside her. For the first time in centuries, he not only knew where home was—he felt where it was, with a certainty that surprised him with its intensity.

"Let's go," he replied, intertwining his fingers with hers again, marveling at how natural it seemed to leave behind everything he had always considered his home.

And so, under a starry sky, they walked hand in hand toward the Citadel, no longer two solitary people, but something new, something they didn't yet have a name for, but that shone between them like a promise of all the tomorrows to come.

[shadowsovergold]

Read more at: https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/173258599?show_comments=true&view_full_work=false#comment_936065197

Solana remained incredulous. Before she could say anything else, Azriel completed, “She has a mate. Lucien Vanserra.”

Solana’s features relaxed, but not because Azriel and Elain weren’t together. It was because of the realization that struck her like a candle lighting in the darkness—the pattern, the repetition, the way he always chose the impossible.

“It seems you always get involved with unavailable women,” Solana said, irony mixed with hurt, and she cursed herself for barely being able to keep sane at that moment.

The look Azriel gave her made her breath catch in her throat. It was a deep, visceral recognition, as if he heard unspoken words intertwined in Solana’s voice. As if she wasn’t just talking about Elain or Mor.

“I guess you’re right,” he replied, his eyes so piercing that she still hadn’t been able to breathe again. There was a raw vulnerability in his voice that she hadn’t heard in years. “Perhaps, deep down, I know I don’t deserve to be loved back. Maybe that’s why I pursue what I know I can’t have.”

Solana’s head spun—from lack of oxygen or the weight of Azriel’s words, she didn't know.

Something within her softened—those ill-contained emotions melted before that shared defenselessness. Because deep down, she knew Azriel better than anyone. She knew his demons as she knew her own.

“Perhaps that’s true,” Solana admitted, now another feeling taking root in her stomach. “Because when you had someone who adored you in the palm of your hand, you let them slip away.”

[shadowsovergold]

Read more at: https://biolink.website/shadowsgold

One of Azriel’s hands released Solana’s ankle and rested on her neck, his fingers finding the accelerated pulse that beat like hummingbird wings against her skin. The movement brought his face so close now that her forehead touched his and their lips brushed in the lightest, subtlest of touches.

And that mere phantom of a touch made Azriel’s stomach tie itself in knots impossible to undo. It made his eyes roll behind their eyelids, as if the outside world had ceased to exist.

He angled his head just a little more to the right, just so his lips would brush hers again and again.

His fingers were now lost in Solana’s hair, while hers now clutched the collar of Azriel’s tunic, as if that grip was the only thing keeping her grounded.

Azriel could think of nothing else. He didn’t know if the world continued to spin, if the ocean still stretched beneath them, if the moon had emerged from its hiding place behind the clouds—he wanted to know nothing. Nothing but the temperature of Solana’s breath on his cheek, the soft touch of her lips on his, the texture of her hair between his fingers.

Solana rubbed her nose against his, a delicate gesture that brought their mouths together again, and her lips parted just slightly, allowing her lower lip to fit between his.

The low moan that escaped Azriel’s throat was almost inaudible, but Solana must have felt it vibrate against her lips. She tilted her head slightly, and for a terrifying and wonderful moment, Azriel thought she would deepen the contact, that she would finally cross that thin line between almost and completely.

Azriel held his breath. Everything in him screamed to surrender, to capture her mouth, to pull her even closer and finally taste what he had been imagining on sleepless nights. His hand, lost in her hair, tightened slightly, as if he could prevent her from pulling away—but deep down, he knew she held all the power to decide the next movement.

[shadowsovergold]

Solana opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

The scent of Tarquin was still on her skin, but it was Azriel who set her mind ablaze now. He stopped so close that she felt his warmth battle the cold of his shadows. His hands—still clenched—trembled, as if it took all the self-control of a centuries-old warrior not to touch her.

She almost whispered his name. Almost raised a hand to touch his face, trace the firm line of his jaw, rest her fingers on those lips she had dreamed, for so many nights, of feeling against her own. But the distance between them was made of unspoken things—and of everything that was too late.

Azriel tilted his face, as if to say something—but swallowed the words. Solana felt the brush of his breath against her mouth, and for an instant, the world seemed contained in that space between them. A space so small, yet so impossible to bridge.

Then Azriel took a deep breath, as if he needed to wrench strength from his own chest to pull back. He looked at her as if it were a farewell. A broken promise.

When he turned his back, the shadows retreated like a hastily pulled cloak.

And Solana felt—deep in her throat, at the root of her chest—that the part of her that had always been his had just died a little more.

Read more at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66677668/chapters/172814866

[shadowsovergold]

Read more at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66677668/chapters/172022866

Four hundred and fifty-two days.

It had been fourteen months since Azriel was last in Adriata. Four hundred and fifty-two days since the Solar Bloom Festival.

He now soared over the vast ocean, the deep turquoise of its surface reflected in Azriel’s outstretched wings. He thought he would never get used to that sight—an immensity so eternal that it made him feel wonderfully insignificant. He also thought he would never cease to be awestruck by the view of Adriata from above, a collection of mother-of-pearl, colorful roofs, and hanging gardens.

He felt his chest clench. He almost turned back, almost flew like the coward he was, back to Velaris. But the mission was more important than his shame, more important than his unresolved feelings.

So, he folded his wings behind him and allowed his body to free fall, letting the wonderful chill of adrenaline fill his stomach, replacing the dread that consumed him.

He didn’t know how he would be able to face Solana. Not after all this time, after having left Adriata without a word, after barely having responded to the dozens of letters she had sent to the Night Court. Azriel wished there was a better word than coward to describe him.

When he landed on Snare Beach, the soft sand greeted him with the familiar warm hospitality of the Summer Court. Azriel didn’t fail to notice how his shadows seemed to instantly relax, spreading away from him in all directions—to the ocean, to the undergrowth, playing with the iridescent grains of sand. He himself hadn’t gotten used to the proximity of the tide, but the ocean and the shadows seemed like old friends.

Azriel wound through the canals of Adriata as if he had been accustomed to visiting that city for centuries. He let his feet carry him to a familiar jewelry tent near the Sundrinker’s Square, which he had never dared to enter before. In fact, he had never had a reason to venture into a jewelry shop.

Azriel hesitated at the entrance, his scarred hands clenching into fists. He had faced demons, assassins, and the worst nightmares Prythian could offer, but the mere idea of entering that shop made him feel like a nervous teenager.

It’s just an apology, he told himself. A civilized way of acknowledging that you were an idiot.

Azriel pushed open the jewelry shop door almost soundlessly, as if afraid to disturb Adriata’s salty, vibrant air. Outside, the sound of the sea crashing against the dock still mingled with the murmur of the markets, the laughter of children running with flowers in their hair, but inside, everything was silent.

The jeweler, a Fae with amber skin and eyes pale as pearls, looked up from behind the mother-of-pearl-encrusted counter, his fingers stained from polishing gold and silver. He offered a polite smile, but it quickly faltered as he recognized the shadows moving behind Azriel’s broad shoulders.

“Can I help you, sir?” the jeweler asked, his voice sounding as if he feared disturbing a secret.

Azriel didn’t answer immediately. He let his eyes wander over the displays, taking in the gleam of coral necklaces interwoven with gold threads, the delicate earrings that looked like crystallized drops of the sea, the intricate chains that shimmered under the sunlight filtered through the bluish stained glass.

Everything there carried the scent of the Summer Court—the lightness, the salt, the whisper of waves—but that wasn’t what he was looking for. He wanted something that spoke of forgiveness, something that said without words that he remembered—and thought of her for almost all of those four hundred and fifty-two days—every detail of that warm afternoon of the Solar Bloom Festival.

“I need an anklet,” Azriel finally said, his voice low and hoarse.

The jeweler raised his eyebrows, surprised. Azriel knew an anklet wasn’t a trivial gift in the Summer Court. There, that ornament signified intimacy, a touch of desire that hinted beneath light fabrics, an adornment few would see—but which the recipient would carry like a whisper on their skin.

“We have some unique pieces, sir. Sea gold, shell silver, pearls from the western coves…” the merchant opened a small wooden box carved with shells. Inside, very fine bracelets intertwined with each other like sleeping serpents.

Azriel didn’t need to see them all. His gaze stopped at a simple, delicate chain anklet adorned with small light blue pearls and a single darker stone in the center—almost the color of the shadows that followed him. Quiet, soft, yet profound.

He lifted the piece between his fingers, trying not to think about how it would look around her ankle. Trying not to think about her legs, about the way Solana’s thighs had intertwined with his in a dance so intimate that it still made his body burn after all those months.

Azriel shook his head, trying to push away those memories that haunted his every waking second. “I'll take this one.”

As the jeweler wrapped the anklet in a blue velvet package, Azriel idly turned the coin in his hands, feeling its weight. He wasn’t a man of gifts. He was a man of secrets, of daggers, of silences. But Solana... Solana deserved something beautiful. Even if it was just a sigh caught around her ankle, whispering: Forgive me. I still remember.

When he left the shop, the wrapped anklet disappeared into the fold of his leather jacket, swallowed by the shadows. But inside his chest, Azriel felt something gleam—something that, for an instant, was almost hope.

____________

The main hall of the Summer Court beamed under the late afternoon’s golden light, its white marble columns reflecting the coral and turquoise hues that danced across the walls. Azriel remained in the shadows, as always, observing every movement, every expression of the High Lords gathered around the circular table adorned with shells and pearls.

Rhysand spoke of the latest reports of suspicious activity on the borders, his voice controlled but tense. His violet eyes glowed with the intensity of someone carrying heavy secrets. Helion gestured dramatically as he presented his theories about rumors of a new threat growing in the shadows, his golden rings sparkling with every movement. Tamlin remained silent, his jaw clenched, clearly uncomfortable with the whole situation.

But Azriel could barely focus on the words being exchanged. There was a constant pressure in his awareness, a familiar tingle that made him want to shift his shoulders. His Spymaster instincts screamed that he was being watched, analyzed.

He didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

Solana sat to Clessid’s right, her presence radiating the ancient power of deep waters. The blue-green dress she wore seemed made of the ocean’s own waves, molding to her body like a second skin. Her dark, braided hair was pulled back in a bun atop her head, adorned with small pearls that caught the light.

And her eyes... Damn her eyes.

Azriel had felt the weight of that dark gaze on him for over an hour. They were eyes that resembled the oceanic depths where sunlight created golden reflections in the abyssal darkness. It wasn’t a casual glance, not even curious. It was penetrating, questioning, as if she were trying to decipher a particularly complex enigma. As if she were digging into his soul for answers he wasn't willing to give.

Why did you disappear?

Azriel clenched his fists, the shadows stirring nervously around his shoulders. Rhysand shot him a questioning look from beside him, but he pretended not to notice.

“—needs to be a coordinated approach,” Clessid was saying, his voice laced with authority. “If this threat is real, we cannot underestimate what might be coming.”

“The point is to identify exactly who is behind these rumors,” Solana interrupted, and Azriel felt his spine involuntarily straighten at the sound of that melodious voice. “Someone with enough power to cause this unrest didn’t just appear out of nowhere. They must have history, allies, resources.”

She spoke directly to the group, but Azriel could feel those dark eyes still fixed on him, as if each word were a stone thrown in his direction.

“Do you have any theories about who it could be?” Rhysand asked, leaning slightly forward.

