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[addieslibrary]

In the Heart of Velaris

Azriel x reader

Summary: What started as a soft morning between mates and their newborn daughter, soon takes a bad turn when the Attors attack Velaris.

A/N: fluff with angst and fighting. Set during the hybern war when Velaris was breached.

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

The day had started like any other. The babe — your six-month-old miracle wrapped in wings and sleepy smiles — had woken early with a soft whimper that immediately had you and Azriel stirring. He was already up and reaching for her when you blinked open your eyes, shadowed fingers brushing against her tiny fist as he placed her between the two of you in bed.

She settled quickly in his arms, her gurgled giggles barely audible as his fingers brushed against her head in swirling patterns, muttering soft things you couldn't hear, but you didn’t need to. You watched them together, your mate — the infamous shadowsinger — practically on his knees before a squishy, wide-eyed baby girl who had him utterly and helplessly enchanted.

After a few minutes of hushed coos and kisses on her forehead, you offered to take her for a bit, but Azriel only shook his head.

“Let me,” he said, voice rough with sleep but tinged with quiet awe. “You did the midnight feeding.”

Knowing none of you were going back to sleep, you eventually wrapped yourself in a warm shawl and the three of you ended up at the training grounds not long after. You sat on a bench with your babe in your lap, tucked beneath your arms, as you watched Azriel train with Cassian.

Every now and then, he’d glance over his shoulder, grinning when he caught the baby waving her little hand or burbling nonsense at the flurry of movement.

“Your papa thinks he’s showing off,” you whispered against her cheek. “Don’t tell him he looks ridiculous.”

After training came a warm bath — you and Azriel taking turns splashing water over her, then yourselves. There was nothing quite like watching the Shadowsinger of the Night Court play with rubber duckies to make a tiny human laugh.

Not long after the bath, you all slipped into clean clothes and went downstairs for lazy, quiet breakfast with soft bread, fruit and tea. Your babe sat on Azriel’s lap, gnawing on a rubber teether, occasionally slapping it against the table like a war hammer. Azriel only chuckled, brushing a kiss over her dark curls.

It wasn’t until midmorning that Mor burst in, breezy and flushed, practically glowing. “Come with me,” she said, grinning. “We haven’t had a shopping day in weeks. And I need time with my favorite niece.”

You laughed, already watching Azriel on the floor with the babe. He was lying on his back, one wing tucked underneath her as he floated a stuffed bat overhead with two fingers, making it dance and swoop. She giggled — full and high — and kicked wildly as she tried to grab it. You couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on your lips.

“She definitely needs some new clothes with how much she’s growing ,” Mor said gently, glancing at Azriel. “And maybe he needs a nap. The human queen talks are wearing him thin. He won’t say it, but I see it.”

You knew she was right. You’ve seen the dark circles under his eyes and the way he comes to bed late every night, so busy with his spy duties.

So, after a quick exchange of kisses — one for you, two for his daughter — and an assurance that he’d enjoy a rare moment of silence. You kissed his cheek and murmured a promise to return soon.

Then the three of you—Mor, you, and your daughter wrapped snugly in her shawl against the cool wind—headed toward the city markets.

It had been a perfect few hours. Laughter spilled easily. Your daughter napped strapped against your chest while you and Mor meandered through stalls of silks, books, and tiny hand-stitched toys. Every so often, people stopped to coo at the baby, and you felt your heart stretch with joy and a quiet, humming pride.

You stopped at a fabric vendor, a paper shop, and a small garden stand that sold miniature roses in glass orbs. You bought one, and enchanted so it would bloom and close at your daughter’s laugh. It did, five times in the first hour.

“She’s going to be a heartbreaker,” Mor said, grinning as she kissed your daughter’s cheek. “Just like her mother.”

You were about to respond—when the scream cut through the air.

One scream. Then another. Then dozens.

It didn’t sound like celebration. Not like festival laughter or drunken song. It was terror. Raw, unfiltered terror that clawed at your bones.

Mor went still. Her body tensed beside you like a bowstring.

“Mor?” you asked, your voice already breaking. You clutched your daughter tighter. She whimpered softly, sensing the shift in energy.

“Stay behind me,” Mor snapped. Her magic shimmered, faint sparkles lacing her hands. “Get inside the apothecary. Don’t move.”

Within seconds, she was gone—flashing toward the source.

You tried to keep calm. The market had erupted into chaos. People scattered, knocking over crates and spilling fruit across the cobblestones. The shopkeeper rushed to shutter the windows. You shielded your daughter, whispering soft comforts as her cries grew louder.

Mor returned, her face pale. “It’s an attack. Velaris is under siege.”

The world stilled.

“No,” you whispered. “That’s not possible. They—no one can get in.”

“They did,” she growled. “Attors. They came from the mountains. Hybern lackies.”

Your blood turned to ice. Your daughter clung to you, now wailing, sensing your fear.

“We have to get back—Az—”

Mor grabbed your arm. “We’ll find a way through. Hold on.”

You both started for the townhouse. However, a group of panicked fae tore through the street. Attors swooped overhead, clawing through the air, their wings a rustling shriek. One swooped between you, separating you from Mor’s reach. You tried to run after her, but a crash blocked your path. Fire bloomed behind you, and suddenly, you were alone.

You tried to follow.

You couldn’t.

Smoke filled your lungs. The babe was screaming, louder now. You pulled her shawl tighter, cast a weak shield around her body to dull the noise and air. She kept crying.

“Shh, sweetheart,” you whispered. “We’re okay. Mama’s got you. We’re okay…”

But you weren’t.

The City of Starlight burned. Magic erupted across the skyline. Smoke painted the heavens, red and black, as buildings cracked and groaned. Villagers ran in every direction—some dragging children, others screaming for help.

Terror was a living thing clawing up your spine. You knew how to fight, to survive, the boys made sure of that years ago, but you were a healer. You gave people life, you didn’t end them. But your baby girl, Azriel’s whole world, you had to save her.

Through the bond, you felt Azriel’s panic. The moment he realized what was happening—where you were—the dread poured in like a flood. You knew he’d tear the skies apart to find you, but he was likely mid-battle himself.

You turned to run for the townhouse. But you stopped.

Two villagers were slumped by a crumbled building. One sobbed, holding the other's abdomen where blood was gushing, their legs twisted beneath them. They were dying.

“Please—” the female gasped. “Help us—please—”

You looked down at your daughter. Her eyes closed, but tears still wet her cheeks.

“I’ll keep you safe,” you whispered to her. Then to the villagers, voice firm despite your fear: “I’m a healer,” you said quickly. “I’m going to help you. Just hold still.”

You slid to your knees beside them, magic already igniting in your palms. You pressed your hands to the girl’s abdomen and poured your strength into her. Magic sparked beneath your fingers, white-gold and hot, stitching flesh and sinew. Her cries quieted. Her breathing evened.

The male wept.

“I have you,” you told him too. “I won’t let you die.”

You worked feverishly, healing one, then another. More came. Screaming, crying. Some you had to hold down as you worked, all while trying to stay hidden from the chaos. You thought of Azriel, of his shadows, of all the injuries you healed—and you clung to that pain, to his strength, and kept going.

Until a sound made your blood freeze.

A hiss. Wet and sharp.

Not human. Not fae.

You turned. An Attor loomed above, the air around it thick with rot and malice. It sniffed, tilted its head—looking at your daughter.

“Well, well,” it hissed, its voice like rot. “The shadowsinger's little whore... and his precious girl. How sweet.”

You had no weapon. No sword, no dagger.

You backed up, shielding her with your body. “Stay away.”

The creature laughed. “I wonder if she’ll scream louder than her mother.”

You saw red.

There, among the rubble, a metal shard. You lunged, grabbed it, and stabbed upward, driving it into the Attor’s gut. It roared and clawed at you, knocking you to the ground. The baby screamed.

But before it could strike again, shadows exploded across the alley like a black storm.

A blade arced through the air. A guttural snarl echoed.

And then—

A blur of shadows.

Azriel.

He didn’t land. He tore through the Attor mid-flight, slicing it clean in half, wings wide and trembling with fury. He landed hard beside you, shadows lashing outward like lightning, snarling with his rage.

He was breathing hard, wings out, face wild with panic and rage.

When his eyes found you—bloodied, crouched over the baby—he went still.

You gasped.

“Az—”

He didn’t speak. He dropped beside you, checking your face, your arms, your legs, his hands trembling as they touched you. “Are you hurt? Are you—gods, are you both okay?”

You could barely breathe. You nodded, voice cracking. “We’re not hurt. She’s okay. Just scared. I—I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t leave them.”

His hands were everywhere — checking your arms, your back, your babe. She whimpered, but Azriel pulled her close and kissed her brow. “I’m here. I’m here, sweet girl. Daddy’s here.”

His arms never left you. “The battle’s almost over. We’ve cleared most of the streets. Cassian’s got the skies. I’m taking you home.”

You nodded, breath still catching in your throat.

He carried both of you the whole way, never letting go. You felt his heart hammering through his leathers.

Back at the townhouse, you were stained with blood and dirt, your hands raw. Azriel didn’t leave your side. You washed your babe in silence. Blood — not yours — stained your skin. Azriel washed your arms, your hands, gently, reverently. He didn’t speak. Neither did you. There was nothing to say, not yet. Just breath and water and the silence of survival.

Afterwards, when you handed the baby to Nuala and Cerridwen, Azriel protested, wanting you to rest. But you shook your head.

“I need to help. I have to. People are still out there bleeding. Az…I can’t sit still while they suffer.”

He looked at you for a long moment, then kissed your forehead. “Then I’m coming with you.”

He helped you work—never interfering, never questioning—but always there. Always watching. Silent as a shadow, yet steady as stone.

While your hands glowed with healing light over open wounds and broken bones, Azriel stood just behind you, his siphons flickering dimly in the smoke-stained air. He kept his blades sheathed only because he knew you needed calm, not chaos. But his body was still tight with tension, eyes constantly scanning the wreckage of Velaris, wings half-spread like a shield.

He didn’t speak often—not because he didn’t want to—but because his throat was too tight with emotion, and his voice too raw from shouting your name hours earlier when he’d feared he might never hear yours again.

Still, he helped. Quietly.

He moved rubble from doorways so you could reach the wounded. Lifted bodies—some breathing, some not—with aching gentleness, so you didn’t have to. Passed you cloths, water, bandages. When your hands began to shake, he wrapped his own over yours for a moment—not interrupting the healing, just grounding you. Reminding you that you weren’t doing this alone.

He never let you out of his sight.

Not for a heartbeat.

Even when others called him—Cassian to help with defense lines, Rhys to secure the perimeter—Azriel stayed. “Later,” he’d snapped. “She comes first.”

And it wasn’t just duty.

It was fear. Guilt. Love.

He hadn’t been there when the attack started. Hadn’t stopped the breach before it touched the people he swore to protect. Before it touched you. And that knowledge, what could have happened, hung on him like a second cloak, heavier than any armor.

You could feel it in the way his eyes lingered too long on your bloodstained fingers. In the way his shadows tightened around your daughter’s cradle like they were trying to protect her from memories she was too young to have. In the way he flinched every time you winced, even if you told him you were fine.

Azriel didn’t weep.

But he watched you like he might.

And when you leaned into his side at last, after hours of healing and silence and exhaustion, he slipped his arm around you without a word. Just pulled you in.

There were no speeches. No grand declarations.

Just his steady heartbeat against your cheek.

Night came slowly, dragging its heavy blanket of silence across the wounded city.

You didn’t sleep. Couldn’t. Not with the scent of ash still clinging to your skin, not with the images replaying behind your eyes—screams and steel and blood on your hands that wouldn’t wash away. Not with your daughter asleep just inches from you, her tiny chest rising and falling with that fragile, precious rhythm of life.

You sat on the edge of your bed, hair still damp from your third bath, the steam long gone cold. Your body ached—muscles pulled tight from strain and fear—but none of that mattered.

She was safe.

Azriel sat behind you, silent. He’d shed his leathers, but you could still see the blood—most of it not his—staining the edges of his tunic. His siphons were dark now, the glow snuffed out. His wings hung low, exhausted. But his shadows had not retreated. They moved softly through the room, a quiet reminder that he was still on guard. Still watching.

You had tucked your daughter into the bassinet beside your bed, unable to bring yourself to put her in the nursery. Not tonight. Not when the scent of burning still hung in the breeze outside. She stirred once, making a soft, sleepy noise, and Azriel was on his feet instantly, moving to your side.

“I’ve got her,” you whispered, gently pressing your fingers to her chest, just to feel it rise again.

Azriel didn’t sit back down. He stayed beside you, standing in silence, his hand drifting to your back. His thumb drew soft, grounding circles between your shoulder blades, and only then did you realize—you were shaking.

“She’s alright,” he murmured. His voice cracked on the last word. “You’re alright.”

You nodded, but your throat was too tight to answer.

A long silence stretched between you, filled only by the quiet sound of the baby breathing and the occasional distant voice echoing from the streets. Velaris would rebuild. Its people would recover. But in that moment, all that existed was this room. This small, breathing miracle in the bassinet. And the male standing next to you who looked like he might shatter if you weren’t sitting there to hold him together.

Finally, you turned toward him. Slowly. He looked exhausted—dark smudges beneath his eyes, lips drawn tight. But when your gaze met his, there was only light.

“I should’ve gotten her to safety first,” you whispered. “I froze, Azriel. I—I didn’t know what to do. I healed who I could. I couldn’t leave them. But—”

“Don’t,” he said, soft but firm. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

He knelt in front of you, his calloused hands reaching for yours, cradling them like something sacred. His thumbs traced the fading marks of your magic on your skin, the ones you hadn’t had time to clean.

“You were protecting our people,” he said, voice low. “You saved lives today. With our daughter in your arms. I’ve never—” He swallowed. “I’ve never loved you more than I did watching you do that.”

A beat.

Then he bowed his head.

“But next time,” he said, a laugh hardly louder than a breath, “please. Just… just run. Get to safety first. Then save the world.”

A choked laugh left your lips, unbidden and sharp with the edge of leftover fear.

“Hopefully,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his, “there isn’t a next time.”

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours. His shadows curled around you both, a gentle embrace in the quiet.

There were no more words. Just the soft rustle of wings as Azriel helped you lie down, curling himself around you, one arm slipping protectively over your waist, the other resting gently against the edge of the bassinet. Always watching.

You finally let yourself exhale.

And for the first time all day, your body eased into something like rest, not because the world was safe, but because your mate was here.

And with him, you were home.

[addieslibrary]

How Could You?

Azriel x Reader fic

Summary: Azriel’s sharp words cut deeper than either of them expected, leaving a silence heavy with unspoken feelings. You walk away, heart aching, while Azriel is left alone with regret he won’t yet let himself address.

Warnings: Angst. Hurt no comfort (for now?). No use of y/n.

Note: As you'll probably realize after reading this, yes indeed, this is my first fic ever. I've been reading- fangirling over- the scarily talented writers on here and just thought to give it a try. So, by all means, lemme know if i should stop trying.😭

He didn't realize what he'd said until it was too late. Until they stood there in utter silence. Until you walked away. Until his very being was telling him to go after you and his shadows had moved to the corners of the room as if disgusted by him.

He hadn't meant it, of course he hadn't meant it. But he'd said it anyways and so he sat, in the kitchen of the House of Wind, with his head in his hands as his mind replayed the moment your face fell. The moment you registered his poisoned words.

It had been a stupid fight to begin with, he realized. You'd ignored his orders of simple observation and instead jumped into battle. Typical. You'd gotten the job done, sure. Yet he couldn't help but panic at the thought of your identity being revealed. You didn't even live in the House of Wind for him to keep an eye on you and your safety. And so, one mistake could cost you your life.

And that scared him more than he'd ever admit.

Yet, for him to shout like that? He'd practically cornered you the minute you'd winnowed back, still battered and bruised from the fight. And he couldn't fathom why he'd lost control like so.

Or that is what he told himself at least.

But he'd been pissed and scared.

Now he'd probably messed up the one good thing in his life.

The one joy.

It had been 3 days 2 nights 7 hours and 18 minutes since you'd talked to him.

It had been 1 days and around 8 hours, still counting, since you'd even looked at him.

He. was. losing. his. goddamn. mind.

His shadows seemed to be just as revolted by his words as him. They reached out to you constantly, even if you were no where near him.

That was the problem. You didn't want to be around him at all.

Every single time he tried to talk to you, tried to get you to even look at him. You managed to find ways to avoid him.

You weren't even trying to hide that anymore. Everybody knew something was up but nobody dared question what happened considering how Azriel looked like he'd smite the first person who talked to him.

He was distracted constantly these days. He used to always schedule a few hours of doing nothing so that he could talk to you, train you, have lunch with you, go shopping. Whatever your heart desired.

Now? Now he'd spend those hours training, to get you off his mind and yet, thoughts of you plagued his every waking moment.

He must've thought of a hundred different scenarios of how he would apologize to you. Hundreds of scenarios, most of which ended with him begging and pleading yet none seemed enough. None seemed worthy of the hurt he'd caused.

Nothing seemed worthy of you.

You were his spy, of course he'd taught you well. And now you were using his own teachings against him it seemed. You were anywhere he wasn't, and though it hurt you to blatantly avoid him so, it hurt more to know what Azriel really thought of you.

To know that the worst things you thought of yourself were exactly what he thought too.

To know that when he would take care of you after missions, he was probably just coddling you.

And when he would listen to you as you opened up to him, under the stars, in the darkest hours of the night, all he might have been doing was taking pity on you.

To know that you might just have been another project to him. Another thing to fix.

To know that the one person who truly fully knew you, also saw the ugliest parts of you and also considered them as weaknesses.

And so you did the one thing you knew to do best, you hid and you shut down.

You weren't a very quiet person but every time you would come to the House of Wind, which wasn't very often now, the reminder of his words seem to just pull your tongue out, tie it into a tight knot and shove it somewhere deep in your heart.

Because although you were a spy of the Night Court, fierce and unyielding. Though you held up your centuries old carefully crafted facade of the strong fearless faerie, he'd seen through it all and it scared you how much his words seemed to affect you.

How close to heartbreak this felt.

Part 2??

[addieslibrary]

Haunting Relations | Azriel x reader

Summary: Azriel's half-brothers show up to settle an old debt, and his love is caught in the crossfire.

A/N: Currently clearing out my plethora of WIPs. Once again rushed the ending because that’s my brand at this point.

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: major angst, blood, (somewhat graphic) violence, (side character) death, misogyny, language, mentions of torture

-

The sun was low in the sky as Y/N closed the door to her friend’s café, a bag filled with a few scarce baked goods slung over her shoulder.

With spring lurking just around the corner, it seemed the people of Velaris had rediscovered their sweet tooth, leaving Josephine’s lavish displays entirely sold out. And yet, Y/N had managed to snatch a few cherry faetarts just before closing time. They were Azriel's favourite.

Her heart beat faster at the prospect of seeing him; of spending the night with him in the apartment he owned by the Sidra, just a few blocks down from where her own home lay.

They spent most of their nights at her place, what with Azriel's apartment being more of a scarcely furnished refuge than a home. He'd told her once that he'd only bought it for the rare times he needed to get away from the House of Wind or the townhouse—needed to get away from his family.

She'd thought it funny at first, the need for a third home, but she got it now. He'd wanted a place just for himself. It had touched her when he'd offered her a key. A key to his safe space.

Tonight, she'd surprise him. She knew he'd get home from a mission that had demanded his presence on the continent for the last seven days. Just an hour prior, he'd sent a shadow ahead to let her know that he'd crossed back into Prythian safely which meant that, given the time it usually took him to debrief his missions with Rhys, he'd most likely be back home within the hour—if he wasn’t already.

She was cautious in opening the door, but she couldn't hear anything inside, and so she took a step into the living room.

Empty.

As empty as the adjoining kitchen.

A blanket had been haphazardly thrown over the back of the couch, and Azriel's spare boots sat in a neat pair by the front door. There was the vase of tulips she'd left on his table last week—their heads still standing proudly thanks to the shimmering powder she’d bought in town and mixed in with the water. 

Everything seemed normal.

And yet … it didn't.

She couldn’t say if it was something in the air, something in the eery silence that seeped through the apartment that rose the tiny hairs on the back of her neck, but before she had the chance to investigate, a hand was pressed over her mouth, the cool edge of a blade held to the delicate curve of her throat.

The bag with her faetarts hit the ground as she gasped.

She felt a pull in the very pit of her stomach and from one moment to the next, the room shifted, and she found herself winnowed to the bedroom separated from the rest of the apartment by a short flight of stairs.

Her insides twisted at the image before her, her muscles freezing at the voice in her ear.

"Won't you look at this pretty little thing, Az," it hummed, sticky hot breath licking down the side of her neck. "You didn't tell us we'd be getting company."

On the floor of his bedroom, Azriel knelt—wings hanging limp from his back, and wrists shackled before him. She felt the presence of faebane in her very bones and at once, her mind grew dizzy with realisation.

She couldn’t feel him—not like she usually could. There was still the usual thrum of the bond, buried and muted just enough to justify the distance between Prythian and the continent, but she hadn’t even questioned when it hadn’t gotten stronger upon his return … how could she not have noticed?

Nausea washed over her, and she did her best not to make a sound at the state of her mate, but when she caught the flicker of panic in his eyes, her knees wobbled. He wasn't wearing his Siphons, wasn't wearing his leathers. Evidently, he'd been ambushed in the comfort of his home, and blood was running from a wound on his temple, dripping down his chin to sully his shirt. His shadows where nowhere to be seen—driven away by the faebane as well.

Behind Azriel, dagger in hand, stood an Illyrian. Huge, black wings protruded from his back, and at the sight, confusion shot through her. Why would an Illyrian attack one of their own?

He kept his fingers buried in Azriel's hair, hand clenched into a tight fist as he pulled his head back far enough to bare his throat, and for one horrifying second, Y/N thought he'd slide his dagger across it. But all he did was sneer.

"Don't be shy. Tell us who our guest is." His voice was smooth as velvet but cold as the frozen grounds of the Winter Court.

"Nobody of importance," Azriel said, and Y/N was surprised to hear how calm he sounded. Almost detached.

The Illyrian gave a snort. "That's convincing." With a nod of his chin, he seemed to signal the man holding the blade to Y/N’s throat, as he soon slid his hand off her mouth to tangle his fingers in her hair instead.

From the corner of her eye, she could see yet another pair of wings looming over her. Another Illyrian, then. She twisted her head in disgust when wet lips appeared on her cheek, warm breath washing over her at the words he all but whispered into her skin.

"Go ahead, beautiful. Tell us who you are."

She had to swallow thickly to muster the courage to speak, but when she did, she spoke the first name that came to mind, cringing at the quiver in her voice.

"Jesminda. I— … I clean here sometimes."

At her words, the Illyrian behind Azriel began to hoot. "You have a cleaner? My, my, things really have turned around for you, brother dearest."

It hit her like a brick, then. The resemblance. The dark hair, the eyes, the tilt of their jaw—all traits inherited by the same father. Her heart sank at the realisation, at the memories Azriel had shared with her, the implication of their presence.

Azriel's half-brothers.

The cruel bastards that had poured oil over his hands to see what would happen if one were to mix his enhanced healing with fire.