Solana finally looked away, and Azriel felt as if he could breathe for the first time in hours. “There are a few names that come to mind,” she answered carefully. “Ancient bloodlines that disappeared centuries ago, banished sorcerers who might have returned... But those are just speculations.”

“We need more than speculations," Beron murmured, his amber eyes glowing with impatience. "If there truly is a new threat emerging—”

“Then we need to be prepared,” Solana cut in, her voice suddenly icy. “But we cannot react out of fear. That would be exactly what our enemies would expect.”

The silence that followed was heavy, laden with political tensions and the growing concern about what might be approaching. Azriel took advantage of the pause to observe Solana—truly observe, as he hadn’t in months.

He had seen beauty in its many forms throughout the centuries. He had known females from all courts, each with their own magic and charm. But when his eyes landed on Solana, something inside him just... stopped.

She was on her side, her face lifted slightly to the sky visible through the glass ceiling, stretching in pink and golden hues of the sunset. The soft light caressed her dark skin like liquid silk, creating an ethereal glow that made it seem as though she had been sculpted by the sea gods themselves. Every curve of her face was a work of art—the delicate yet strong line of her jaw, the elegant neck that extended like a column of polished black marble.

Her lips... Cauldron save him, her lips were temptation incarnate. Full and naturally colored, they shimmered with a rosy hue that resembled the inside of a rare shell. They were slightly parted, as if she were about to whisper some ancient secret from the ocean depths.

Her eyes were closed, shielded by long, curved lashes that cast delicate shadows over her high cheeks. Azriel knew that, when fully open, they revealed those black irises flecked with golden specks—as if someone had captured the stars and imprisoned them in the darkness of the marine abyss. They were eyes that seemed to hold all the mysteries of the sea, deep and mesmerizing.

There was something about the bone structure of her face that was both real and angelic—the well-defined cheekbones, the perfectly arched brows that framed her eyes when open, the delicate yet distinctive nose. It was a beauty that transcended the merely physical; there was power there, a silent strength that radiated from every pore.

Her dark hair was partially braided and pinned up, with a few loose strands that danced softly in the sea breeze. The natural texture of her hair created a magnificent contrast with her luminous skin, and Azriel felt an almost irresistible urge to run his fingers through those silky curls.

Azriel could see the tattoo that adorned her collarbone and extended over her shoulder—intricate marks that looked like stylized waves or perhaps ancient runes of the Summer Court. They moved with her gentle breath, as if they were a living part of her skin.

But what captivated him most weren’t just her individual features, however perfect they were. It was the expression of absolute peace on her face, the way she seemed to be in complete harmony with the world around her. There was a serenity in her that contrasted with the constant storm that lived within him.

In that moment, bathed in the golden and pink light of dusk, Solana didn’t just seem like a High Fae of the Summer Court. She looked like a goddess of the waters, a creature born of sea foam and the sunbeams that danced upon the waves.

And Azriel, the Shadowsinger who had always lived in darkness, found himself completely lost in her light.

His shadows, usually restless and whispering, had quieted around him, as if even they recognized something sacred in that moment. As if they knew they were in the presence of something rare and precious.

And then Solana looked directly at him.

This time, Azriel didn’t look away when their eyes met. There was something different in the dark immensity of Solana’s gaze—not just confusion or questioning, but a pang of something that felt dangerously close to... pain?

A year, those eyes seemed to say. An entire year without a word, without a visit, without an explanation.

Azriel swallowed hard, his shadows now violently stirring. He had his reasons for not returning to Adriata. Valid, rational reasons... or at least that’s what he told himself every night when sleep wouldn’t come.

But under Solana’s penetrating gaze, all his justifications seemed as fragile as crystal.

“Azriel,” Rhysand’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Do you have anything to add?” Azriel blinked, realizing all eyes at the table were now fixed on him.

“Pardon?”

“The reports from your spies,” Rhysand repeated patiently. “Any suspicious activity that might be related to these rumors?”

“Ah,” Azriel straightened his shoulders, forcing his mind to focus on work. “Some strange movements near the mountains between the courts. Creatures avoiding main paths, nocturnal meetings in isolated locations. Nothing concrete yet, but...” He hesitated, feeling the weight of Solana’s gaze again. “But it’s worth investigating.”

Clessid nodded. “My own scouts have reported something similar in the more distant waters. Ships appearing and disappearing without a trace. As if someone is... organizing.”

The meeting continued for another two hours, strategies debated, resources allocated, plans drawn. But Azriel could barely concentrate. Every few minutes, he felt those eyes on him, asking silent questions he didn’t know how to answer.

When the meeting finally ended and the High Lords began to bid farewell, Azriel quickly stood up, intending to escape before—

“Spymaster.”

The title that used to be a playful jest between them now sounded cold. Distant. Angry.

Solana’s voice made him freeze at the door. He turned slowly, finding her standing a few steps away. The others had already left, leaving them alone in the grand golden hall.

“Emissary,” he replied formally, inclining his head slightly, a gesture he hoped conveyed casualness.

Solana studied him for a long moment, those dark eyes with golden reflections like nocturnal constellations seeming to read all his secrets in the shadows dancing around him. “It’s interesting,” she finally said.

“What?”

“How someone can simply... disappear.” Her voice was soft, but there was a sharp blade hidden in those words. “Especially someone whose job should bring them regularly to all the Courts.”

Azriel felt his throat tighten. “I’ve been... busy."

“Busy.” She repeated the word as if it were something bitter on her tongue. “For an entire year.”

“Solana—”

“No.” She raised a hand, interrupting him. “You don’t owe me explanations, Spymaster.” She took a step closer, and Azriel could smell the scent of sea salt and star jasmine that always accompanied her. “Even though I mistakenly thought we were friends. I don’t understand what could have happened to make you flee so completely after the Solar Bloom Festival.”

Her voice was too controlled, too polished. Azriel knew Solana well enough to know that when she spoke with such calculated coolness, she was using all her strength not to crumble. It was the voice she used in diplomatic meetings when she needed to hide her true emotions. And to know she was using that tone with him—that he had become just another stranger she needed to keep at a distance—almost doubled him over in pain.

“I didn’t flee,” Azriel said, his voice rougher than he intended. The denial sounded pathetic even to his own ears.

Solana smiled, but it wasn’t a joyful one. “Of course not.”

When she made to turn, to walk away from him, Azriel felt panic explode in his chest. He couldn’t let her walk away—not when he was finally in her presence, not when he could feel the warmth of her skin and hear her voice. He couldn’t run—not again.

“I... I was a coward,” he finally admitted the truth that had haunted him for all those fourteen months. “At the Solar Bloom Festival, I was terrified, Solana.”

Speaking those words was like having heavy shackles removed from his ankles. Like breathing again after torturous minutes drowning in the sea.

Solana arched an eyebrow, defiant. “Terrified of what?”

There was a dangerous sharpness in her voice, as if she were testing if he’d have the courage to tell the complete truth. As if she knew exactly what he was going to say and wanted to hear him admit every painful word.

Azriel sighed, the sound loaded with exhaustion and regret. Yes, she wanted to torture him. And yes, he deserved every second of agony.

“When we danced at the festival...” he seemed to have forgotten how to form coherent sentences, the words tumbling over his tongue. “Solana, I... My body... You...”

The words died in his throat. How could he explain that having her body pressed against his had been simultaneously heaven and hell? How could he say that the way she had looked at him—as if he were something precious, something worthy of admiration—had terrified him more than any enemy he had ever faced?

Solana chuckled softly, covering her mouth immediately afterward. The sound was like a dagger straight to his heart. Azriel stared at her with wide eyes, feeling as though he’d been stripped of all dignity. How could she be laughing at him now, when he was exposing himself like that?

“Az,” she stepped closer, resting a hand gently on his shoulder.

The endearment almost made him crumble. There was longing in her voice, a tenderness that contrasted with her earlier coolness. And her touch... Cauldron, her touch was like balm on a burn, soft and healing.

“That’s the effect of the Solar Bloom Festival’s magic. Everyone gets horny during the summer solstice.”

Azriel almost gasped at Solana’s brutal honesty. He was sure his surprised expression was pathetic—his lips parted, his eyes wide.

“What you felt, the way your body reacted,” she continued, her voice firm but gentle. “It’s completely normal.”

Azriel frowned. He thought the reaction of having Solana’s body fit so perfectly against his wasn’t just an effect of the Summer Court’s centuries-old festival. But he couldn’t tell her that.

“I didn’t know how to look at you after that," Azriel admitted, his voice nothing more than a pained whisper. “I was sure I was doing you a favor. That you would never want to see me again.”

He heard Solana sigh. A sorrowful, trembling sigh, the kind that escapes the lungs after a blow. Azriel didn’t fail to notice the anguish that filled Solana’s irises.

“Come on,” she hissed after a few moments of silence heavy with suppressed emotions, extending her hand to Azriel. “Amren and Varian are at Two Brothers Beach. Why don’t we go meet them?”

Azriel almost didn’t dare to take her hand—so delicate, so perfect, with long, elegant fingers adorned by delicate rings—with his own damaged, scarred ones that told stories of violence and pain. His hands were the physical evidence of everything he was: a soldier, an assassin, someone who lived in the shadows and fed on secrets.

But under her pleading gaze, given the pain he had unconsciously inflicted upon her, Azriel couldn’t deny that touch. He couldn’t deny the way their fingers intertwined like puzzle pieces, as if they were made to fit together. He couldn’t deny how the warmth emanating from her seemed to send away the darkness that always accompanied him, as if she were a source of light capable of illuminating even the darkest corners of his soul.

Soon Solana was pulling him through the shimmering corridors of the Citadel, winding through balconies and hanging gardens, a suppressed laugh escaping her throat. He himself could barely contain the smile playing on his lips, completely enveloped by her joy, which always infected him with the ease of an epidemic.

When they arrived at Two Brothers Beach, they were breathless, chests heaving, sweat plastering strands of hair to their temples. Still holding hands, they walked along the white sand, hot as silk warmed by the Summer Court’s merciless sun. The waves came and went in a lazy waltz, licking Azriel’s ankles with cool foam.

Amren and Varian were sitting on a long orange sarong, their legs intertwined and golden goblets in their hands. The sight of Amren so relaxed beside someone still disturbed Azriel. He didn’t know how someone with such ancient, such dark power, could melt so sweetly in a male’s arms.

“Don’t stare at her like that,” Solana whispered in his ear, her warm breath sending shivers down his spine. “Even the most powerful beings deserve love.”

“She can hear you two whispering,” Amren said without even looking up from her goblet. “And yes, Shadowsinger, even I can have moments of... relaxation.”

Varian chuckled softly, putting his arm around Amren’s waist. “She was anxious for you two to arrive.”

“I don't get anxious,” Amren retorted, but there was an amused tone in her voice.

Solana and Azriel sat beside them without another word, the sarong so large there was still room for two more people. A wicker basket filled with fruits, cheeses, and other Adriatan delicacies rested in the middle, and three bottles of coconut liquor were nestled in a golden ice bucket. Solana grabbed two goblets and filled them with ice and liquor, handing one to Azriel. Just the scent of the drink made Azriel close his eyes, and when the liquid touched his tongue, he couldn’t contain the moan of pleasure that escaped his lips.

He heard Solana’s laughter, low, intimate. When he opened his eyes, he met her smile, bright like the Adriatan sun.

“Good?” Solana asked, watching his reaction closely.

“Too good to be true,” he admitted, taking another sip. “How did you know I’d like it?”