Her teeth clenched despite her best efforts, her throat suddenly dry as a desert, her words scratchy as she clung to her lie. "I didn't think anyone would be home at this time of day."

The brother who still held her pressed to his front gave a soft hum, and she could hear the way he inhaled deeply, the warm tip of his nose pressing deeper into her cheek. She could see the way his lashes fluttered from the corner of her eye.

“You smell delicious, sweetheart,” he growled against her, before turning to look at Azriel. "But how come I can smell you all over her?"

She could hear the smirk in his voice.

He knew they were lying.

Azriel rolled his eyes, and part of her stung at the ease with which the next words rolled off his tongue, something akin to annoyance dripping from each syllable. "I fucked her a couple of times. She’s of no relevance. Let her leave and get on with it."

She knew he was putting on a show of course, but still, those weren't necessarily words she enjoyed hearing from her mate. Especially not if they sounded so ... convincing.

The Illyrian behind her shifted his grip, turning her in his arms until she saw herself confronted with another face so similar to Azriel's, yet so much colder in its expression.

He pulled her head a bit further back and lifted the tip of his dagger to scape across her bottom lip. A sense of contemplation lay in his eyes. "Was she any good?"

She had to fight not to bury her knee in his groin for this question alone, but the blade was still much too close for her liking.

"Why don't you find out?" she heard herself say, her voice husky with the way he was bending back her head, her heart beating rapidly with the attempt to feign courage.

A grin appeared on his face at that, and she hated how much it resembled Azriel's. How was it possible to resent one version of a smile while loving the other so dearly?

"Perhaps I'll take you home with me after we're done here," he drawled, attention flickering down her body as his tongue shot out to wet his lips. "I've always had a weakness for High Fae cunt." His eyes focussed back on her face, and the hunger that lay in them had her stomach churn. "They're nice and tight to an Illyrian cock."

She forced her breathing to calm, forced her lids to lower into a sultry expression, while praying to the Gods that it would work. "We could test the theory right now."

For one glorious second, she thought that her plan was truly successful. That with a bit of luck, he'd take her to the next room. She'd only need him distracted for a second and perhaps she'd be able to plunge the dagger into his neck.

But her sorry excuse for a plan collapsed in on itself as he leaned closer, his lips finding the shell of her ear. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing, beautiful," he hummed, his next words causing her spine to grow rigid. "I can smell a mating bond from a mile away."

"Dain," the annoyed voice of the other Illyrian sounded from behind her, and Y/N clenched her teeth when she was turned back around to face Azriel. He was still doing his best to keep his expression schooled into careful indifference, but she could see the flicker of anger at Dain's hands on her. "Are we spending our entire day here so you can fuck around with some faerie? Just kill her and be done with it."

Azriel's jaw clenched at his half-brother's words, and to Y/N's misery, she wasn't the only one who noticed.

Dain chuckled darkly. "I will have you know that you are talking about your sister-in-law, Fen."

Interest sparked in the second brother's face, and Azriel's eyes slipped closed for a fleeting second.

"No way," Fen chortled. "Azzie really found someone to ride him. You know what, good for you, brother."

"What do you want?" Azriel ground out through clenched teeth, his eyes never leaving Dain.

"Well, we heard you've been doing quite well over here, what with sucking up to the High Lord and all. We wanted to see if you'd be open to sharing your new fortune with your family."

"Family," Azriel scoffed. "Go fuck yourself."

Dain tut-tutted. "Is that really how you want to speak to me while I have my hands on your pretty little mate?"

The hand that wasn't holding a dagger slipped from her hair, and when a firm grip landed on her breast, she flinched, and without thinking, she drew back her hand and slapped him across the face.

Surprise entered Dain's expression, and when Fen began to laugh, Dain joined in, all the while watching as Y/N, now freed from his grip, scurried back a few steps.

Unfortunately, there was nowhere to go, as Dain was blocking the only door, and she wasn't keen on jumping out a window.

"Look at you, sweetheart," Dain drawled as he stalked after her. "Feisty little thing, aren't you? Good thing we have just the cure for that. Az can tell you all about it."

She didn't know what he was talking about, but suddenly, he reached out for a nearby lamp and flung it at her. For a second, she thought it would hit her square in the face, but when it burst on the wall behind her, sending her into a full-body flinch, she realised that he hadn't truly been aiming for her.

The momentary distraction was enough for Dain to catch up with her, his grip on her hair much tighter this time, and when he gripped her wrists in one large hand to stop her from hitting him, she heard Azriel snarl.

"You rotten bastard—"

"There's only one bastard in this room, Azzie," Fen interrupted, delight in his voice. "And it's not us."

Grim realisation shot through her when Dain dragged her to the wall and took his hand from her hair to pick up the broken remains of the lamp with the tip of his dagger—remains that were oozing oil.

"Dain," Azriel growled behind them, struggling against Fen’s grip on him. "I swear to the Cauldron, I will skin you alive."

But Dain wasn't listening. He lifted the lamp, held it over the wrists he kept locked in a grip tight enough to bruise, and watched as the lamp oil poured over her hands.

"Don't worry, darling," he purred, his grin drawing dimples to the surface of his cheeks. "It'll sting for a bit, but it will pass. And then you two will match. Fun, right?"

"What do you want?" she asked now, surprised at the steady tone of her voice, though her heart thumped loudly in her ears.

"From you?" Dain tilted his head. "Nothing. Well, nothing much. I'm still keen on finding out if Az settled for a mediocre fuck, but other than that, there's not much you have to offer."

"I have money," she said. "Isn't that what you're here for?"

"Well, yes and no," Dain said. "We do enjoy tormenting little Azzie."

She swallowed thickly, her eyes flickering to Azriel as the oil slicked her skin. There was clear fury edged into every corner of his face now, though she spotted the panic beneath—panic as she’d never seen on him.

Turning back to face his brother, she frantically searched for something to offer, something that would be valuable enough to draw his attention elsewhere.

But nothing came, and she watched in horror as Dain shoved his free hand deep into the pocket of his leathers, soon producing a little matchbox for her heart to stop its rhythm for a fleeting second. Once again, she attempted to draw back, but despite the oil, his grip was unrelenting.

“Please,” she heard herself breathe, her voice cracking as he shoved open the box with one hand. “Please, I—… I could—”

“Dain, I will do anything,” Azriel interrupted, his tone firm, though a pleading note had entered his voice that had her eyes dart back to her mate. She’d never heard him like that. The shadowsinger, spymaster of the night court, feared in all of Prythian … was terrified.

Azriel’s jaw was clenched as his eyes flickered between her hands and her face, his chest heaving with the grip Fen still kept on his hair, his head tilted back.

“I will do anything. I will give … anything,” Azriel said, eyes wide and desperate as he struggled against his brother’s grip. “Just let her go.”

Dain offered her a smirk with his back still turned on his brothers, but he schooled his expression into careful boredom before he turned to face Azriel.

“Interesting thing, mating bonds,” he hummed, tilting his head as he beheld Azriel kneeling on the ground with his expression wild and his muscles tense. “They’re supposed to give you all this power, make you feel invincible, create offspring ready to conquer the world, and yet …” Turning back to face Y/N, an ugly sneer entered his face. “And yet here you are, offering everything you have for the person who is evidently your biggest weakness. Interesting, is it not? The power one holds if one controls the shadowsinger’s mate.”

He spat those last words as though they were filthy, as though they tasted bitter on his tongue, and her heart cramped at the look in Azriel’s eyes. Because Dain was right. There was nothing he couldn’t make Azriel do as long as he had her.

“So, to make things interesting,” Dain said, now grinning openly as he plucked a match from its box with surprising ease, hiding the box in his palm as he expertly flicked the little stick against the wall for a flame to spark from its red tipped end.

She stared wide-eyed at the flame before her, ears droning with the rapid beat of her heart as Azriel fought harder against Fen’s grip, a thin line of blood trickling down his neck where he pressed too hard against the blade at his throat.

“Dain.” Azriel’s voice broke as he formed his half-brother’s name. “Please.”

“Please,” she echoed, to which Dain leaned closer with a mocking raise of his brows.

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I couldn’t hear you over Azzie’s begging. What did you say, sweetheart?”

She felt her bottom lip wobble, felt the indignity of it all deep in her bones, where it mixed with her fear until it threatened to consume her.

“Please, I—”

But Dain had already dropped the burning match.

-

Azriel was dying.

He was sure of it. This is what dying felt like.

His chest was caving in on itself, his lungs halting all together, and he watched in horror as the match fell and the world slowed to a stop.

She’d burn.

She’d burn right in front of him.

She’d scream and cry and plead for it to stop, for the pain to stop, for mercy—just as he had when his own hands had burned at only eight years old.

And he wouldn’t be able to do anything to help her.

The air would fill with the scent of her burned flesh, and he’d have no choice but to endure.

He reached for his power, desperate in the call for his shadows, but the faebane was still clouding his senses, weighing down on his limbs and clogging his veins. The shackles on his wrists were drenched with it—enough to numb his every sense.

But Azriel forced himself further, pushed through the thick fog hiding his powers, pleading for something to answer. Anything.

And finally—a flickering shadow.

It was small, tiny, barely big enough to do anything at all.

But big enough to drench a flame.

The shadow shot forward, wrapping around the tip of the match as it fell, and when it bounced off her hands, it fell to the ground without a spark having ignited the oil on her skin.

Azriel might have thrown up with relief if it hadn’t been for Fen’s thick fingers tangled in his hair, tearing at the roots.

Dain stood with a crease between his brow, and for a long moment, all was still.

It was then that Azriel realised something, and he could see the realisation spark in her wide, terrified eyes as well.

In order to pull the matchbox from his pocket, Dain had sheathed his dagger at his side. And then, when he dropped the match, he’d taken his other hand off her to avoid catching on fire himself.

Which meant Dain wasn’t touching her, wasn’t restraining her. She was free.

Y/N met Azriel’s gaze then and when his eyes flickered down to the broken remains of the lamp at her feet, an unspoken plan formed between them. A plan forged between mates in the short duration of no more than a second.

At once, Azriel threw himself back against Fen with all his might. It wasn’t enough to push him to the ground, but it was enough to have him stagger, and certainly enough to draw Dain’s attention.

Azriel’s eldest half-brother sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.

“See, Azzie, the fire was really me being kind, and now you went and ruined it,” Dain said, a cruel spark flickering in his eye. “I will have you know that there are much more fun ways to torment your little mate. Perhaps I should have you watch while I f—”

“What the fuck did I ever do to you?” Azriel spat, though he already knew the answer to that question. He’d spent his childhood contemplating it only to come to the conclusion that he’d done absolutely nothing to deserve their abuse. The only thing he’d ever done, the only thing he was ever guilty of was the seemingly unforgivable trait of having been born an illegitimate child.

But he needed to distract them, needed their sole attention on him to give her more time. He needed to play into their hatred for him, which was easy enough. They weren’t here for her after all, not really.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Y/N frantically wipe the oil off her hands, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off Dain for even a second.

“You want to know what you’ve done to us?” Fen asked from behind Azriel, his tone almost amused. “I’d say being born was the first offence.”

Dain bared his teeth in a menacing smile. “And it is our duty to never let you forget it.”

It was then that everything happened at once.

With their sole attention on Azriel, neither of his brothers had noticed Y/N pick up a sharp piece of the broken lamp’s casing, pulling the sleeve of her dress over her hand to protect herself against the sharp edges of the glass.

They hadn’t noticed her nearing Dain, hadn’t noticed the loud beating of her heart as she attempted to gather all the courage she could muster.

They’d been so taken by their hatred, so excited by the idea of breaking Azriel’s spirit by breaking that of his love that they hadn’t noticed that very love plunge the shard she carried deep into the side of Dain’s neck.