“Because I pay attention,” she answered, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “You like simple, yet refined things. Sweet, but not cloying. Like you.”

Amren made a sound of disgust, rolling her eyes. “If you two are going to be exchanging gooey stares all afternoon, I’m going to need more alcohol.”

Azriel felt heat rise up his neck, staining his cheeks. Instinctively, the shadows that weren’t playing with the tide surrounded his face, shielding his embarrassment at Amren’s words—at his own lack of control over his reactions.

Solana seemed unaffected, a small smile playing on the corner of her lips as she watched him, curious.

Azriel twirled the goblet in his hand, observing the ice lazily clinking against the sides. Solana, beside him, crossed her legs in the sand, a strand of hair escaping her bun, making Azriel’s fingers tingle to touch it.

Amren’s voice cut through the spell, and Azriel clenched his fists, burying them in the warm sand. Amren set her goblet on the sarong, picked a piece of fruit from her nail, and shot Varian a sharp look. “Remember that time you brought me here?” she asked, her voice low but laced with irony.

Varian raised his eyebrows, as if expecting trouble. “Which time? You have a habit of kidnapping me to improbable places.”

“The first time,” Amren corrected, crossing her arms. “When I asked if the water was safe, and you said there were no sharks.”

Solana laughed before the story even continued. “And were there?” she asked, her voice blending with the sound of the waves.

Varian held up his hands in defense. “Technically, there weren’t...” he said, drawing out the words. “But there were huge stingrays. And a two-thousand-year-old turtle.”

Azriel let out a muffled sound, almost a chuckle—almost. “And what happened?” he asked, swirling the liquor in his goblet.

Amren smiled, but it was a dangerous smile. “I pushed Varian into the water first. If someone was going to be eaten, it might as well be him.”

Solana burst into laughter, leaning against Azriel’s shoulder by reflex. He remained still, but the corner of his mouth twitched, a discreet half-smile.

“You have to admit, Varian, you were brave,” Solana teased. “Taking Amren into the water... that’s almost a death sentence.”

Varian shrugged, resigned. “Yeah. But, you see...” He turned to Azriel, as if seeking complicity. “Messing with her is worth it. Sometimes.”

Amren lightly slapped his arm, but the way her fingers lingered, playing, betrayed how fond she was of that fool.

Solana took a generous gulp of the liquor, then looked at Azriel, raising an eyebrow. “And you, Spymaster? What’s the biggest risk you’ve ever taken in the name of... fun?”

Azriel met her gaze—so curious, so alive—and breathed slowly. “Sitting here with you three,” he replied, dryly, but humor vibrated beneath the surface, discernible only to those who knew how to listen.

Varian guffawed, clapping his hands. “He’s not wrong. Being on the beach, drinking with Amren nearby... He’s practically asking to drown.”

Amren clicked her tongue. “I don’t drown anyone. Only if they deserve it.”

“And do I deserve it?” Varian teased, leaning in to brush his nose against hers.

“I’m still deciding.” But Amren’s smile completely contradicted her words.

Solana let out another laugh, and Azriel smiled slowly, unhurriedly. He watched the sea, the evening light playing on her skin, the braids that kept falling from the top of her head, swaying in the breeze.

“More liquor?” Solana offered, raising the bottle toward him.

Azriel held up his goblet, letting the ice clink. “Please. If I’m going to survive you lot, I’m going to need more of this.”

The liquor bottle was already being passed around when Varian leaned in, resting his goblet casually on the sand. Amren watched him with that smile no one else in the world received—half predatory, half surrendered.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice slurred, a slightly drunken whisper.

Varian raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Nothing. Just wondering... are you still deciding if I deserve to be drowned?”

Amren let out a low laugh, bringing her face close to his until their mouths almost touched. “I’m starting to think you deserve a different kind of punishment.”

And then Varian kissed her—slowly, but without any gentleness. The muffled sound of their mouths meeting, the way he held her face with both hands, the way Amren yielded, arching her body until she was almost lying on the sarong... everything became absurdly visible, too explicit even for that deserted corner of the beach.

Solana coughed uncomfortably, staring at the horizon as if the sea were suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. Azriel, for his part, clenched his jaw, downing the rest of his liquor in a single gulp.

“Are they going to... stop?” Azriel asked, not looking directly at Solana.

She laughed, but the sound was strained, almost humorless. “You know Amren, don’t you? She does what she wants, when she wants.”

Amren let out a soft groan, low but loud enough for Azriel to avert his gaze to anything else—the sky, the dunes, even the ice bucket. Varian chuckled between kisses, completely ignoring their captive audience.

Solana sighed, nudging Azriel lightly with her elbow. “Shall we... take a walk?” she suggested, in a tone that pleaded for some fresh air—or distance.

Azriel didn’t need much encouragement. He put down his goblet, let the ice melt on its own at the edge of the towel, and stood up, extending a hand to Solana. When she laced her fingers with his, they both rose together, shaking the sand clinging to their skin.

They walked casually along the sand, hand in hand, as if they had all the time in the world. Azriel’s hair—longer now—tousled by the late afternoon breeze, his black tunic fluttering, his wings almost entirely open behind him. There was something different about the Adriatan breeze that made his wings almost take on a life of their own, relaxing without his command, spreading like kites ready for flight. Perhaps it was the warmth of the eternally hot climate, perhaps it was the sea air tickling his skin. Or perhaps it was the way he almost felt at home in Adriata. Frighteningly comfortable. Vulnerable.

Solana stopped walking, burying her feet in the wet sand at the water s edge. Azriel watched the way the auburn light played on her skin, how her eyes became slightly clearer, how her hair reflected coppery strands intertwined with the black.

She was gazing at the silhouette of the Two Brothers in the distance, and Azriel knew how much that sight meant to her. It was sacred, as if they were two gods in the ocean, protecting her.

“Do you want to get up there?” Azriel asked in a whisper, afraid of interrupting what seemed like a prayer between Solana and the mountains.

She turned slowly, her slightly distant eyes taking on a sparkle that made Azriel’s insides melt. “Can we?” she asked back, an almost childlike tone in her voice, her hand tightening its grip on his.

Azriel didn’t bother to answer; he simply put his arms behind her knees while the other circled her shoulders. Solana let out a giggle, and he gave her no time to protest—he bent his knees to get a boost for a leap, and soon they were flying, his wings beating and cutting through the air with the precision of an Illyrian born flying—which he didn’t, but he compensated for his lack of flight in his early years with centuries of practice.

Solana’s hands were firm on his neck, her fingertips subtly playing with his wavy hair. A chill ran down Azriel’s spine, and it wasn’t from the biting wind that nipped at his face.

He dared to look at the female in his arms, and almost instantly regretted it. Her eyes were fixed on his, her lips slightly parted.

“I missed you,” Solana whispered, her voice laced with a pang of pain. And resentment.

Yes, he deserved Solana’s anger. She shouldn’t forgive him so quickly, Azriel knew that. He knew Solana was too good, too pure of heart, incapable of harboring hatred.

Azriel didn’t deserve her kindness. He didn’t deserve her.

“Me too,” was all he could breathe, his tone as low as hers.

The sea breeze seemed to carry the unspoken words, the feelings buried as deep as the ocean floor itself.

Azriel landed delicately on top of one of the mountains, taking longer than necessary to set Solana down. She seemed as reluctant as he was to leave his arms, for her hands lingered on his neck when her feet finally touched the ground.

They both sat on the mossy carpet, damp from the sea spray but soft as a cotton blanket. The water below them was wilder, crashing against the rock with the ocean’s untamed force, splashing them with icy droplets. The sun was almost completely hidden on the horizon, the pink sky slowly darkening to shades of orange, lavender, and a deep blue.

“I still don’t understand why you went so long without contacting me,” Solana broke the sacred silence between them, her eyes fixed on the sunset in the distance, her features slightly contorted.

Azriel took a deep breath. He knew he couldn’t hide from Solana if he wanted to keep her in his life – she deserved to see all his facets, even those he hid so well even from himself.

“I was so scared, Sol,” he finally mumbled with an immense effort to tell the truth, to not turn inward as he did so well with everyone around him. “You’re one of my closest friends, and the way I reacted, the things I wanted to do... They weren’t noble, not friendly at all.”

Solana’s eyes widened subtly. “What did you want to do?”

Then Azriel forgot how to breathe. His pulse quickened, his heart erratic in his chest. He couldn’t say it with the weight of those expectant eyes fixed on his.

“I wanted to... grab you. To take you to a dark alley and...”

He cut himself off. He couldn’t say that out loud. He couldn’t admit how all he wanted to do at that festival was to possess Solana, even if it was in the middle of the crowd. He couldn’t admit how almost every dream he’d had since then was haunted by her, by the image of their bodies grinding together, with his subconscious creating wonderful scenarios—her back pressed against the wall, her thighs circling his waist, her fingers pulling his hair, him buried deep inside her.

He could never admit that to her. Not if he wanted to keep the one good, light thing in his life.

But what Solana said made him almost gasp. “And why didn’t you?”

He must have misheard. Solana couldn’t have asked that.

But the way an almost predatory smile played at the corner of those wonderful lips made him believe that she had really asked why he hadn’t dragged her into an alley and fucked her until they both forgot their own names.

“I didn’t...” Azriel’s breath caught in his throat, making speech utterly impossible. His eyes struggled to stay fixed on hers and not wander to that mouth, to that body sculpted by the gods. “I didn’t want to ruin what we have,” he finally said.

Solana’s face turned to stone, as if she wasn’t prepared for those words.

Azriel continued, “What we have... it’s the only healthy thing I have in my life. The only remotely happy and joyful thing. I didn’t want to risk that.”

Solana sighed—a heavy, trembling sound—and snaked her fingers around his arm. “I understand,” she said in a whisper, her voice seeming to carry not just understanding, but also pain. “Your friendship is very important to me too.”

The tenderness in her tone caused an almost physical agony.

He thought about how important she was to him. About how those months away from her were the worst form of torture—he, who had experienced pain like no one else. He, who inflicted pain on others with the skill of an artist.

He thought about how concentrating became an impossible task, how his thoughts always drifted back to her, forcing him to read the same report more than five times, how he flew toward Adriata repeatedly when he should have been going to other Courts in search of information, or how Cassian easily won almost every fight they had in the House of Wind’s ring.

About how he refused to sleep unless exhaustion completely consumed him. For when he closed his eyes, he either dreamed of her or was overcome by the worst nightmares he’d ever had, as if the distance from her warmth and light allowed his demons to drag him to the darkest places of his subconscious.

As if she knew he was drifting into dark places, Solana raised her fingers and touched Azriel’s face, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. That touch—so gentle and fleeting—anchored him in the present moment, in her presence beside him, reminding him that he no longer needed to wallow. He was finally there, with her.

“You haven’t been sleeping well,” Solana murmured, her fingers now wandering to the dark circles beneath his eyes. Her warm skin was such a delicious contrast to his perpetually cold one that the touch made the hairs on his neck stand on end. “What have you been dreaming about?”

Azriel sighed, shrugging. “The usual... my father, my brothers. The faces of the people I’ve killed.”

That admission might frighten anyone else, but not Solana. She didn’t look at Azriel as if he were the monster he truly was. The torturer of the Night Court. The Spymaster who did the impossible to get the information he needed, not sparing his enemies the latent pain of crossing his path.

No... she looked at him as if he were worthy of her attention. Someone whose hands weren’t stained with blood, hands covered with scars from a disturbing past. As if his shadows weren’t things born of a nightmare, but something precious.