At once, the Illyrian’s expression fell, a wet gurgling sound breaking from his throat as he lifted his hands to frantically tug on the glass. But she’d done good. She’d done so good.

As she staggered backwards, watching with a horrified expression as Dain slowly drowned on his own blood, Fen took his dagger off Azriel’s throat, to storm towards his brother and catch him as he fell, lowering him to the ground with surprising gentleness.

It only took Fen a second to register the extent of the damage she’d done, and at once, his flaming eyes shot to her, indescribable fury twisting his words.

“You filthy little whore,” he roared, fists shaking with rage. “I will break every bone in your body for this. You will be begging for death once I am through with you.”

It was Fen’s first step towards his mate that finally forced Azriel’s aching body into action.

Pushing forwards on wobbly legs, he threw his entire weight on Fen and finally—finally—he went down, hitting the ground hard with Azriel landing on top and his dagger clattering to the ground.

Every inch of Azriel’s body was burning with faebane but he knew she wouldn’t make it out if he failed now. He knew Fen would do unspeakable things to her for what she’d done to Dain, knew that if he lost now, he’d condemn the love of his life to a fate worse than death.

And so Azriel pushed on, shackled hands finding Fen’s throat and pushing down hard to cut off his air supply.

But he was weakened, and Fen was not, and after the initial shock of the impact, his fists came up to hit the side of Azriel’s body over and over again, knuckles burying themselves in his flesh, cracking his ribs, hitting his kidneys.

Azriel pressed on, fingers aching with the grip he maintained on Fen’s throat, legs fighting hard to stay seated on the Illyrian’s chest as his half-brother’s wings thrashed wildly.

Fen and Dain had always been bigger than him, but Azriel was the spymaster of this court, and he hadn’t gained the title for nothing.

Azriel was strong. He’d grown much stronger than his half-brothers, and even as the faebane caused his scarred fingers to cramp, he clenched his teeth and endured.

It was ironic, really. After all, his half-brothers had been the ones to teach him to endure. They had tormented and tortured him throughout most of his childhood, and as Azriel watched the life slowly drain from Fen’s eyes, his punches weakening with every second Azriel kept his hands on his throat, he felt a grim satisfaction at the fact that they found their end through the very hands they’d scarred centuries ago.

Azriel only realised that Fen had stopped fighting, his eyes open and glassy, when chocked sobs reached his ears. At once, his head turned to find Y/N sunken against the wall furthest away from both bodies.

For one gruelling moment, Azriel thought she was crying because she’d seen his true colours, because he’d killed in front of her. It was only after a few long seconds that he realised her wide eyes were focussed elsewhere.

Dain’s chest was still heaving with chopped breaths, though blood was steadily seeping from the wound in his neck, staining the floorboards. He was dying, but he was not yet dead as the shard was blocking a large portion of his wound.

“Y/N,” Azriel croaked, wincing when he moved off Fen to realise the damage his brother had done to his ribs. “Y/N, my love. They put the key over there on the windowsill. I need you to unlock my cuffs.”

Her eyes flickered briefly to him, before focussing on the windowsill, but it took yet another log moment before she slowly rose to shaking legs and padded over to the window.

Tears were streaming down her face, silent now, but once she’d unlocked Azriel’s shackles with shaking fingers—the relief of the faebane almost instant—he forced his body past her when all he really wanted to do was hold her. But he was running out of time.

Taking Dain’s dagger from its sheath, he looked down at his dying half-brother.

She hadn’t plunged the shard as deep as he’d thought, hadn’t ended it as quickly. This would be a slow, painful death, but despite the agony he must feel, Dain’s eyes were burning with hatred as they locked on to his loathed bastard brother.

What a fitting way to end things as they’d started, Azriel thought to himself.

In one quick motion, he slid the dagger’s blade across Dain’s throat before letting it clank to the ground once more.

Silence settled like a blanket then, interrupted by only the uneven pattern of her breathing.

Turning, Azriel raised his hands to her cheeks, jaw clenching with the relief of touching her, of knowing that she was okay.

“You didn’t kill him,” he head himself say, his tone urgent, his gaze holding hers. “You didn’t end his life. I did.”

He felt her attempt to shake her head, though his palms held her face steady. The sight of her wide, hopeless eyes nearly tore him apart. The thought that his cruel brothers had broken something within his beautiful, gentle, innocent mate that had always been so distinctly her almost shattering him. He couldn’t let her carry this.

“You did not kill him, Y/N. He would have survived if I hadn’t ended it. His faerie blood would have healed him.” Azriel swallowed thickly. “I promise you. You did not kill him, my love.”

And yet, he could tell in the depth of her grief-stricken eyes, that a piece of her had shattered, nonetheless.

[addieslibrary]

Ludos Imperiales 12

A/N: Me posting on schedule for once?? And finally adding a Cassian moment??

Content Warning: Descriptions of Injuries, Mentions of Blood/Torture/Slavery

Previous Chapter/Masterlist

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

Cassian’s sitting up when I return in the late afternoon the next morning with enough mirthroot to get half the city high, his eyes bloodshot, rimmed with circles so dark I’m not convinced they aren’t bruises. 

“You haven’t slept,” I say by way of greeting. 

A shadow of stubble already crawls across his dirt streaked face, as if time is passing faster for him than for the others. Azriel’s wounds are the worst. They’d taken that flagrum to his already broken wings and I’m shit out of luck with how to treat such delicate limbs. I’d bandaged them best I could last night, and have come back this morning with enough coin to bribe the Arena’s healer into doing what I can’t, the least I can do is ease the other’s pain while they wait for their turn to be properly looked at. 

Cassian’s gaze drags to me like his eyes are made of lead. He’d let me touch his wings last night out of necessity, the bandages I’d set in place barely clinging on now. Sometime in the last couple of hours he’d managed to crawl into an upright position so he could watch the door, a fresh wave of blood dribbling down his sides to form a small puddle in the mud beneath him. “‘M fine.”

I approach slowly. He hadn’t said a word other than “fuck me” from the pressure of the bandages last night, had just gritted his teeth and accepted that I was the only one coming to help ensure he kept his wings. It was abundantly clear he’d allowed it out of necessity. Now that he can hear the healer making a fuss in Azriel’s cell, I’m unsure how necessary he’ll think I am.

“I brought something to help with the pain,” I say as I kneel in front of him. 

He watches me like I’m a snake coiled to strike. “Give it to Az.”

I place a worn leather satchel between us, the lip falling away to reveal a bottle of temetum and the multiple packs of mirthroot I’d acquired. His hazel eyes flick briefly to the bottle of undiluted wine before coming back to me. A move that would have been harder to track if he wasn’t so exhausted.

“I’ve got plenty to share. Take your pick.”

“Wine would be nice, I guess.”

At least he’s speaking to me. I uncork the bottle and hold it out to him. Finding cups was too time consuming, I’d figured they’d need a lot anyway, the three of them could easily finish off the bottle. 

He tries to take it, arm muscles so tight they’re shaking, but he can’t lift his arm very high off the floor before his face twists in pain. The whip had torn through both his wings and his back, it must have hit muscle somewhere. 

I move despite my better judgement, a hand on his bicep to steady him as he bites down on his lip to keep quiet. “Shit, here, let me help you.” I bring the bottle to his lips and tip it back, letting the crimson colored liquid slip slowly over the top.

I’ve never been more aware of him. The underlying scent of snow-chilled wind and crackling embers, heavy even under the coppery scent of blood and sweat clinging to his skin. The sheer size of him, every bit of him hard and sculpted for battle. I knew it; I’d seen it in action, but I was practically in his lap, watching every swallow he took as he drank the wine down like it might be his last chance at tasting it, and I realized I’d never been so close.

When I pull the bottle away from his cracked lips to let him catch his breath, his head falls forward just enough that for the briefest of moments, our foreheads touch. A breath shakes out of him, labored and heavy, and pained. 

Instinctively, the hand not holding the bottle reaches up to push a loose strand of sweat slicked hair off his cheek, where it falls in his eyes. His stubble is rough against the smooth skin of my palm, my fingertips gently tracing the swell of his cheek as I tuck it behind his ear. He doesn’t protest my touch like I expect him to.

“Thank you,” he whispers before pulling away. 

I want more. Damn me! Now that I’ve had a taste I can’t stop myself from wanting to trace more of him with my fingertips. I want to feel those damaged lips on mine, chasing the taste of wine away with my tongue. 

I lean back on my heels instead. “Do you want the mirthroot?”

Azriel screams from his cell, reality chasing away any lingering fantasies about what we can do down here. The bond echoes with his pain as the Healer calls for the Guard to help hold Azriel down so he can work. 

“Go help him,” Cassian says instead. “Please.”

Having them all in one place would make this so much easier, but I doubt we’ll ever be that lucky again. The odds are leaning towards individual matches in the future, I doubt the Emperor will ever let the mistake of letting them save each other happen again. 

Azriel’s screaming is getting more intense by the second and Cassian looks like he might try to stand and go to him if I don’t, so I make quick work of shouldering my way into Azriel’s quickly crowding cell. Two Guards have come to hold him down by the shoulders; his thrashing has knocked off most of the bandages I’d placed last night, blood flowing freely from the tattered membrane. His wings look like an old, tattered piece of cloth.

Between the three males, they’ve managed to get Azriel off the floor and onto the iron bunk welded to the wall, but the movement must have been excruciating because there’s a fresh puddle of vomit on the floor. I have to skirt around it to crouch in front of Az, where his chin sits against the edge of the bunk. 

I take his face in my hands. “Look at me.” His skin is hot to the touch, sweat dripping down his forehead as his body tries to fight off an infection.

He drags his eyes open, scarred hands fumbling to take hold of my wrists. “Make it stop. Make them stop.” He begs.

My heart clenches painfully tight in my chest. “They’re going to help you.”

His grip on my wrists is a vice as he tries to shake his head, the chain around his throat rattling. It has effectively cut him off from his shadows, the little creatures nowhere to be found now. The loss of their ever constant presence must feel like losing a limb. “Don’t let them take my wings!”

The fever’s making him delirious, but his panic is very much a real, thrashing thing down the bond. “They’re not going to take your wings, I promise.”

“I need to get to work-” the Healer starts.

“Shut up,” I hiss. “You didn’t even try to give him something for the pain first!” A bit of my darkness seeps out of my heels, hissing along the floor like their appearance might make up for my mate’s lack of shadows. 

The cell trembles around us, dust raining down from the ceiling. I don’t try to reign it in this time. The Guard will tell the Emperor about this, and I will tell him it’s all part of my plan. 

With some bullying of the guard I get my hands on some hot rocks in order to diffuse some of the mirthroot faster, letting the vapor rise like incense off the edge of the bunk. The smoke clouds the area around Azriel’s head, the high almost immediate. His hazel eyes glaze over, body relaxing as he slumps on the bunk.

I drift my fingers through his hair. “You’re going to be ok.” This is not the time to cry. The amount of things shooting down my bond with all three of them is a lot when they’re in this state, it’s taking everything I have to keep my own emotions in check, to not be swept away in the tidal wave of pain and fear that threatens to drag me under. 

I give myself a little shake. I have to be strong for them. “The Healer will help.”

Azriel groans, scarred hand reaching up to brush absent patterns along my wrist. “Hurts,” he slurs against the effects of the mirthroot.

“I know. It’ll be over soon.” I motion the Healer back over with my chin and the male has the good sense to look a little hesitant in getting so close to me.

I reign my darkness back in, little by little until it’s gone. The Guards share a look and I know this will get back to my Father eventually. I’ll have to be clever in my explanation; better yet, I should save myself the headache and go over to the Palace once I’m done here. It’ll keep me ahead, let me spin the narrative in a way that doesn’t make me look so bad in his eyes.