He didn’t mention how she also haunted his dreams. That, he kept to himself.

As if sensing the dark turmoil threatening to overwhelm Azriel, Solana rested her head on his shoulder. Her hair brushed his face—that delicious scent of star jasmine assaulting his nose, making him breathe deeply in an attempt to fill his lungs as much as possible with it.

Solana’s fingers now made gentle spirals on the inside of his arm, and his eyes involuntarily closed. Azriel rested his face on the top of her head, letting that peace calm the storm within him.

When silence enveloped them like a blanket and the quiet was so profound it almost made Azriel doze off, he remembered the gift, almost as if the package suddenly weighed heavily in his pocket.

He lifted his head and brought one hand to his pocket, careful not to disturb Solana, still nestled against his neck. Azriel pulled out the package and gently shifted so she finally faced him.

“I got this for you,” his tone was almost shy, a sudden insecurity taking hold of him, a warmth staining his cheeks. His shadows didn’t even bother to hide him. In fact, they seemed to dance nervously around him, as if they were extensions of his anxiety.

Solana’s eyes sparkled with that youthful glow, her fingers working to untie the ribbon around the velvet package. She shook it onto one hand, and the delicate bracelet fell into her palm. Her gaze was now slightly wide, her lips parted in surprise.

“Do you like it?” Azriel asked, uncertain, unable to decipher the fleeting expressions on her face.

Solana finally looked at him. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, clutching the bracelet as if it were her most precious possession.

She watched the bracelet for a few seconds, her fingers tracing the patterns of the thin, dark silver chain with reverence, circling the blue pendants and plucking at the black tourmaline stone in the center.

“Will you put it on me?” Solana asked with a sigh.

Azriel nodded, his fingers brushing hers as he took the jewelry. Solana lifted the hem of her turquoise dress, exposing her delicate calf, her soft ankle, her bare foot.

He swallowed hard as his trembling hands moved towards her leg, his heart thrumming against his ribs with a force that made it difficult to breathe. He then circled her ankle with the bracelet, taking longer than necessary to clasp the piece that seemed made for her. His fingers shook slightly, not from nervousness, but from restraint—from the supernatural effort to control himself when every fiber of his being wanted to explore her, to know her, to adore her.

Azriel couldn’t stop his fingers from circling her ankle, as if he wanted to memorize that sensation, every line, every curve, the soft touch of her skin. So silky, so warm, so alive beneath his hands that he wondered if this was what it felt like to touch liquid fire. He also couldn’t stop his hands from embracing her leg, moving upwards with torturous slowness, feeling every inch of skin as smooth as satin, every small tremor that ran through her body in response to his touch.

It was a monumental effort not to lean in and kiss those legs, not to follow the path his hands were tracing with his mouth, not to discover if her taste was as sweet as he imagined.

He then contented himself with simply touching her with his hands, caressing her calf with an almost religious reverence, his eyes mesmerized by the marvelous contrast in their colors—his fingers bronzed, yet several shades lighter than her skin. Azriel would say Solana’s skin color was his favorite, if anyone ever asked. A deep, golden, warm brown.

As if drawn by a magnet, his eyes returned to hers. What he found there almost stole the air from his lungs. It couldn’t be... desire he saw there, could it? Desire mixed with tenderness, with vulnerability, with something so pure and intense that it made his soul tremble.

Her eyes were half-closed, long lashes casting shadows on her cheeks, and they were fixed on Azriel’s mouth. As if pulled by an invisible force, ancient as the tides and as inevitable as dawn, his face drew a few inches closer to hers. Their noses now touched, their breaths mingling in the salty night air—the scent of star jasmine and sandalwood intertwining with the sea breeze, creating a fragrance that existed only in that moment, in that space between them.

One of Azriel’s hands released Solana’s ankle and rested on her neck, his fingers finding the accelerated pulse that beat like hummingbird wings against her skin. The movement brought his face so close now that her forehead touched his and their lips brushed in the lightest, subtlest of touches.

And that mere phantom of a touch made Azriel’s stomach tie itself in knots impossible to undo. It made his eyes roll behind their eyelids, as if the outside world had ceased to exist.

He angled his head just a little more to the right, just so his lips would brush hers again and again.

His fingers were now lost in Solana’s hair, while hers now clutched the collar of Azriel’s tunic, as if that grip was the only thing keeping her grounded.

Azriel could think of nothing else. He didn’t know if the world continued to spin, if the ocean still stretched beneath them, if the moon had emerged from its hiding place behind the clouds—he wanted to know nothing. Nothing but the temperature of Solana’s breath on his cheek, the soft touch of her lips on his, the texture of her hair between his fingers.

Solana rubbed her nose against his, a delicate gesture that brought their mouths together again, and her lips parted just slightly, allowing her lower lip to fit between his.

The low moan that escaped Azriel’s throat was almost inaudible, but Solana must have felt it vibrate against her lips. She tilted her head slightly, and for a terrifying and wonderful moment, Azriel thought she would deepen the contact, that she would finally cross that thin line between almost and completely.

Azriel held his breath. Everything in him screamed to surrender, to capture her mouth, to pull her even closer and finally taste what he had been imagining on sleepless nights. His hand, lost in her hair, tightened slightly, as if he could prevent her from pulling away—but deep down, he knew she held all the power to decide the next movement.

Solana also seemed to hesitate. Her eyes opened just enough to meet his, and for a moment, as brief as the breeze passing them, Azriel was sure she would lean in, that she would end this torture of almost-kisses, almost-touches.

But then Solana sighed, a soft sound that was lost in his chest, and pulled back just enough for their mouths to separate. The sigh turned into a short, muffled laugh as she rested her forehead against his again, closing her eyes as if apologizing without saying anything.

Azriel remained motionless, trying to understand if the pain burning in the back of his throat was frustration or relief. His hands still held her face, as if they had a will of their own. Solana, in turn, moved her hands down the collar of his tunic to rest them on his chest, feeling his heart pound like a war drum.

“Az...” she murmured, so low that the breeze almost swallowed her words. “I...”

Azriel smiled—or tried to. It was more a tug of the lips, a curve that didn’t reach his eyes. His throat was dry, as if he’d swallowed sand.

“It’s okay,” he said, and this time it was his shadows that completed the sentence in whispers, curling around her wrists, playing with her slender fingers. “I just... wanted to give you the present.”

Solana gave a small, tender smile that ignited a spark within him, even though nothing had been consummated. She lowered her gaze to the bracelet on her ankle, slowly rotating her foot, making the chain softly jingle like a secret whispered between two lovers.

“It’s perfect,” she said, firm this time, as if she wanted him to engrave every syllable. “You are perfect.”

Azriel let out a short, husky laugh, shaking his head. He pressed a light kiss to her temple—the farthest he dared to go��before pulling back just enough to breathe again.

The wind brought the scent of the sea, mixing his sandalwood with her jasmine, and everything seemed suspended in that instant: the desire that wasn’t fulfilled, the touch that didn’t turn into a kiss, the confession that remained locked in both their throats.

And yet, when Solana intertwined her fingers with his once more, Azriel knew that this was enough—for now. The weight of the new jewelry around her ankle was a promise. A reminder that what truly mattered didn’t need to be rushed.

They stayed like that, holding hands, their foreheads still touching, listening to the patient murmur of the waves and the beating of two hearts that sought each other in the dark.

In that moment, neither of them needed anything more.

Not yet.

[shadowsovergold]

Read more at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66677668/chapters/172022866 The music pulsed through the quartz stones of the Sundrinker's Square like a living entity, each crystalline note reverberating through the translucent minerals to create a symphony that vibrated through Azriel’s chest with the force of a second heart. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t keep still—his feet tapped to the hypnotic rhythm of the drums, his head swayed subtly with the alluring melody of the lutes, as if his body were enchanted.

Azriel had never experienced anything like it. In Velaris, the festivities were elegant, restrained, whispered. In Adriata, the celebration was wild, primal, an explosion of life that hit him like ocean waves. His heart hammered, not from anxiety, but from a pure, uncontrollable excitement that made him feel more alive than he had ever been.

Joy snaked through the people like pure, tangible magic. Golden threads of power danced in the air, connecting smiles to laughter, transforming peals of laughter into small explosions of sunlight. Exasperated conversations vied with the sound of music in a delicious cacophony, half-naked bodies moving against each other in sweaty, provocative dances, the casual intimacy making Azriel’s face heat as he tried not to stare too long at the exposed curves and skin glistening with golden sweat.

He was at the Solar Bloom Festival, on the summer solstice, and Adriata knew how to celebrate the longest day of the year like no other place in Prythian. This was the Court’s most sacred and vibrant celebration, when the power of the Summer Fae reached its peak as the Sun touched its highest point in the sky. The magic was so dense that Azriel could feel his own darkness reacting, his shadows dancing around his shoulders in a mesmerizing contrast to all that light.

It was also the Illyrian’s first festival, who by some divine miracle managed to step away from his duties that year. For the first time in decades, there were no reports to write, no intelligence to gather, no masks to wear. He was just Azriel, free to lose himself in the magic of the moment.

The labyrinthine streets and winding canals were packed with a delirious crowd—hundreds of people dressed in ocean-inspired costumes that looked more like works of art. Flowing garments adorned with petals that shifted color with the light, pearls that sang in harmony when touched by the wind, iridescent shells that whispered secrets of the deep sea, and colorful feathers that shimmered like liquid flames. Bodies were living canvases, painted with vibrant colors that seemed to absorb and reflect the sunlight—fiery oranges that pulsed like embers, lush greens reminiscent of primordial forests, deep sky blues like the heart of the ocean, brilliant golds that stung the eyes with their intensity.

Magical floats drifted gracefully through the main streets like flying ships—elaborate platforms that defied gravity, pulled by strands of liquid fire that left trails of golden sparks in the air. They were decorated with tropical fruits that seemed made of precious metal, flowers that bloomed and withered in an endless hypnotic cycle, vines that grew and intertwined in real-time, forming new patterns every moment. On top of them, Fae of all colors, sizes, and species paraded like minor deities—some with bluish-green skin and shimmering gills, others with hair that looked like dancing seaweed.

Cressida, Varian, Solana, Tarquin, and Azriel were arranged in an intimate semicircle beneath the generous shade of a centuries-old fig tree, its thick roots extending like protective tentacles around the group. The tree offered a welcome respite from the relentless midday sun, its broad leaves filtering the golden light into dancing patterns on their faces. The four Summer Court Fae were engrossed in an animated and competitive conversation about which of the contestants had the best chance of winning the costume contest that year, their melodious voices blending in a natural harmony that made Azriel feel part of something larger.

Cressida gesticulated dramatically, her coral bracelets jingling, as she passionately defended a fae in a bioluminescent jellyfish costume. Varian laughed heartily, his tanned skin gleaming with sweat, arguing that nothing would top the shark-man he had seen earlier. Solana, with small flowers intertwined in her curly hair, bet on a dancer whose dress was made entirely of sea foam.

Azriel, however, couldn’t keep his focus on just one point of the conversation for too long. His hazel eyes wandered admiringly and almost feverishly from person to person, fae to fae, absorbing every detail as if he were dying of thirst and that sight were fresh water. His lips were slightly parted in constant surprise; he looked like a child seeing the ocean for the first time—marveling, intimidated, and completely in love.