The Healer starts working and I instinctively intertwine my fingers with my mate, letting him squeeze as hard as he needs as the male starts dripping oils down his raw back. When Azriel whimpers in pain again, I set more mirthroot over the hot rocks. Everyone in the cell’s going to be high as hell by the time it’s all said and done, but it keeps Azriel from screaming, his breathing even as he drifts in and out of consciousness. 

Even as he starts to doze off, he doesn’t let go of my hand, his grip still firm and steady. I use my free hand to trace the grooves and ridges of his scars, the pattern like a map of valleys and hills. I wonder if he can even feel my touch, or if his nerves are permanently fried. I’d never thought to ask.

“Such delicate things, wings,” the Healer muses as he works. “You’d think something meant to carry a body this large would be less fragile.”

I tear my gaze away from Azriel’s hands to glare at him. “You will save them.” There is no room for debate here. 

The Healer rolls his eyes at me. “Sound like your Father.”

“Then you know what’s at stake if you mess this up,” I hiss in return. I won’t let the sting of the insult land. If that’s the monster I have to make myself out to be to ensure they are healed, so be it. There is no depth in Hel I won’t descend to to ensure their survival.

Azriel’s fully dozing now, his breathing even, body relaxed. I genuinely don’t know how he has the strength to still be holding my hand. 

The Guards leave when they see they’re not needed, I can hear them tormenting the other gladiators down the hall. 

The Healer makes slow work, between weaving strands of glittering magic along the frayed ends of Azriel’s wings and applying oils and antiseptics and bandages afterwards. Time becomes a steady unfurling of white bandages and blood. I keep myself busy by combing the knots out of my mate’s hair with my fingers; anything I can to ensure he knows, even in sleep that I’m here. I wish I could do more.

The Healer’s eyes are rimmed with dark circles by the time he’s done, the strain of that much magic clearly taking a toll. 

White bandages cover every inch of Azriel’s wings, and there’s more along his back, sticky from the oils. There’s not enough skin left to be stitched back together, the wounds will have to be cleaned and dressed over and over until they can heal on their own. A thought that makes me shutter. They need to be somewhere clean to avoid infection at all costs. It’ll be months before they’re able to fight again. Months before they’re able to be up and moving at all. And I know that it’s months we don’t have. 

I have to find a way to buy them time.

I toss the Healer the first round of coin. He’ll get the full amount once he’s done with each of them, to ensure he’ll properly comply with my many demands. I’m going to need a lot more to bribe him to do this daily if I can’t find a way to get them back to the River House. 

“This is a whole lot of work for a couple of slaves,” the Healer grumbles. 

It takes everything in me not to blow the roof off the place. 

---

Joining my Father for dinner is surely a mistake, but I don’t see what other choice I have. Besides, it’s not like I can go home. Not without being drugged again. 

The Emperor lounges on plush pillows, propped up by scantly dressed servants and fanned with palm fronds by others. There’s a feast large enough to feed the city spread out before them, barely touched as he focuses all his attention on a plate of roasted chicken and a never ending supply of wine. 

My cousins join him today, on his left, reclining against each other. Brannagh eyes me with enough contempt to remind me that the last we’d spoken directly, I’d accused her of sleeping with Dagdan. The fact that his throat is littered with hickeys does nothing to prove me wrong. 

Amarantha arrives after we’ve started, huffing an excuse about dealing with a prison riot.

The five of us make a sorry excuse for company. Dagdan won’t stop rambling one nonsense story after the other, most of which annoy Amarantha so badly she has no choice but to dispute his claims. There’s little room for the rest of us to get a word in.

I have not missed these. 

The food sits heavy in my stomach; all I can think about is how I had to bribe the Guard to ensure my mates even got a meal, should they wake up to eat it after the amount of mirthroot it took to get them comfortable. Rhys had finished off the bottle of wine before the Healer was done. 

“I tell you the male ripped the beast a part with his bare hands!” Dagdan finishes. I don’t know what the rest of the story was, I’d tuned him out, filling the noise in my skull with my second wine glass of the evening. 

The Emperor seemed surprised by my visit, but he hasn’t said a word about it yet, despite the way those slate gray eyes watch my every move.

“I can assure you, he didn’t,” Amarantha counters. “Leon has got to be the worst Gladiator Beron has ever produced in those grimy little Pits he runs in Autumn.”

“You haven’t been to those Pits in some time,” Dagdan refutes. “They are much better run than they used to be.”

“You sink too much money into false hopes, boy,” the Emperor chastises, but his gaze remains fixed on me when he speaks. 

“None as much as my dear cousin,” Dagdan sneers. 

“I’m sure you’ve nearly drained your purse on those brutes by now,” Brannagh says with a laugh.

Amarantha eyes me curiously. 

“My purse is fine,” I say dismissively, hoping to end this conversation here and now.

“How are your little pets?” Amarantha presses. 

I absently stab at a piece of roasted vegetable. Telling her their actual condition might leave room for her to try and do something to them; lying might send someone down to confirm my story. “Recovering,” I say, trying to find a middle ground between the two. “I’ll be lucky if the Shadowsinger can fly after this.”

“Wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t cheated,” Father says as one of his serving girls wipes a bit of wine out of his greying beard.

“It’s going to cost me a lot to fix, is all,” I say, using the excuse of biting my food to hide the way my jaw tenses. 

“I heard you were down there with them this morning,” he inquires.

Amarantha places her elbows on the table as she leans forward like she might miss this new bit of gossip.

Beside me, Dagdan frowns about being forgotten so quickly.

“I was.” I take another sip of wine to hide how dry my mouth suddenly feels. “It was fairly easy in the state they were in to convince them I had defied you to see them. I’d say their trust in me is fully cemented. They’ll start telling me things soon enough.”

“I want to know what Rhysand had planned after taking Illyria from me,” the Emperor says. It’s by far the closest he’s ever come to trusting me with political matters. “Surely he couldn’t have intended to push us out of the territory alone. His fighting men are strong, but it’s not enough of an army. He had to have been planning on aid from somewhere.”

I nod as I chew on another bite of food, pretending to think it over.

“His men have revealed nothing,” Amarantha sighs as she stabs at her plate with more force than necessary. “We’ve had to get creative with our methods to get them to talk and even under duress their… loyalty,” she spits out the word like its poison, “has won out.”

My chest constricts. Were the crucifixions not creative enough? Was making them walk here, chained and naked and beaten from Illyria not enough? We were torturing them now too?

“I can always put my talents to use,” Brannagh offers, tapping a manicured nail against her forehead. 

“Maybe they don’t know,” I offer. “Rhysand is secretive, allusive even to me. Maybe he held that card close to the vest for their protection.” I don’t like putting him directly in the line of fire, but I know what he would do if he was here, what he would offer to keep Brannagh’s hands off his men. All of them would offer themselves as a target to keep them safe. I can act for them in this.

“Give me a few more days, let me see what I can get out of him before you resort to that.”

“Awfully protective of these Illyrians, aren’t we?” Amarantha accuses.

“I’m merely thinking of the losses,” I counter. 

What was it my Father had always said? “A slave is more expensive to replace than to keep alive.”

To which the male raises his cup in salute before downing it in one gulp. The wine is quickly refilled.

“For once you were paying attention,” he praises.

The food sits heavier in my stomach. For so long that was all I’d ever wanted, for him to be proud of me, for him to see that I was trying my hardest to be the daughter he needed to me. I’d craved the faintest scrap of his attention for so long it had nearly destroyed me. To hear it now, to see what I would have had to become to earn it…

This whole Empire is a poison. It ruins everything it touches. 

“Brannagh, Dagdan, you may leave us.”

The twins look surprised by the sudden shift in conversation. Surely they thought they were going to be given an opportunity.

“But-”

He waves a hand at them. “We have matters to discuss that don’t concern you. Go. I’ll send for you if I need you.”

Brannagh grits her teeth as she stands, her eyes, the same shade as my Father’s narrowed in on me as if this is my fault. I supposed, in my absence, she’s gotten used to standing in my place, to being recognized. With me here now, there’s not as much room. The admiration of the Empire can only hold so many people. I fear I’ve made a bigger enemy out of her than I meant to.

Dagdan’s mouth opens and closes like he might say something, then thinks better of it. After his drunken outburst yesterday he knows he doesn’t have the sway he needs to be here.

They leave with their arms linked together, like the weight of the dismissal is too much for them to carry alone.

The glare Brannagh throws over her shoulder as the doors start to close tells me I need to be aware of just how many enemies I’m making these days.

“I need to make sure you are prepared for this task you’ve set out to do,” Father says once they’re gone.

My heart stutters in my chest. “What do you mean?”

“This information will not just come to you, if you intend to appeal to this bond they think they have with you and get the information we need, you need to make some… adjustments.”

Amarantha watches me over the rim of her glass.

“What are you suggesting?”

“Torture clearly won’t work,” he explains. “And it would ruin this trust they have in you. You need to be more persuasive in your approach, I think.”

“The faster we have results, the easier to deal with this mess will be,” Amarantha adds.

“And you’re in a… unique position.”

I don’t rub my temples like I want to. “Speak plainly, please.”

“Seduce them.”

I accidentally drop my fork, the clang of it hitting the plate deafening in the wide space.

“It's what they want from you anyway, what a mating bond demands happen. If you can convince them that you’re as desperate to be with them as they are you, they’ll tell you more readily. More secrets have been spilled in bed chambers than in temples.”

“Plenty of sponsors reap the benefits of their champions anyway, it would not be out of the norm,” Amarantha shrugs.

Bile rises in my throat. “Aren’t you still in the process of marrying me off?” 

“Romulus is intrigued by you, but he will not ask for your hand while you are tied to them. You ruined that chance.” He takes another long drink of wine, clearly displeased with that fact. “Tamlin and Eris are still competing, but what they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

I take another long drink of wine. “I’ll need them returned to my care at the River House. Attempting to do anything in the Arena barracks could lend ear to gossip and that could poorly affect a marriage proposal.”

“You can take Rhysand back, not all three of them.”

Any sort of excitement that I’d managed to actually pull this off fades in an instant. 

“They’ve proven that being together is dangerous.”

“They are not fools, they will see through this arrangement,” I try to argue, but he cuts me off with a raised hand.

“You have proven to be equally as unpredictable and I need assurances that you are not playing me just as you are them. I know what a bond is capable of, I have seen plenty of children turn on their parents for a mate. Prove yourself useful with Rhysand and then perhaps I will find a usefulness for the others. Until that time, they stay with the other gladiators.”

“They need a clean environment to heal if you are to keep them as gladiators.”

“This is not a debate. It is a test. You’ve revealed a weakness in yourself. Show me it isn’t one.”

“There are plenty of other ways for us to get results if you’re incapable,” Amarantha says with a shrug. “I don’t personally think you’re capable of separating your feelings on the matter, but I’m eager to sit back and watch it burn.”

My cheeks burn but I bite my tongue.

“I’ll get the results we need when you fail.”

“I won’t fail,” I say through my teeth. 

But it’s certainly going to take a lot more than I’d anticipated to play this Game, and play it correctly. Hell, I still have to find a way to get this to work around Anise! And manage to go back and forth between the House and here to ensure Azriel and Cassian are safe.

I don’t rub the tension headache building in my temples. I don’t let the mask slip. I raise my glass in mock toast to my Father. “Here’s to ensuring the safety of the Empire.” The wine helps the unease lodged in my throat go down a little easier. I’m going to need a lot more before this is done.

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Sorry this chapter is so short, I was debating on the direction I was headed, so I just needed to set some things up. As always, let me know if you want to be added to the tag list and thank you all for sticking with me this far! <3

[addieslibrary]

Ludos Imperiales 11

A/N: A little bit of wound-tending to make up for the wait of this chapter :)

Content Warnings: Blood and Gore, Gladiator Fights, Unnamed Character Death; Reader Tends to Rhys' wounds post fight (I know nothing about medical procedures, this is based off a Google search don't come for me)

Previous Chapter/ Masterlist

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Torchlights flicker in monstrous shapes across the rough stone walls, the path beyond ominously dark. The rattling of chains and distant sounds of wheezing coughs lead me forward as I pull the hood of my cloak a little lower.  

If I don’t find them down here, I think I might die anyway.

The bond is a bleeding thing in my chest, the tether echoing with agony that feels like it might just rend my soul from my flesh. I can’t breathe beyond the pain that pulses through me, that compels me to move faster in the dark. Danger is irrelevant. My mates need me. Nothing beyond that matters. 

The path curves to the left and slopes, loose rock crunching under my feet with every step. I’ve never been so aware of how loud my own footsteps are until now. 

Once the path levels out, it goes straight for what feels like miles, I keep a hand on the wall as I inch forward little by little, until another torch finally comes into view. It’s anchored above a door, the wood old and faded, the iron edges covered in rust. Beside it, on a stool that’s seen better days, sits a guard. Not a Praetorian, which is the only reason I know this reckless decision of mine will work. A Praetorian will give word back to my Father, but this male? He’s human, round enough that he’s using his stomach as a table to balance a plate piled with bread and grapes. Crumbs cling to the patchy stubble that rims his round face, eyes glassy. There’s at least four empty bottles around his sandaled feet. Not drunk enough to be asleep, but not awake enough to remember I was here.

I slide a bag of coins out of my belt and toss it at him as he registers my presence. “I was never here.”

He opens the bag, nods to himself and hands over the key to the door with a chuckle. “Or you could stay for the company, doll.”

I ignore him as I jam the key in the worn lock and force the door open. The fact that it doesn’t creak when it opens tells me I’m not the only one that’s been sneaking through these tunnels lately. 

I lock it behind me and slide the key into a pocket on the inside of my cloak. I don’t need anyone sneaking up behind me. 

The room I find myself in is leagues taller than the tunnels, the roof stretching high out of reach, supported by massive iron pillars. We’re far beneath the Pit floor, but the smell of rot and decay and damp earth assaults me as soon as I step in. 

There’s a door to the right, locked with a padlock, probably a way towards the Pit, but no Guards on this side. Why waste them when you know the occupants can’t fight their way out?

My heart clenches so tightly in my chest I almost can’t breathe.

The Orc crawls its way up the boulder, meaty hands grabbing for purchase on the lip of the rock, just missing Rhys’s shoulder. 

My mate’s movements are terrifyingly slow as he manages to roll onto his side, pushing Cassian’s shaking frame off his chest. 

Azriel is screaming beneath him, throwing rocks and debris, trying desperately to get himself airborne, but his wings aren’t strong enough. The membrane shutters and twitches and Azriel is a deep shade of green as he keeps flapping them harder and harder, managing to get up an inch or two before they give out. He hasn’t had enough time to heal!

The rocks make the Orc chuckle as it gets another hand on the lip of the rock and begins hauling himself over the edge. 

I can’t do anything but sit there uselessly, my heart in my throat, watching in terror as Rhys manages to sit up, face twisting in pain. Only desperation has him throwing a punch into the Orc’s good eye, but the blow lacks the muscle he needs to dislodge him, he has to throw them again and again until the monster slips an inch or so down the rock. 

Rhys manages to twist so he’s sitting on the edge, using his heels to kick at the Orc’s hands and keep him from climbing back up, but it’s not doing enough. Cassian can’t yet help him, any attempt to sit up has his whole body shaking, the twitching starting all over again with each and every moment. 

I watch as Azriel’s gaze sweeps over the arena, looking for any remaining weapons, anything he can use to his advantage. There’s nothing, everything that had been left on that floor is ash. His gaze sweeps to our booth, past Amarantha and my Father, before settling on me. Without the bond it is hard to be sure, but that look, the way his lips droop, the way his hazel eyes turn pleading, it feels an awful lot like an apology.

There aren’t enough words to describe the terror that lodges itself in my throat as his shadows dislodge from behind his back, writhing through the air like a living breathing thing. 

“You said the gorsian would keep them at bay!” The Emperor snarls at Amarantha. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him find a flaw in her and it would be an entirely more unsettling experience if Azriel’s shadows weren’t pulling the Orc from his perch!

The crowd is in an uproar, booing and hissing and throwing things into the arena in outrage. The amount of money the crowd will lose has to be astronomical. And while they may lose the money on a technicality, Azriel will still have cheated. 

It’s like a bad dream, watching the Orc’s arms pinwheel as the shadows drag him through the air towards the yawning chasm of lava below. 

The Gamemaker’s mage flails his hands frantically, trying to shift the floor around in time to keep the Game going. 

Half a dozen of those disks come shooting out the walls, all aimed in Azriel’s direction, the buzzing loud enough to be heard over the screaming of the crowd. 

The ground splinters beneath Azriel’s feet, and even as he jumps to safety, a single shadow peels away from the writhing mass around the Orc, arching towards the Mage like an airborne snake. 

“Az no!” Rhys screams. 

But the shadows and their master pay him no mind as the tendril snags the Mage around the throat and hurtles him down into his own lava!

The crowd suddenly goes deadly silent.

The ground stops shifting, the loss of magic making the pieces of rock floating around the air come crumbling down. Rhys manages to get an arm under Cassian’s shoulders and hauls him off their descending perch so they don’t get smashed as it tumbles, their fall so hard I can practically feel the impact in my teeth. 

They land at the same time Azriel’s shadows bring the Orc down into the rapidly disappearing lava, the creature’s massive bulk just barely hitting the magma before the rock closes over his head, effectively sealing him in a fiery tomb. It all happens so fast there’s not even time for the male to scream before he’s gone and the world finally stops moving. 

The tether in my chest is finally reachable, leading me through the twisting tunnels, past cages filled with grizzly, slumbering males. The stench of decay and infection gets stronger the deeper I go, fighting against the heavy press of booze and opioid smoke. Can’t have rebelling gladiators if they’re too drunk and high off their winnings to fight back. 

At least it’s late enough that my sneaking doesn’t alert too many people.  I’m sure this whole place has been in enough uproar as is.

“You fucking knew, didn’t you?” The Emperor snarls so loud I see Eris and Tamlin flinch in their seats.

I don’t let myself look at him, don’t fold in my shoulders and duck my head to try and make myself as small as possible. My attempts at playing the subservient little girl have failed me. Fainting like a weak-hearted child did nothing but piss him off. If we are to survive, we have to be smarter than this. 

I have to be smarter than this. 

So far, playing this Game by my Father’s rules has gotten us to this point. It has brought us nothing but pain and misery. 

I don’t want to play anymore. I want to win.

I told Azriel that I wouldn’t let anything come between us, and I meant it. Maybe that means it's time to do this another way. 

“Yes. I knew.”

The silence in the booth is deafening.

I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting every instinct I’ve ever had to run and hide. 

I am not weak. I am not helpless. I beat that Raven; I will beat its Master too. 

“I was curious,” I continue, drawing a deep breath to steady myself as I turn to face him. The playing field was never going to be level between us. He’s spent my entire life making sure that I would always be small and weak and too scared to move. “They seemed so eager for the opportunity I presented them. I wanted to know how far they would take it.”

“And yet you did not consult me on this?” The Emperor snarls, not buying it. 

“It needed to look real. I needed them to think I was vulnerable.”

“And what have they shown you?” The contempt in his voice is clear. 

Almost as clear as the confusion Eris is trying really hard to keep off his face. At least for now, he keeps his end of the bargain. 

“They’re trying to get close. See if they can use me. The Shadowsinger slipped up with the shadows one night. I told him I’d keep his secret in hopes of finding what else they’re hiding. It is a long game. One I need more time in, but I assure you, Father, it was never for ill intent. I am only acting on the good of the Empire. You can have the twins look into my head if you’d like confirmation.”

Maybe that’s too much of a lie, but I’ll find a way to use it to my advantage. Whatever I need to do to ensure my mates walk out of this; whatever roll becomes necessary for me to take on I will take it. 

He runs a hand over his mouth, thinking. If this had happened in the Senate Meeting during one of his episodes, I’d be dead already, but he’s in a good mood today, far clearer headed than he was then. It might save them. 

At least for today. 

The Emperor stands. It’s customary for him to give a judgment before a death, the crowd is waiting to see what he will do now that one happened before his intervention. 

“You truly expect me to believe that you’re capable of handling this sort of thing?”

I bite back the bile rising in my throat. There is only one way I get him onboard with this; only one way I ensure he doesn’t kill them right here and now. “Weakness must be purged from the Empire.” The words stick like tar in the back of my throat. “You told me that story every night as a child.”

He goes very, very still. Only he would know which story I’m referring to; I doubt he’d tell anyone else that the gods cursed him with a mate. 

“The Shadowsinger thinks he’s your mate?” 

I raise my chin, hoping he can’t see how hard it is for me to swallow, how hard it is to even get air down. He will not kill them for this. No, this is grounds for him to test me, to see if I can purge the supposed weakness he has always seen in me and rise to the occasion, or if he can finally get rid of me. 

It’s my last card. 

“They all do.”

Romulus swears beside me. I don’t look at him. Only at my Father, who suddenly looks a little green. He has to know what mates were considered before the Empire changed the story, has to know that legend says mates are to be equals. I’ve just put a giant fucking target right over my chest.

But I’ll take it. It means the arrows are pointed in my direction, instead of there’s.

“You can’t be serious,” Amarantha starts, but the Emperor raises a hand to silence her.

“This is a grave weakness, child.”

“And an advantage to your cause. Illyria doesn’t share your sentiment with mates. They think it can be used to turn me against you. With enough time, they’ll tell me everything, and I in turn, will report it back to you. This rebellion nonsense can finally be put to bed, and the Empire will have the peace it deserves.”

“And when the time comes, you will kill them, as your Emperor demands.”

Red tints my vision, even as I bow my head. “That has always been the plan, Father.”

He smooths his hands over his robes. “Then they live to see another day.”

I have to clench my hands in my skirts to try and hide the shudder of relief that rolls through my body. I’ve bought them another day. “Thank you, your Majesty.”

The Emperor turns to face the crowd, the Guard flanking him, just in case Azriel’s shadows decide they want to try and yank him out of the booth this time. Before he reaches the railing to address the crowd, he says to his Captain, “Instruct the Gamesmaker to bring out the posts. I want them flogged for their disobedience.”

My stomach pitches. No no no!

“I said they’d live. I didn’t say this behavior would go unpunished. We can’t have the other gladiators thinking they can cheat and get away with it.”

I find Rhys first, his cell cramped and dark, his body dumped onto the dust covered floor like he’s nothing, no better than an animal. I can see the rust covered chain tied to the wall, looped around a new collar. The Emperor made sure the gorsian was stronger this time around. The edge of it juts farther out, scratching back and forth across his shoulders with every wheeze of a breath he draws. The metal has to be scraping against the gashes carved into his bare back. 

There’s no more mirthroot in my system, I never went home to give Anise the chance, and without it, the bond becomes a roaring, living thing in my chest. Darkness leakes from my fingers, hissing as it slithers out my skin.

How could I let this happen?

It takes every ounce of self-control I possess, every bit of my Mother’s training to keep my powers from tearing the doors off their hinges. My hands shake as I slide the key through the lock and slip inside.

The iron door screams on rusted hinges as I open it, and Rhys groans as he tries to lift his head off the floor to see who’s coming for him. 

My heart might just bleed out my chest as I kneel beside him, gently running my hands through his hair, matted with sweat and blood. They’ll pay for this! Every last goddamn one of them.