He had not been made for this: not for the dazzling light, the open revelry, nor for the music echoing in his bones. The Summer Court did not hide the passion bubbling in their veins; they wielded it. Like swords. Like he wielded Truth-teller.

And yet, he found himself completely enveloped by that warm, inviting atmosphere, as if somehow his wings and shadows belonged there.

Azriel wasn’t wearing a flashy costume like most people, but he allowed Solana to affix small Larimar stones above his eyebrows and blow powdered scales onto his bare chest, leaving his entire body shimmering. When Azriel looked at himself in the mirror, he felt ridiculous, but he didn’t dare wipe it off in the face of Solana’s captivating and proud smile.

She was radiant that day, as if the summer solstice not only amplified her power but also her magnetizing beauty. Solana wore a flowing dress with layers of sheer fabric that rippled like sunbeams—soft shades of gold and intense amber, blending into each other like the rising sun. The bodice was fitted and shimmering, with hundreds of tiny, magical star-petals that caught and reflected the light, giving the illusion that she glowed from within. The neckline dipped slightly, yet elegantly, outlined with delicate golden vine filigrees and tiny, shimmering sunflowers. Her brown skin gleamed like the first light of dawn, and her curly hair had red and orange streaks, adorned with small, luminous flowers.

When her eyes met Azriel’s across the circle, he noticed how the gold painted on her eyelids highlighted their color—which, yes, were dark, but adorned by different shades of brown.

Solana’s full lips blossomed into a wide smile, and the Shadowsinger couldn’t contain the one that bloomed on his own. She radiated joy with such intense force that it seemed to emanate from her pores. Her delight indeed had a scent, he realized—star jasmine and seaweed, and the aroma clung to Azriel’s skin like a perfume, contagiously making him unable to stop smiling.

He almost thought his face had broken. He couldn’t seem to control its muscles, that insisted on laughing. Anyone from the Night Court would have thought he was sick or afflicted by some curse.

The five of them finally left the refreshing shade of the great fig tree and began to follow the next float that ambled through the Sundrinker’s Square. Tarquin and Varian were still immersed in a heated debate, while Cressida moved her body to the rhythm of the music, a female soon circling her waist and pulling her close in a captivating dance.

Solana was dancing too, a cup of Blossomfire Sangria in her hands, her dark curls swaying from side to side.

Within minutes, the square became packed with people drawn by the music, and moving became difficult. They decided to stop there, in the middle of the square, with Solana, Cressida, and the unknown fae dancing animatedly, while Varian and Tarquin squeezed their way through the sea of people toward one of the drink stalls.

The circle of people closed in on them with the inevitability of a high tide, to the point that Solana’s body was pressed against Azriel’s. That didn’t stop her from continuing to dance, her arms raised above her head, her hands swirling as if swaying with the wind, her hips moving in sync with the melody.

Azriel felt a knot forming in his throat.

He had to take a generous gulp of his drink—something golden and strong that burned like fermented honey—in a pathetic attempt to drown that shameful reaction caused by the proximity of his friend’s body. The liquid went down his throat like liquid fire, but instead of calming him, it only made everything exponentially worse.

He felt his stomach burn as if he had drunk acid, his veins bubble with a heat that spread through his limbs like sweet poison, his mind spinning in a chaotic dance that mirrored Solana’s sensual movements.

Every tiny point where their skin touched—an elbow brushing his ribs, her hip pressing against his thigh, her fingers accidentally touching his wrist—seemed to burn him from the inside out.

Her curly hair, loose and wild from the dance, tickled his neck every time she moved, each strand an accidental caress that sent shivers down his spine. That intoxicating scent—a blend of joy, tropical flowers, sea salt, and something indefinably Solana—filled his lungs with every ragged breath, leaving him more intoxicated than any drink ever could.

He felt his linen pants, previously loose and comfortable in the scorching heat, suddenly become too tight, the fabric turning into an uncomfortable prison that revealed exactly the effect she was having on him. He mentally cursed himself, a torrent of expletives in ancient languages echoing in his mind, for his body’s treacherous reaction. By the Mother, this was his friend. One of his best friends—if not the only one he had cultivated beyond his brothers.

He repeated to himself desperately that it was just a natural and completely explainable reaction—the forced proximity of sweaty bodies, the sensual and primal magic of the music that seemed to awaken ancestral instincts, the seductive and intoxicating heat of the Solar Bloom Festival that transformed even the most restrained into creatures of pure desire.

He took a stumbling step backward, desperate to put distance between them before he did something he would regret forever but ended up bumping hard into the rigid body of another drunk reveler. The impact made the cold drink in his hand splash onto his chest and arms—a welcome thermal shock that cut through the fog of craving like a cold slap, jarring him abruptly back to the cruel reality, forcing him to focus on his chaotic surroundings, and not on the overwhelming sensations Solana’s dancing body caused in him.

His friend turned, startled, wrapping one of his arms with her warm fingers. “Are you okay?”

All Azriel manage was a stiffly nod, the muscles in his neck taut as violin strings about to snap. His tongue was suddenly too heavy, glued to the roof of his mouth, refusing to form coherent words. His chest heaved as if he had run for miles, the air around him suddenly too dense and heavy with steam to be properly breathed.

Solana smiled in response—that mesmerizing smile, all white teeth and lips and radiant happiness.

His eyes were inexorably drawn to that mouth, unable to stop himself. It was full and tempting, so perfectly outlined by nature that it seemed designed by an artist obsessed with perfection. Her lips had the color and texture of a ripe plum ready to be bitten, and he found himself wondering what they would taste like, if they would be as sweet as they appeared, if she would moan if he…

Stop.

The oppressive heat suddenly became unbearable. The pulsing crowd seemed to want to suffocate him, a thousand bodies pressing against him from all sides, stealing his oxygen, his sanity, his ability to think of anything but how much he wanted to pull Solana to a dark, silent place and…

Azriel needed to get out of there now, before his trembling hands, clenched into painful fists, no longer responded to his desperate commands to stay still and behave at his sides. Before the wild beast roaring in his chest broke the chains of his self-control.

But before he could flee, Solana wrapped her tanned arms around Azriel’s neck, pulling him close. She resumed dancing, her feet bouncing on the sun-warmed stones, creating tiny, colorful flower petals beneath her, the magic of the summer solstice seeming more responsive to that female.

Crystalline laughter bloomed from her lips as she danced, the most beautiful sound Azriel had ever heard, better than any music. Her fingers intertwined in the hair at the nape of Azriel’s neck, while he kept his hands clenched at his sides. He didn’t trust them. He didn’t trust them to stay firmly at Solana’s waist and not wander over her sculpted body like two treacherous little things.

When he remained as still as a marble statue for an entire song, making her frown, indignant. “Don’t tell me you can’t dance, Spymaster?”

Azriel rolled his eyes in a gesture he hoped seemed casual but couldn’t hide the violent shiver that shot from the base of his spine to the top of his head like an electric shock. “I can dance.”

Solana chuckled. “You look like an unmoving mountain of muscles and wings.”

Azriel rose his brows, a mischievous smile dancing on his lips. “Are you complimenting my body?”

And now it was her turn to roll her eyes. “I’m saying you look incapable of moving your hips.”

“I can dance,” he repeated. “We have... balls in the Night Court.”

The pause revealed his uncertainty—formal balls were a completely different thing from this primitive, sensual dance that pulsed around them.

“Then prove it,” Solana challenged with that wicked smile at the corner of her mouth, slow and predatory, her dark eyes gleaming with pure, dangerous amusement.

Azriel knew—knew—there would be no escape. Not with the way she looked at him, not with all that expectation shining in her eyes, not with the entire festival pulsing around them demanding surrender to the wild rhythm.

He wrapped his arms around Solana’s waist, pulling her body closer to his, the sensation of her dress—something light and flowing that barely covered the essentials—touching his bare chest and making him shiver.

Solana began to move again in perfect sync with the music—an encompassing, hypnotic melody that seemed to have been created by the gods themselves to awaken the most savage of instincts. Her hips, pressed against his, moved in slow, deliberate circles, the friction making him certain he would go mad at any moment. Every movement sent waves of heat directly to his groin, and he had to bite his lower lip until he tasted blood to keep from moaning aloud.

Their thighs tangled in an intimate dance that was almost obscene in its sensuality, and when her chest fully pressed against his, Azriel lost any semblance of rationality he still possessed. He could feel her breasts pressed against his thorax, soft and firm, rising and falling with her quickened breath.

Azriel’s hands did exactly what he feared they would: they began to explore Solana’s back without any shame, pulling her closer to his body, leaving no space for even a breeze to whisper between them.

Solana’s elbows were now resting on his broad shoulders, her hands tangled in his hair, caressing his scalp. “I think you should let your hair grow,” she hissed, her voice getting lost amidst the music, her eyes wandering over Azriel’s brown strands.

All he could manage was a 'hm' that escaped his throat, his consciousness utterly lost in the heat of that moment. He would grow another head if Solana asked while their bodies were entwined like that.

As if pulled by a magnetic force, their foreheads touched, their breaths mingling—sangria, whiskey, and sea—their sweat mixing.

Azriel was certain Solana could feel the magnitude of his arousal in the nonexistent space between them, but she didn’t seem to care. She kept moving against him, grinding torturously, in a way that made his cock throb so much it ached.

She was no different from him. Azriel could smell her scent, and he had to tilt his head skyward to prevent Solana from seeing him roll his eyes.

She then turned her back to him, without separating their bodies, and guided Azriel’s hands to her waist. The curve of her ass seemed to fit perfectly into the bulge in his pants, and his fingers squeezed her skin so hard he knew it would leave a mark.

One of her hands interlaced with his, while the other sought Azriel’s neck. He leaned in and buried his nose in the curve of her nape, covered by that marvelous cascade of dark curls.

Gods, she smelled so good.

What a wonderful texture was her hair.

Azriel brushed it away to her back, and an animalistic, utterly irrational desire led him to press his mouth to the juncture between her neck and shoulder, and his tongue explored every inch of skin with deliberate laziness.

No, he wasn’t thinking. If he were, he would realize the scale of what he was doing. With his friend.

He didn’t even bother to blame the liquor, or the intoxicating heat of the Solar Bloom Festival, or the sensual magic that enveloped them.

He wanted to think of nothing but the taste of Solana’s skin on his tongue—salt and green grapes. Azriel was sure he could get drunk on that taste. That he could become completely intoxicated by the moan that escaped her throat.

Solana pulled Azriel’s hair hard, which only made him grow more feral, biting her neck, tugging her earlobe between his teeth.

One of his hands now explored her belly, climbing over her ribs and touching the underside of her breasts.

Azriel was going mad. He was utterly hallucinating, with no power over himself.

All he could do was feel. Feel her ass grinding against him, feel her fingers tugging his hair, feel in his bones the reverberation of her moans, feel the scent of her arousal, feel the heat of her skin beneath the layers of clothing.

“Solana,” her name emerged as a snarl from his lips, fierce and wild, uncontrolled.

The music seemed to end abruptly, and a loud voice reverberated through the square, about to announce the winners of the costume contest.

Azriel’s face was still buried in Solana’s hair, but when he felt her body still within his arms, he forced himself to open his eyes.

All of the Sundrinker’s Square seemed to have stopped dancing, their attention now focused on the float in the background, completely oblivious to the tornado of sensations and emotions that the Illyrian in their midst was experiencing.

Gathering all the strength in his body, Azriel forced himself to disentangle his arms from Solana’s waist, an effort that felt monumental.