“Shouldn’t… be here… Princess,” his voice is raw from screaming. There was no tuning out the sound of it as they tore through his flesh with a metal spiked flagrum over and over and over again. I hadn’t needed to pretend to be lighthearted, I’d grabbed a pale and vomited twice before they were done. Much to Amarantha’s glee and Eris’s evident pity. 

“I’m sorry.” This is all my fault! This is so much worse than the brand. I could blame Rhys for that one, but this? This one’s on me. I hadn’t done anything to stop it! “I’m sorry.”

Rhys rests his forehead on my knee and I can’t stop my hands from the frantic patterns I comb through his matted hair, trying in vain to soothe him. “You didn’t…” he grunts, trying to find a more comfortable position and blood falls freely from one of the deeper wounds that spans from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. “Didn’t make Az do that.”

The pack of supplies I’d brought with me feels inadequate at best, but the sight of fresh blood knocks some sense into me and I start grabbing gauze and some oils I’d found at a small market in the street. An old Elvish healer has said olive oil and honey would help keep out infection, I’d bought out every bottle she’d had.

“I should have done more.” My hands shake as I try to find the best place to hold the gauze to stop the bleeding. There isn’t a patch of undamaged skin, any pressure at all will be horrific. It takes a solid thirty seconds of reaching for one spot, then changing my mind and searching for another, before he mumbles out something that sounds like “above my hip, love”. I settle my hand as lightly as I can as directed and even then the noise he lets out sounds like a cat being stepped on. 

Tears drip down my cheeks, I have to turn my head to make sure they don’t accidentally land on his ruined flesh. “I’ll fix this. I’ll find a way to make this better.”

He draws a shaky breath beneath my hands. “How… are we alive?”

Figures he’d ask me that first.

I start at the spot he’d directed, dripping a bit of oil into the most shallow cuts to weigh my options here.

His whole body spasms like it had when he’d been electrocuted and I stop what I’m doing entirely. “Fuck!”

“Shit! Shit I’m sorry, the Elf said it would help.”

Through his teeth, Rhys hisses, “I’m sure she’s right but fuck me!” 

I just make everything worse in every department, don’t I?

“Um, you want to try the honey instead?” Thank the Mother I never had the notion to become a Healer, I would have been absolutely awful at it. 

“I’m not hungry.”

“For your back, Rhys.”

“Oh,” he chuckles softly, realizing the mistake, then immediately groans from the way it pulls on his back. “Either has got to be better than the salt water.”

The air leaves my lungs in a rush. Forget the long game, I’m burning this whole godsdamned Empire down tonight.

“Easy, Darling,” he coos, and our bond ripples with a warmth I don’t deserve. “Just talk me through it.”

I give myself a little shake to clear the red tinting my vision. They will all pay for this.

“Tell me what happened last night? Why couldn’t we feel you?”

“Anise drugged me,” I say and I can’t tell if he flinches because I’ve started again with the oil or if that’s in response to what I’ve said. “Some kind of faebane and mirthroot mixture. She said my Mother had it made in case… in case I ever lost control.”

In case I ever turned into my Father.

“Mother’s tits!” Still not sure if that’s in regard to the oil or the story. 

“I was trying to get to you, to tell you that…” the coughing of one of the males in the cell across me reminds me of the lack of privacy. “That I’d found something that might be useful, but you were already gone and she jabbed me in the back of the neck with a needle. She must have done it again this morning, I don’t remember anything until arriving at the Arena.”

His breathing is labored as I work, body tense beneath me. I should have brought mirthroot, as unpleasant as my own experience had been, it could have eased his pain.

“Guard came quick last night,” he says through his teeth. 

The last twenty-four hours had really gotten away from me, I swear on the Mother I’ll never let myself be that powerless again. 

“I’m sorry.” 

The oil makes the blood look like it’s flowing freely, once I’m satisfied that it's covered enough, I reach for the bandages. 

“Don’t,” he says gently. “They’ll know you were here.”

My chest constricts. How can I tell him what I've done? He was already so angry about the marriage contract, this might just break him, but if I tell him the truth, would it give me an opportunity to help him. I can explain it away to the Emperor in the morning, claim I was trying to strengthen their trust in me by pretending to betray him. 

“I won’t leave you down here like this.”

“It will only make it worse,” he insists. 

“Maybe not,” my voice betrays me, nothing more than a cracked whisper in the darkness of these awful dungeons.

The bond ripples with enough concern I can feel a faint hum on both Azriel and Cassian’s end. At least I know now that they are all conscious, and that the gorsian hasn’t removed our ability to feel each other like the faebane had.

Rhys’s own voice shakes and the pain I can hear in it makes me look away from him when he asks, “What did you do?”

When I don’t immediately answer, he tries to sit up, tries to turn and look at me and I have to pin his palms to the floor to keep him still. “Don’t do that!”

“Tell me you didn’t marry any of those pricks? Tell me you didn’t barter another piece of yourself away-”

He’s going to tear his back open beyond repair if he keeps trying to move like this. “I told him we’re mates.”

I might as well have sucked the air from the room! Rhys goes deathly still beneath me and I think I liked it better when he was yelling. 

I try not to worry my lip between my teeth. “My Father murdered his own mate because he believes mates are a weakness that must be purged. I needed him to think I was trying to do the same.”

He doesn’t say anything, the minutes stretching out between us as I start using a bit of the honey to stick the strips of bandages over his back. The quieter the cell becomes the more the tether betweens us howls in pain. Maybe I need to resign myself to the fact that I might have been right all along; maybe this was always meant to end with him hating me. 

“I can’t beat him at his game by just sitting there uselessly. It wasn’t working. I needed to try another way.” If he can’t get past this fine, I will not let myself regret my decisions. I can’t afford to. They have to work. I have to make them work.

It might break my heart beyond repair if he can’t find it in him to understand where I’m coming from, but I’ll take that pain over the agony of him being dead. If I hadn’t acted, he could be another body rotting on the Pit floor right now. I do not need his permission, nor will I sit here and hold my breath for his forgiveness. We have to be willing to adapt. I have been so stubbornly set in my ways for years; I won’t let the stubbornness that ruined my Father ruin me.

I’m finished with the bandages before he speaks again. “When we went to war with the Empire, I gave up a lot of myself to be what my people needed. I wore whatever mask was necessary. I have worn cruelty and hatred in equal measure. There were days, weeks, where I looked into the mirror and didn’t recognize who was staring back at me. I can’t… I can’t let you do the same thing to yourself.”

I let my fingers drift back through his matted hair. Nothing would make me happier than to take him home, to get him cleaned up and into a bed that was safe; into a place where I knew he could rest. One day I will give him that. One day there will be no more dungeons or bloodshed or torture. One day we won’t have to swap horror stories to comfort each other. I can hold him and he can hold me and there will be no more pain between us. There will not need to be a question about whether we can live with our decisions.

“I can live with my decisions,” I say. “Let me help you shoulder this burden. You do not have to be alone to carry it.”

“People die when I let them in,” he whispers.

I can’t hold him like I ought, not without hurting him, so I allow myself a moment to lay down on the floor next to him, the filth covering the old stones seeping through my skirts as I lean my forehead against his.

“The things I love have a tendency to be taken from me.”

The bond hums between us, warm and alight even in this darkness. We are one and the same, Rhys and I. “Me too,” I confess. “But I never did anything to stop it then. I won’t ever do that again.”

His breath stutters out of him, a twinge of fear slithering down the tether to me. “You’re sure I can’t convince you to take that boat you talked about?”

That boat is long gone. 

And so is that girl who was so scared she’d need it. 

I can do this. We can do this. “We can beat him. Together.”

He nods gently, like it’s too much effort to do anything more, it probably is. “Together.”

I feel a twinge of pain flash across my left hand, just a flash and then it’s gone. Almost like something bit me. In this cell, bugs are a given. I raise my hand to take a look, and am surprised to find a band of black ink around my ring finger, a trio of stars circling the thin band of what looks like a tattoo.

Even wounded, the smirk Rhy’s flashes me is infectious. “Illyrian bargains come with ink.”

“You’re impossible,” I say, rolling my eyes. He’s honestly worse than Az.

He manages to tilt his head just enough to kiss the tip of my nose, his lips cracked and dusted with dried blood still. “If you’re going to make life threatening statements to the Emperor, so am I.”

I won’t admit to him that I like it, not now anyway. “I should go check on the others.”

“What if there were other parts of me that needed tending to?” He pouts.

I stand and dust off my skirts, rolling my eyes again. “You’ll survive.”

I push the door to the cell open. “I’ll bring some mirthroot next time. So you can sleep.”

He waits until the door is locked again. “Be careful, Princess.”

I won’t lie and tell him I will. The time for being careful is over.

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Tag List:

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Thank you all for your patience! Hope you enjoyed the new chapter! As always, if you want to be added to the tag list, let me know :)

[addieslibrary]

Ludos Imperiales 10

Summary: The boys are back in the Arena

Content Warnings: Reader's Still Drugged; Canon Typical Violence, Mentions of Blood, Gore and Death

Author's Note: Thank you all for your kind words and messages, your support truly means so much to me! You're all amazing and I appreciate every one of you. <3 Updates moving forward might still be a little sporatic, I have a lot going on right now, but I'll try to keep you updated as we go. Rest assured that I truly love this story and it'll keep progressing, maybe just a little slower.

Previous Chapter / Masterlist

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The Arena looms overhead, a Titan blocking out the blazing summer sun. Gold and crimson flags flap angrily in a rare summer breeze, beckoning everyone for miles to come see what wonders might lay inside today.

Starlight trots through the crowded streets with ease, despite my swaying form. I don’t remember getting in the saddle. I don’t remember waking up.

Everything feels foggy, muddled like soup in my skull. What the hell happened to me last night? 

My hands tremble as I hold the reins, a dull burning sensation under my skin making my muscles feel taut and tender. Every bump in the saddle makes my head pound; my whole body feels like a bruise. 

The Praetorian keep me surrounded as the crowd thickens, the crimson plumes atop their glittering gold helmets like streamers in the wind. None of them had spoken on the ride over--not that they usually did, but the silence feels deafening this time around, especially as they tighten around me, close enough to touch as beings crowd in around us.

“Rebel fucker!” Someone screams in my direction.

A rock hurtles through the air, bouncing hard off one of the Guard’s helmet, nearly knocking him from his horse. 

“Illyrian whore!”

I shift in the saddle, head foggy; my mates should be behind me, right, that’s why it’s so bad? We’re going to the Games today? But the space behind me is empty of the males that have become so dear to me and it takes me too damn long to process why. Last night seeps in like a fog, crawling forward inch at a time until I remember.

My head whips back towards the arena. Shit!

“Get me inside!” I snarl at the nearest guard as another rock whizzes past my head. Seems Anise was right about the rumors in the city, at the very least. At this point, I’ll take the insults and rocks being hurled at me instead of my mates, but this is a distraction I can’t afford right now.

Anise must have slipped me something more before sending me on my way this morning. The sluggishness feels like it might be mirthroot. A sharp pain shoots through my chest. She’d really drugged me and then passed me off to the Guard like it was normal. She’s supposed to be my family.

The Guard pushes through the crowd with some difficulty, still dodging rocks until they can get me to a side entrance. The front is clogged with protesters and champions alike, the path blocked by too many screaming people for it to be safe. One of the Guard bodily hauls me off Starlight and practically drags me in through a heavily guarded iron door, only pausing to make sure it’s locked behind me.

Glad to see I’m finally making an impression in the city.

“This way, Highness,” the Guard says gruffly, gesturing down the stone hall. We’re somewhere in the upper levels of the catacombs beneath the main viewing area, not close enough to the barracks to hear the gladiators, but not close enough to an exit to hear the crowd preparing either. If something happened down here, no one would hear me.

My legs sway uneasily beneath me and it is an effort to not lean my weight against the wall. The drugs aren’t weaning!

“I need to see my champions,” I insist, my voice as shaky as I feel.