Reality hit him like a bucket of ice water. The ocean breeze, which moments before had seemed charged with electricity and promises, now felt cutting against his overheated skin. Azriel took a step back, and then another, creating a physical distance that seemed absurdly small considering the magnitude of what had just happened.

Azriel ran his hands through his hair, still feeling the memory of Solana’s fingers intertwined in his brown strands. Every fiber of his being still vibrated with the intensity of the moment, but now there was something more—a deep, disturbing confusion that settled in his chest like a reef.

What the hell had just happened?

He never lost control. Not like that.

He could feel that something fundamental had changed between them. There was no going back, no pretending that dance hadn’t happened. The line separating friendship from… something else had not just been crossed but completely obliterated.

Neither he nor Solana had said a word since the music stopped. Her attention was directed to the commotion further ahead, seeming not to notice Azriel’s tense body behind her. The silence stretched between them like an abyss, full of unspoken words and unanswered questions. Azriel wanted to say something, anything, but his mind was absolutely empty of adequate words.

Sorry? That was a mistake? I didn’t mean for that to happen?

But all those phrases sounded like lies in his mind. Because he had meant for it to happen. Cauldron, how he had meant for it to happen.

Azriel knew he needed to get out of there. He needed space, air, time to process it all. But his feet seemed glued to the ground, as if some invisible force kept him trapped in that place, in that moment suspended between before and after.

Finally, with a superfae effort, he managed to move. He took another step back, and then another, each movement a small betrayal of what his body still desired.

“I…” he began, but his voice failed. He cleared his throat and tried again, Solana finally looked at him over her shoulder. Those eyes… gods, those eyes. “I need… I need some air.”

It was a pathetic excuse, considering they were already outdoors, but it was all he could form into words.

Azriel turned and began to walk away, each step weighing like lead. He could feel Solana’s eyes on his back, but he didn’t dare look back. If he looked, he knew all his resolve would crumble.

As he walked away, plunging into the colorful crowd of the festival, a single question echoed in his mind, relentless and unanswered:

What now?

[shadowsovergold]

Read more at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66677668/chapters/172022866

“And after nearly ripping my arm off, the son of a bitch still had the nerve to ask me for help getting back to the Citadel,” Solana said between gasps, her face aching from laughter, her hands splayed on her chest. Her companions laughed with the same vitality, Varian and Tarquin banging their hands on the table, rattling the wine goblets and platters of cheese, fruit, and nuts, as if it weren’t the thousandth time they’d heard that story.

It was a warm night in Adriata, the Sundrinker’s Square overflowing with Fae enjoying the salty ocean breeze from afar, which brought relief from the summer heat. The square was nestled on a natural elevation just above the curve of the sunny harbor, offering an uninterrupted panoramic view of the endless ocean. It was built where the cliffs softened into terraces, allowing the breeze to sweep through the warm marble colonnades and winding alleys lined with flowering vines. As the sun set, it seemed to fall directly into the sea beyond the square, gilding everything in molten gold.

Golden lanterns flickered overhead, hung between palm columns, mingling with bioluminescent lights that floated in the air like captured stars. Street performers danced with fire, played rhythmic melodies on silver flutes, or created illusions of dolphins leaping in the air, while the aroma of roasted fish, caramelized fruits, spiced wines, and sea filled the plazza.

They were seated at one of the wooden tables at Embers & Waves, telling stories of war and other more embarrassing tales. Morrigan sat between Solana and Cressida, a loose green satin dress framing her body, her golden hair free and cascading over her shoulders. Varian sat opposite her, an arm unpretentiously draped over Amren’s chair. Tarquin was relaxed in one of the cushioned chairs at the end of the table, his long golden hair braided into wide strands, a long, intricate pearl earring attached to one ear, dressed in a green tunic sewn with hundreds of small shells rolled up to his elbows. Azriel was at the other end, an unbuttoned beige linen tunic, his dark hair disheveled and his hands wrapped around a goblet of spiced coconut wine, as relaxed as his restless nature would allow.

“Remind me again,” Mor’s attention turned to the Shadowsinger, a barely contained smile on her red lips, “how exactly did you end up nearly naked on a sandbar with a herd of angry sea goats?”

Azriel groaned, tipping his drink toward his mouth without answering, though a slight flush—telling, really—crept up his tanned cheeks.

“It wasn’t a herd,” he finally mumbled, his wings closing behind him. “It was... two.”

Tarquin let out a sharp laugh, his elbow resting on the table, turquoise eyes gleaming. “Two is a generous way of putting it. They were barely bigger than house cats.”

“They bite,” Azriel replied, unperturbed, “Hard.”

Even Amren—perched in her chair like a small, smug queen—let out a piercing laugh. “Fitting. The grand Shadowsinger, humbled by sea cattle.”

Solana raised a hand to her mouth, trying, unsuccessfully, to suppress her laughter. “To be fair,” she said, swirling the golden liquid in her glass, “those sea goats are territorial. You’re lucky they didn’t summon the rest of the school.”

“Gods, there are more of them?” Mor chuckled.

“Oh, hundreds,” Solana smiled, glancing sideways at Cressida, who nodded gravely.

“Ask any sailor,” her friend added, raising her glass. “A school of sea goats can dismantle an entire fishing fleet.”

Azriel’s shadows constricted, curling around their master’s neck like dark, embarrassing smoke, but the smile tugging his lips betrayed him.

A platter of grilled shellfish landed on the table with a thud—all smoky lemon and sizzling butter. A second tray followed: skewers of grilled pineapple with cinnamon, seasoned shrimp, and crispy bread with honey and sea salt.

Solana took a skewer and bit into the sweet-tart fruit, licking the juice from her fingers. “Mmm. See, this is why the Summer Court is superior.”

Varian tilted his glass toward her. “Finally, someone said it.”

“I admit,” Mor said, stretching her arms above her head, her eyes wandering around the Sundrinker's Square. “You guys know how to throw a party. The Night Court has nothing like this.”

“Nothing that involves palm trees, fire dancers, and half-naked bartenders, no,” Amren agreed dryly, observing one of those bartenders with frank appreciation, earning a threatening growl from Varian beside her.

Azriel said nothing—but when Solana looked at him, she noticed the rare, soft curve of a genuine smile playing on his lips, his brown eyes reflecting the firelight and stars.

For a while, they let the laughter take over—hands reaching for more drinks, more food, banter easily shifting between stories of battles, of Courts, of the absurd and stupid things they’ d done in the name of duty or boredom. And in that perfect, fleeting moment, with the fire crackling, the ocean whispering against the cliffs below, and the stars spreading across Adriata’ s horizon—the world seemed simple. Joyful. Complete.

When Amren and Varian bid farewell and walked with their bodies intertwined to one of the canals beyond the square, and Mor, Cressida, and Tarquin escaped to one of the nightclubs hidden between golden stone walls, Solana and Azriel finally surrendered to exhaustion, their legs light and tongues thick from too much liquor. They rose and began to wander in a friendly silence through the labyrinth of canals and bridges and stone, and Solana didn’t fail to notice the way Azriel’s eyes roamed the world around them, sometimes his attention fixating on one or more sea creatures that walked among them without any concern.

“I’ ve never seen so many lesser Fae gathered in one place,” he finally said when a Veydrasi, descendant of leviathans, bumped into his shoulder, quickly apologizing and displaying a wide smile with two rows of razor-sharp teeth on his bluish face.

Azriel watched the creature walk away, an expression of genuine fascination crossing his normally controlled features. There was something almost childlike in the way his hazel eyes followed every movement, as if he were discovering a completely new world.

“I know,” Solana replied with a proud smile, her chest puffing out slightly. While the rest of Prythian clung to antiquated traditions and outdated hierarchies, Adriata embraced the diversity of its species, its creatures free to explore and live in the Court as their sacred right.

She noticed how Azriel’s posture had changed since they arrived in the city. His shoulders, normally taut as lute strings, were relaxed. His hands didn’t instinctively rest on his daggers, and even his shadows seemed less vigilant.

“I feel almost normal here,” he admitted, his wings subtly unfurling behind him.

Solana didn’t respond immediately, she just gazed at the Shadowsinger with a simple smile, but her eyes shone with deep understanding. Yes. Azriel’s wings, despite being so different from the fins or flippers of the creatures that roamed the city, didn’t seem so dissonant in Adriata. His shadows zigged and zagged across the quartz stones of the ground, free, curious.

Soon their feet led them to Two Brothers Beach, now empty and lit only by the full moon, which cast its silver glow on the ocean, reflecting on the surface like a mirror. The symphony of ocean waves breaking on the sand was the most beautiful melody Solana had ever heard in her life, and the breeze kissed her face and tangled in her hair like an old lover.

That was her favorite place in the whole world, and she felt privileged to be able to observe that view every day from her bedroom window.

Solana conjured a vast sarong and laid it on the sand, then sat down and dug her dark feet into the soft, cold sand. Azriel remained standing for a few moments, his gaze fixed on the silhouette of the Two Brothers in the distance, the wind further tousling his hair. Solana watched the Shadowsinger’s wings spread to their full span, and the silver light passed through the thin membrane like the lazy morning sun through a silk curtain.

That image easily competed with the natural beauty of the ocean and mountains before her, Solana thought.

“You surprise me,” the words escaped her lips before she could hold them back. Azriel’s dark eyes turned to her, his eyebrows arched, his mouth slightly open.

“I do?” he asked, his still-open wings moving subtly as if playing with the sea breeze.

Solana wrapped her arms around herself, not from cold, but to protect her... from herself.

“You’re… softer here,” she admitted as the tide rose, whispering at their feet. The cold foam kissed her toes, and she looked away from Azriel—not out of shame, but because suddenly it was too much to hold his undivided attention.

Azriel took a deep breath, as if to pull in the scent of the sea, of the night. And, with a slow, carefully contained movement, he sat beside her, one leg bent, the other stretched out, wings half-open as if even he didn’t know whether he wanted to stay or fly across the ocean’s surface.

“I understand why you love this place so much,” he began, his eyes returning to the sea that ebbed and flowed in a beautiful, slow dance before them. “The silence here is... peaceful.”

But it wasn’t just the place, and they both knew it. It was the company. It was the way Solana didn’t look at him as a weapon to be wielded or a monster to be feared. It was the way she laughed at his dry jokes and how her hands didn’t tremble when his shadows brushed her skin.

Solana inhaled deeply, the salty air tickling her nostrils. She didn’t know if anything was more comforting than the silence of a beach in the dark, than the sea breeze that enveloped her like an old friend’s embrace, than the delicate nibbles of sand beneath her feet.

And for some reason, with his presence there, all of it became even more... sacred.

“Spymaster...” she said with a forced serious tone, a mischievous smile dancing at the corner of her lips.

“Emissary...” he replied, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Solana and Azriel had met decades ago, at that fateful negotiation meeting in the Day Court, and Solana’s fiery nature seemed irrevocably drawn to the Shadowsinger’s mysterious shadows. The initial tension that followed that diplomatic meeting slowly flowed into an uncomplicated friendship in the years that followed.

Azriel frequently visited them in Adriata, in between missions, taking refuge in the Citadel’s corridors, relaxing in the cushioned chairs of the Sundrinker’s Square, freeing himself by the ocean’s edge.

Solana felt an almost humbling happiness thinking that this place she loved so much—that she dedicated her life to protecting—could also be a place of peace for one of her dearest friends.

However, watching him out of the corner of her eye in that comfortable posture, the top buttons of his shirt undone, revealing his tanned and tattooed chest, his strong forearms intertwined over one knee, and that face... gods, that face that seemed to have been drawn by the Mother herself...

An icy chill swept through Solana’s stomach, and she forced herself to contemplate the movement of the tide before her, the sight beside her suddenly too much for her to bare.

Throughout all those years, nothing but a light friendship had blossomed between the two, and she was content with that. She liked being Azriel’s safe harbor, someone he could trust to be himself, someone with whom he could enjoy the silence and forget for a moment about duty, about the weight of being a Spymaster, about the pain of an unjust past.

Besides, he would never see her as anything more than a friend. Azriel’s eyes were too fixated on Morrigan’s—he watched her every move, listened to every one of her laughs as if they were the world’s most precious secret, analyzed every one of her glances, which never seemed to turn to him with the same intensity.

Solana would like to say that it didn’t bother her, but she couldn’t lie to herself. She was a diplomat, a scholar; the truth was all she had. She couldn’t ignore the way her heart pounded every time Azriel arrived in Adriata, every time he casually draped an arm over her shoulders in a fraternal way, every time he cast one of his rare smiles in her direction.

From the first time she saw him, Solana realized that Azriel was the most intriguing person she had ever met, and she had made it a point, over the years, to unravel each of his secrets. And that curiosity gradually blossomed into a warm affection that filled every rational corner of her chest, leading her to ignore the inexorable attraction she felt for that male, so she could be for him what he needed. A safe place. A place without judgment, without expectations, without pressure.

So, she forced herself to untie the knot that tangled her vocal cords, ignored the tingling in her hands that begged for Solana to touch his, buried deep that warmth that expanded through her chest and made her breath catch.

“Are you okay?” Azriel asked with a worried look, searching Solana’s face for the reasons behind her sudden heavy silence.

She tried to smile, but her lips trembled. “I am,” she lied, still not looking at him. She didn’t trust her traitorous eyes. She was sure that he, with his infinite ability to read people, would quickly know what her issue was. He would see in the dark immensity of Solana’s eyes what was written in bold letters.

I want you.

Before he could decipher it, Solana stood up, urgently needing the cold water to wash away her turbulent thoughts. She saw the confusion on Azriel’ face, and with a mischievous grin, she pulled her raw linen dress over her head, leaving her only in her undergarments. Solana didn’t miss the subtle widening of Azriel’s eyes as they roamed over the curves of her body. She was pleased by how he seemed to have difficulty swallowing. How he averted his gaze to the moon above their heads.

Solana then ran towards her great love—the sea—a laugh breaking free from her throat the moment her legs were hit by a breaking wave. When she looked back, she saw that Azriel was laughing too.

“Spymaster, come!” Solana shouted between bursts of laughter. Azriel shook his head. “Come on, swim with me!”

Solana splashed water upwards, drenching herself further, feeling like a child again. Something only the sea could do to her—leave her completely free, without a single worry.

Azriel reluctantly stood and pulled off his shirt, his wings spreading as he walked towards the ocean. “If a sea goat attacks me, Emissary,” he threatened with a smile at the corner of his lips.

Solana couldn’t contain the laughter that bubbled from her throat, and with a flick of her fingers, she conjured shapes from the tide—three watery sea goats with curling horns and swirling foam bodies, sending them galloping across the surface, charging straight at him. The Shadowsinger grunted and began swimming away from the silhouettes that now chased him, only to be hit and drenched when they finally reached him.

He was now completely, gloriously soaked, his black hair plastered to his forehead, shadows dripping from his wings like ink diluted in saltwater, muscles gleaming under the silver wash of moonlight. Soon, Solana stopped finding the scene amusing. Azriel there, in the sea, wet, his shadows seeming to play with the waves that enveloped them.

She then dove, swam and swam until she felt the sand of the bottom touch her chest, until the pressure of the water muffled the pulse throbbing in her ears, until her heart also sank into the depths around her.

But the ocean, her oldest confidant, offered no solace tonight. Even in its depths, she could feel the heat of Azriel’s gaze following her descent, could sense his shadows reaching through the water like tentative fingers, checking on her safety. The sea that had always been her escape now felt like a mirror, reflecting back the very desire she was trying to drown.

When her lungs finally demanded air, she surfaced to find Azriel much closer than expected, treading water just a few feet away. His hazel eyes were dark with concern—and something else that made her breath catch.

“Don’t do that,” he said softly, his voice rough with an emotion she couldn’t name. “Don’t disappear on me.”

The words carried weight far beyond the moment, and Solana realized that maybe she wasn’t the only one drowning tonight. In the moonlight, with water droplets catching the silver light on his skin, Azriel looked like some ancient sea god risen from the depths—beautiful, powerful, and utterly vulnerable.

“I wasn’t disappearing,” she whispered, floating closer despite every instinct telling her to maintain distance. “I was thinking.”

“About?” he demanded, his shadows dancing through the water, neither hiding nor retreating.

Solana averted his eyes for the hundredth time that night, feeling her cowardice gnawing her insides. She suddenly felt his fingers wrap on her chin, forcing her to face him.

“You’re hiding from me,” Azriel whispered, eyes so focused on hers she was sure he could see through her soul.

What could she possibly say that wouldn’t ruin that moment, that wouldn’t ruin what they had?

For a heartbeat, Solana forgot how to breathe.

His fingers were gentle, but firm. Cool from the water, but burning against her skin all the same. Her chin fit perfectly in the curve of his hand, his thumb resting just below her lips as though he didn’t even realize what he was doing.

Azriel was so close. Close enough that the delicate pulse at her throat surely betrayed everything — every secret, every feeling, every truth she’d kept buried for far too long.

You’re hiding from me.

Gods, if only he knew. If only he knew how exhausting it was to hold this line between friendship and something far more dangerous.

But still, Solana managed to speak—barely, softly, “I’m not hiding.”

A shadow of a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. Sardonic. Disbelieving. Beautiful. “Liar.” His voice was nothing more than a rasp.

The sound of it made her knees weak — if they’d been standing. As it was, the sea kept her afloat while her composure slowly drowned.

“I just needed…” Her throat tightened. Not him. Not now. Don’t say it. “I needed a moment.”

Azriel’s brow furrowed slightly. Like he was deciphering a code he didn’t quite understand — and wasn’t sure he wanted to.

The grip on her chin softened, but he didn’t let go. Didn’t pull away.

His gaze flicked — down. To her lips.

Just for a fraction of a second. A blink. A mistake. A betrayal of his iron control. But it was enough. Enough for Solana’s breath to hitch. Enough to set her whole body alight with a hunger she’d spent years pretending didn’t exist.

And then — as if the realization struck him like a slap — his shadows surged. Curling tighter around him, like a shield. Like a warning.

Azriel released her. Slowly. Deliberately. He turned his face toward the horizon, jaw tightening, mouth pressing into a line that betrayed more than his silence ever could.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Only the soft lap of waves, the sigh of the sea filling the void where words had no courage to tread. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower. Rougher. Like gravel dragged over silk.

“Don’t do that again,” he said. But it wasn’t a reprimand. It was something rawer. Softer.

Solana’s throat worked, but no sound came. Only a nod. Small. Barely there. But he saw it. Of course he did. He always saw too much.

Azriel turned, starting to swim back toward the shore. His wings dragged lazily behind him, half-submerged, shadows curling around his shoulders like a mantle he’d only now remembered to wear. But just before the water swallowed his silhouette, he glanced over his shoulder. Just once.

“I’ll wait for you,” he said. Quiet. Unassuming. As if he hadn’t just unraveled her entirely.

Then he was gone.

Leaving Solana alone in the water — with the pounding of her heart, the ghost of his touch, and the terrible, wonderful ache of something fragile and unsaid growing between them.

[shadowsovergold]

Read more at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66677668/chapters/172022866 The Day Court’s grand hall was made of white stone and glass—everything seemed to gleam beneath the infinite blue sky. Sunlight poured through crystal domes, refracting into a kaleidoscope of colors that danced upon the marble floor. It should have felt welcoming, serene.

But to Azriel, it felt like a spotlight.

Every beam of light that touched his wings seemed to expose him, revealing every scar, every shadow that tried to hide in the folds of his attire. He maintained his position to Rhysand’s right, but every instinct screamed for him to retreat into the familiar shadows of the hall’s corners. The Day Court had not been made for creatures like him.

The Summer Court delegation was near the east wing—their seafoam and golden silks contrasted sharply with the sun-drenched, faded elegance of the Day Court. The scent of salt and sea breeze accompanied them, a refreshing contrast to the heavy, golden air that permeated every corner of that chamber.

Among them was a young diplomat, dressed in shades of blue so deep they were almost black, like the ocean just before dawn. Golden cuffs circled her brown wrists, and small pearls threaded into her braids reflected the sunlight with every turn of her head.

Azriel noticed her the moment she entered the chamber.

Not because she drew attention—in fact, she stood slightly behind her High Lord, silent, composed. Observant.

While the Day Court diplomats smiled—all teeth and sweet words—she did not. Her gaze was piercing. Measuring. Observing the room not like a courtesan, but like someone cataloging every exit, every subtle shift in body language, every unspoken thing between the lines of diplomacy.

It was... familiar. Uncomfortably so.

He was used to being the one who observed from the shadows.

And now, someone was observing him back.

His shadows reacted even before his conscious mind fully processed it. They stirred around him, curious, drawn like smoke from a crackling fire. As if they, too, had noticed there was something different about that female.

Azriel silently scolded them, forcing them back into control. He maintained his role—standing beside Rhysand, shadows hidden, wings tightly furled, expression unreadable. Silent. Invisible until necessary.

Or so he thought.

Her eyes met his as the meeting stretched on — a glance over her shoulder while her High Lord spoke of trade routes and navigation treaties. Brief. But intentional. As if she knew exactly what he was.

When the meeting concluded for the morning — three hours of negotiations interrupted for lunch — the courtiers dispersed onto the sun-drenched terraces. Azriel watched as the ambassadors fragmented into small groups, continuing conversations in low voices, forming temporary alliances over glasses of golden wine.

Azriel didn’t approach her. Not immediately. But when he stepped onto the marble colonnade overlooking the golden cliffs, he wasn’t surprised to find her there. Alone.

Of course she chose that spot, he thought. The colonnade offered a clear view of all approaches, but also a quick escape route if needed. It was exactly where he would go. And had gone.

She was leaning against the stone railing, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the infinite desert beyond the Day Court’s borders. There was something in her posture—a subtle tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers drummed silently against her arm—that suggested she was as uncomfortable with all this diplomatic charade as he was.

He said nothing at first. Neither did she. The silence stretched—not awkward, but tense. Measured. Each of them waiting to see who would speak first, who would show the first card.

It was a silent battle of wills, and Azriel found himself genuinely curious about who would win.

He did.

“It’s strange,” the female finally said, not looking at him, her voice carrying the slightest Summer Court accent, like waves breaking against distant rocks. “How the sunlight feels so different here than over the sea.”

Azriel shifted, just enough for his wings to catch the breeze, but not to unfurl. “How strange?”

She tilted her head, as if considering whether to answer honestly. The sunlight caught the golden glints in her dark skin, highlighting the strong line of her jaw.

“Here, the light feels... heavy. Strong. As if it’s trying to hold you in place.” Only then did she look at him, arching an eyebrow slightly. Her eyes were the darkest brown, almost black, like deep waters. “You’d know something about that, wouldn’t you?”

His lips twitched. Gods, was she... provoking him?

There was a sharp intelligence in her eyes, a perception that made him feel as if she could see through every mask he wore.

“You were watching me,” Azriel said simply. Not an accusation, just a statement of fact.

The smile that touched her lips was small, but genuine.

“And you were watching everyone.” She straightened, turning to face him fully, her movements fluid yet controlled. “Your shadows are subtle, but they are not invisible.”

Azriel blinked, surprised. Few could detect his shadows when he didn’t want them seen. Even among his own court, it was a rare talent. “You see them?”

“I feel them,” the female corrected, her fingers tracing the air as if brushing away invisible threads. “Summer Fae are tied to currents. Tides. Water. Your shadows...” Her gaze sharpened, studying him with an intensity that made something stir in his stomach. “...they move like undertows.”

An instant of silence. The wind stirred her curly hair, pulling loose strands across her tanned cheek. Azriel found himself watching the movement, fascinated by how the sunlight clung to the dark strands.

“Impressive,” Azriel said at last—and he meant it. There was something stirring about being seen like this, understood in a way that went beyond superficial appearances.

Her mouth curved in a confident smile. “I know.”

He should have stopped there. Should have returned to Rhysand’s side, let the conversation dissolve into nothing. It was what he always did—kept his distance, preserved mysteries, avoided connections that could become complicated.

But instead—recklessly, on his part—he asked, “And who are you?”

Her head tilted, a gesture that seemed almost feline. “You don’t know?”

“My job is to know everyone in every room.” His hazel eyes, sharp and steady, met hers. “Only I’ve never seen you before.”

Her gaze didn’t waver, but he caught something—a flicker of surprise, perhaps even satisfaction—before she responded.

“Solana. Advisor to the Summer Court.” A brief pause. Then, with a smile sharp as a blade, “Or, if you prefer titles, new Emissary of Clessid.”

Emissary. His surprise didn’t show—but it washed over him like a wave. So that’s why she observed like a soldier, not like a courtesan.

Azriel inclined his head. “Azriel. Spymaster of the Night Court.”

Her smile softened—just slightly. “Yes. I know.”

Another moment passed. The air between them grew heavier now, laden with the mutual recognition of what they were. Not just two Fae making small talk at a diplomatic meeting, but two predators assessing each other, two professionals who understood the cost of living in the shadows.

But there was something more, too. A fascination that had nothing to do with politics or profession, something more primal and honest.

Curious.

Curious in a way that made his shadows coil tighter, restless.

Solana gestured toward the sun-drenched cliffs. “It seems you’d rather be anywhere but here.”

His lips curved—a rare gesture. Honest. “You’re not wrong.”

“And where would you rather be?” Solana asked, turning to lean against the railing again, but this time sideways, so she could continue observing him.

The question caught him off guard. No one ever asked about his preferences, his desires. He was a tool, a soldier, a spy. His personal needs rarely entered the equation.

“Somewhere darker,” Azriel finally replied. “Quieter. Where shadows are friends, not something to be feared.”

“Sounds peaceful,” she murmured, and there was a note of genuine longing in her voice. “I understand the appeal of silence.”

“And you?” The question slipped out before he could censor it. “Where would the new Emissary of the Summer Court rather be?”

Solana stood quiet for a long moment, gazing at the distant horizon where the desert met the sky.

“At sea,” she replied, her voice softer now, almost private. “Where the water is so deep that not even sunlight can touch the bottom. Where the only voices are those of creatures who have never seen the surface.”

There was something in the way she said it—a nostalgia, a yearning—that made Azriel wonder if she was speaking of more than just a preference for a landscape.

“Sounds lonely,” he observed carefully.

“Sounds honest,” she countered, meeting his eyes again. “In the depths, there’s no room for masks. No political games. Just... truth.”

Cauldron. The way she said it, the raw intensity in her voice—it was as if she had just revealed something fundamental about who she was beneath all the diplomacy and training.

“Solana,” he murmured, testing the name, liking the way it sounded on his tongue.

“Azriel,” she replied, and there was something different in the way she said his name. Not Spymaster, not lord, not titles or formalities. Just... him.

And, gods, the way her smile responded—sharp, wise, a little dangerous, but also genuinely warm—he knew, even then, even at that first meeting, that he wouldn’t be able to forget her.

“We should head back,” she whispered, but didn’t move.

“We should,” he agreed, not moving either.

They stood there for another moment, two strangers who somehow didn’t feel like strangers, two professionals who had found something unexpected in mutual honesty.

Finally, Solana pushed away from the railing.

“Spymaster,” she said, her voice returning to its professional diplomatic tone.

“Emissary,” he replied, following her lead.

But when she passed him to return to the hall, she paused. For just a second, she was close enough that he could smell the salt and jasmine in her hair, close enough that he could see the tiny golden freckles that dotted her nose.

“It was... enlightening, our conversation,” Solana said softly, like a secret.

“Yes,” he replied, his voice equally low. “It was.”

And then she was gone, slipping back into the world of masks and political games as if she had never left it.

But Azriel lingered on the colonnade for a few more minutes, watching her through the hall’s glass windows, observing the way she glided among the groups of diplomats with studied grace, observing the way she smiled at the right moment and asked the right questions.

Observing, and wondering when he would be able to see her again without the masks.

[shadowsovergold]

Adriata, the Summer Court's jewel, is dying. A pervasive, malevolent blight twists sea life and poisons the vibrant oceans, consuming High Lord Tarquin's radiant magic with terrifying ease. Solana, the High Lord's Emissary, witnessing her beloved home's demise, understands a chilling truth: their light isn't enough; it merely fuels the darkness.

Desperate, and defying Tarquin's deep-seated distrust, Solana secretly turns to the one place that might hold answers: the Night Court. And she finds that their enigmatic spymaster, my be the key to their salvation-a connection to darkness that might unravel the blight's true, horrifying nature.

As an ancient corruption tightens its grip, Summer's fading brilliance must confront Night's profound mysteries. But what secrets will Azriel's shadows truly reveal about the force devouring Adriata? Can their uneasy alliance survive the revelations that threaten to shatter both Courts?

Read more at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66677668/chapters/172022866

[shadowsovergold]

Read more at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66677668/chapters/172022866 Solana watched the resolute currents of the river entwine with each other, propelled by the night wind. The stars reflected in it, giving the water a glittering appearance, seemed to be carried by the currents downstream, illuminating the cobblestone streets that wove through the valley in the heart of the mountains.

She awaited Morrigan to take her out of Velaris so she could finally return to the chaos that was now her home. The city’s beauty still astonished her, its pure and joyful aura somewhat calming Solana’s troubled spirits. In the corner of her vision, she noticed shadows creeping across the wet grass below her feet like mist at dawn, cautious, but approaching with curiosity.

Solana and those shadows were old acquaintances.

She couldn’t contain the small, petulant smile that curved the corner of her lips when she saw Azriel stop beside her. The male also gazed at the river ahead, his hands clasped behind his back, his large wings folded tightly behind him.

She hadn’t seen the Shadowsinger since the end of the War of Hybern, but before that, their encounters were frequent. Before Amarantha, Rhysand often sent Azriel to the Summer Court as emissary, and countless were the diplomatic missions they had participated in together over those centuries.

For a long time, Solana considered Azriel a friend. She appreciated the Spymaster’s mysterious and silent nature, who always listened patiently as Solana conjured up negotiation strategies with other courts in their meetings. Decades ago, when an unseasonal heatwave caused the premature melting of ice fields in the Winter Court and Kallias accused the Day Court of manipulating solar patterns for an experimental magical study, Azriel sat with Solana for hours on end in the Dawn’s library, debating for days on how they could find solutions to an imminent conflict between the two courts.

That memory made Solana’s smile spread across her entire face, its power now impossible to contain.

“It’s good to see you,” Azriel broke the taciturnity between them, finally facing Solana. His eyes were as they always were: amber, that unique color that seemed like a shifting mosaic of molten gold and forest green, flecks of copper catching the starlight like embers hidden in ash.

His face was sculpted in stillness.

Not the immobility of statues or silence — but the kind found in twilight, when the world softens and all that is sacred holds its breath. His jaw was sharp, elegant, as if the Mother herself had drawn it in shadows and bone. Cheekbones cut like wind-swept ridges, smooth and strong, made to be touched. And his mouth — always unreadable, lips often pressed into a thoughtful line, as if he carried words he refused to speak, just to keep the peace others so often shattered.

He never smiled.

Azriel’s smiles were rare, half-formed, like secrets whispered in the dead of night. But, when they did emerge, they lit his face from within — like a shadow remembering it was once light.

And the shadows that enveloped him like smoke? They didn’t hide his face. They worshiped it.

“Likewise,” Solana replied after a long pause of observation. Azriel didn’t seem bothered by the weight of her curious, almost intrusive gaze, his eyes fixed on hers.

She turned her attention back to the river, a futile attempt to ward off other memories now crackling in the back of her mind.

“I’m sorry for what’s happening to Adriata,” Azriel murmured, his voice grave and hoarse, a stark contrast to the delicate features of his face. There was a raw sincerity in his words that made Solana’s chest tighten painfully. “I know how much you love your Court. I can’t imagine the pain you must be feeling.”

Yes. Azriel truly knew of Solana’s deep love for the Summer Court – perhaps better than anyone else in that imposing house behind her. He had walked beside her through Adriata’s coral streets, had listened patiently as she passionately explained every detail of the historical monuments, had been enchanted by her stories about the folklore of the fishing villages, had feigned interest when she rambled about the scientific reasons why a certain reef grew on one beach and not another.

Solana’s throat straitened with the memory. Azriel had always listened. Always paid attention. Always asked questions that showed he truly cared about what made her happy.

How did we end up here? Solana thought with a sorrow that pierced her chest like a blade. How did two great friends, two people who had shared sacred silences and quiet afflictions, end up on such opposite poles of that political mess between their Courts?

She looked at Azriel – truly looked – and saw that the same question tormented his hazel eyes. There was a melancholy there that she recognized, a longing that mirrored her own. He, too, missed what they had lost. He, too, lamented the abyss that now stretched between them like an undefeatable ocean.

“Az,” she whispered, and the nickname left her lips like a broken prayer, laden with everything they could no longer say to each other.

“Are you ready?” Morrigan’s voice pulled Solana’s consciousness back to the present moment, snatching her from the whirlpool of memories that threatened to drown her. She blinked a few times, focusing on the details around her: the incessant rush of the river before her flowing over polished stones, the smell of wet earth and vegetation rising from the bank, the damp grass wetting the hem of her dress and clinging to her legs.

But before she could loop her arm into Morrigan’s extended one, before she could take the final step that would lead her back to the Summer Court and the web of lies she was about to weave, Solana felt a magnetic force pulling her back. Against all her willpower, against all logic screaming at her to move on, she looked at the Shadowsinger again.

What she found there knocked the air from her lungs like a punch to the diaphragm, as if she had been thrown in a free fall from a cliff and hit the rocky ground with a powerful impact that reverberated through her bones.

A smile. An imperceptible, subtle little thing that untrained eyes would never be able to detect. A micro-expression hidden behind the stoic mask Azriel wore as armor. There were no bared teeth, no obvious glint in his eyes.

Solana’s heart pounded, beating against her ribs like a trapped bird trying to escape. It didn’t matter how many years passed, no matter how many betrayals and misunderstandings had happened between their courts. Solana would never be able to un-notice that smile.