“You’ll see them from your booth,” he counters, un-anchoring a torch from the wall to help us see the path better in the dark. 

“Before the fight.”

He’s a young Guard, newer, I haven’t seen him often enough to know his name. “New rules, I’m afraid. Too many tamperings with the gladiators. Everyone is to go directly to their booths by order of the Emperor.” He gestures with the torch for me to follow him. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but those are my orders.”

To hell with his fucking orders! Those are my mates! I need to know that they’re ready! That the armor I found works. 

He reaches out a hand like he might drag me, then drops it, thinking better of it. At least he’s a smart male. 

I should try and run. My head feels like it’s made of stone as I turn to get a better look around. Everything is the same opaque stone that it would be easy to get lost, and it’s not as if they’re putting up signs directing the way down here. If I could touch the bond, maybe I could follow it down into the barracks, but with it being so buried..

They’d come for me, if our places were switched. If it had been me dragged away in the middle of the night, it wouldn’t matter if they’d been drugged, it wouldn’t matter how many guards there were to stop them, they’d come for me.

“Highness, please don’t make this difficult,” the Guard sighs. 

“I need-” Gods my mouth feels like it’s full of cotton! Everything is moving so godsdamned slow! “-Need to see that they are properly prepared for this fight. I don’t trust that my competitor’s didn’t bribe their way down there already.”

“I can assure you they didn’t.”

I square my shoulders, wincing around the tenderness at the base of my neck. “And what should the word of a simple Guard mean to me?” 

The belligerent princess voice usually works, but this only makes him frown. “You would have me go against the Emperor’s orders?” He challenges.

Footsteps sound down the tunnels behind him, stopping the words in my throat as a shadow inches closer. But not my shadow. Not the one I really want to see. 

I know the footsteps. Know the heavier crunch of the right heel against the earth is from an old battle injury that never quite healed right. 

“Causing a fuss, are we?”

“Your Majesty!” The Guard bows swiftly, the plume of his helmet brushing the floor he’s so low.

I make sure I’m not leaning against the wall. 

Father’s slate gray eyes assess me, a wolfish grin splitting his usually stoic features. He’s in a better mood than he was at the Senate Meeting, that’s for sure. 

I clench my skirts in my hands, trying not to make my fists so obvious. Of course he’d fucking be here waiting for me! Why wouldn’t he ever give me a moment of peace?

“I was just telling my Guard that I need to check on my gladiators,” I say, voice low. Maybe the obvious submission in my tone will keep him from hearing the way it still shakes. Maybe if I pretend hard enough to cower like the good little daughter he wants, he’ll overlook whatever he thinks I was planning on doing down here.

His grin broadens. “And I’m sure Lucius explained the new rules to you?”

Lucius straightens, trying a little too hard to look proud. “Yes, Your Majesty, I did.”

Father gestures back the way he’d come. “Then let’s not waste any more time, shall we?”

I can’t run for it now.

If I felt anything other than hollow, I think I might have burst into tears, but even my emotions feel out of reach, locked behind an invisible wall. I’m aware of them distantly, like they’re not truly my own. 

I follow numbly, hands still clenched in my skirts. I wonder if he can tell that there’s something off about me; if he can even recognize my mannerisms enough to know I’m under the effects of something. 

“You look uneasy,” he says, like he can hear my thoughts.

Sometimes I wonder if Brannagh and Dagdan’s powers come from his side of the family, if perhaps he too possesses the mind reading skill and has simply never chosen to announce it as my cousins have. It certainly would give reason for his distrust in people, or why I could never  get away with anything as a kid.

The tunnels take us closer and closer to the seating area of the Arena, the noise of the crowd starting to filter through the walls. Every step towards it feels like someone is dropping stones into the pit of my stomach. I’m not going to be able to see them. I wasn’t able to prepare them.

“I didn't sleep well,” I lie.

“Nervous?” He taunts.

I square my shoulders, trying to remember what my courtly mask looks like. Trying to fight off the mirthroot and regain control of my composure. My body doesn’t feel like my own; I have to find a way to make it mine again. “Excited.”

Disappointment flickers in his eyes like the twinkling of the torchlight. A small victory. Did he truly think I’d be so easily beaten?

“Kallias’s Orc has quite the reputation,” he counters, clasping his hands behind his back, a move that has always made him look superior. 

“As do Illyrians.” I remember then, the ribbons I’d purchased at the market yesterday. There was never an opportunity to find a way to hide them in my outfit somewhere; Anise had stolen that from me too. I can’t even quietly support them. 

“There are rumors,” he begins as we draw near to a familiar set of stairs. This is the way we’d come in last time, on the way to meet my mates that fateful day. “Of your… affections.”

“You do not believe in rumors.” I counter.

“I believe they all start somewhere,” he growls.

I make sure he goes up the stairs first, just to ensure I don’t end up taking another tumble down the worn steps. “I am to be married, am I not? Do you really think so little of me as to assume I would ruin that chance?”

“To spite my efforts, yes I do.” 

Lucius pauses at the door, waiting for a signal that it’s all right for him to open it. The Emperor comes to a halt next to him, dwarfing him. The poor male shrinks against the wall to try and give his precious ruler breathing room.

If I was in control of myself, I’d be biting back bile, but there is nothing inside me, perhaps that might actually save me in the end. “I would not debase myself with a couple of slaves just to spite you, Father. As I said before, I only mean to make up for my absence and help the Empire in whatever way I can.”

He huffs as he motions for Lucius to open the door, spilling sunlight into the tunnel. The burn doesn’t register as it should. I force myself to put a hand up over my eyes just so it looks like I feel the sting they all do. What the hell was in that serum?

We find ourselves along the winding pathway that leads to the various booths and bench seats that line the massive Pit. Overhead, hanging from the rafters of the awnings enchanted to keep out most of the heat, hang the flags of the various houses that own and sponsor gladiators, the brightly colored emblems snapping in the breeze.

“Speaking of your soon-to-be husband,” Father says and that devious glint has once again returned to his eyes. 

Shit! Me and my big mouth!

“I asked the main contenders to sit with us today. It looks good for your image.”

This day keeps getting worse and worse!

“Contenders? As in more than one?” 

We follow the path past the first two levels of seating, passing the bench seats where the middle classes can mingle, their sections filled to capacity, vendors with trays of food screaming at the top of their lungs to promote their wares; the second for the upper class, all well off but not favored, equally as crowded, though the shouting is for the betting tables instead of snacks. The third level is for the Elite, Father’s favored few, with their own booths, separated from each other by gauzy curtains and lounges covered in pillows. It is not the most ornate thing in the Empire, despite the gaudy display of gold embellishments and the servants waiting with palm fronds to fan any belligerent senator who beckons. The wine flows freely and servants flitter about to place their masters’ bets so they never have to leave their recliners. Food comes in silence, offered on golden platters, brought to the lips of beings who’ve never lifted a finger a day in their lives by hands that have no choice but to submit to this degradation. 

“I have three,” he says as we draw near to his booth. More of the Praetorian wait for us, standing at attention with spears as tall as they are in hand. “I’m curious to see how well they fit with you, so I invited them to watch with us.”

“You say that as if you would consider my opinion on the matter.”

He grins at that. “I suppose that’s true, but I want to know who will be capable of putting up with you. Most people aren’t as forgiving as me.”

I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood, though I still cannot feel the sting. 

The Guards part the curtain blocking my view of the booth aside, and three males turn to greet us.

It’s going to be a very, very long day.

Honestly, at the rate my life has been going lately, the fact that the first male to bow and greet us is Eris doesn’t even surprise me. The red-headed scoundrel was bound to find a way to weasel his way in with my Father with or without the blackmail, but I’m sure my lack of enthusiasm when I broached the subject with my Father the other day helped influence his opinion greatly. 

“Eris,” Father says in greeting.

The Autumn male bows first, long hair nearly brushing the floor, before coming up to take my hand and kiss the back of my knuckles again. At least Azriel isn’t here to see him this time. I don’t think he’d survive another interaction without trying to put his hands around the male’s throat. 

“Highness,” Eris purrs. “It’s a pleasure, as always.”

“Likewise,” I have to at least pretend to be pleasant. I don’t really know what to expect from him now that I’m the fly trapped in his web. Usually I just watch the spider hunt from afar, but I like being caught even less than watching other people be caught. 

He steps aside, the picture of courtly manners, to let the next contender for my hand through. Tamlin looks about as thrilled to be here as I feel. So at least we’ll be miserable together. 

“Highness.” His bow is stiff, awkward, shoulders locked nearly to his chin. He is one of the youngest senators and it shows; wealth and power have not yet given him a complete air of superiority, unease still coats his movements. I give it a few more years before the prestige goes to his head; which has to be why Father has him as a top contender. Right now, Tamlin is moldable, a walking slab of clay for the Emperor’s skilled hands to shape into whatever type of puppet he sees fit. And vulnerable to boot, the trouble in his province with the Tythe means he’s in desperate need of both direction and approval, and if marrying me gives him that, well, he’ll swallow whatever unease he feels and do it for the sake of his position.

“Senator.” Honestly, I think out of the two, Eris might be the lesser of the two evils. If this draws out for long enough and I do have to go through with a wedding, Eris might be more inclined to give my leash some reach. Tamlin, by that time, will be eating out of Father’s hand and I’ll have lost any opportunity to get out.

Tamlin steps aside with the grace of a large animal in a room full of glass, broad shoulders bumping into a Guard’s chest as he tries to not slam face first into Eris. The red headed bastard doesn’t move either, just grins. 

The final contender is a surprise, with Father’s prejudices, the fact that he’d consider a Nephilim at all is shocking. Senator Romulus keeps his great, feathered wings tucked tight behind his back as he bows, salt and pepper curls sweeping over his tan forehead. He’s old enough to be my Father! It’s an effort not to turn and look at the Emperor to see if this is some kind of joke. He can’t really mean to offer me to Romulus?! The male’s last two wives died under “mysterious circumstances”.

“Highness, it’s an honor.”

I’m suddenly grateful I don’t have the capacity to feel anything, because I don’t think I would have been able to keep my voice neutral or the sheer horror off my face. Eris really is looking like my best option at this point!

“Senator,” it’s a miracle my voice is steady. “What a surprise! I thought you were back home dealing with matters of the court still.” Matters being a rebellion, which has to be the exact reason Father picked him. I’m certainly not dragging the figureheads of a separate rebellion into his province after he squashed one himself. 

“I’m quite adept at dealing with traitors,” he says, smoothing his large hands over his finely decorated toga. The deep purple fabric, edged in gold matches one of the banners that flies from the rafters and I wonder if there will be more than Illyrian rebels in the Pit today. 

“I hear you’ve been having trouble with your own?”

A very pointed question, but I’m less worried about my answer and more about what Eris might say about it, if the grin on his face is any indication of what’s about to happen. My eyes narrow on him with enough venom that he spins dramatically, calling for a drink. 

Bastard. The last thing I need today is to have to monitor every little thing that comes out his mouth.

I move around the three large males to find my seat, hoping the air of dismissiveness makes it clear how much of this conversation I want to have. “It’s been an adjustment, but it is coming along better than most people seem to believe.”

Eris is watching me with a wicked glint in his eyes over the rim of his goblet and Mother help me I’d take my shoe off and hurl it at his head if I didn’t have to explain myself for it. 

“Keeping them at your residence instead of here with the other gladiators was certainly a bold move, Highness,” Romulus continues, weaseling his way around Tamlin in a move that is incredibly graceful for someone with wings, to steal the seat beside me. 

He’s close enough that I can smell that leather and citrus scent of him. Only the drugs keep me from crinkling my nose in distaste, the scent acrid and harsh in my nostrils. 

“Keep your enemies close, and all that.” I reach for a goblet of wine myself; at this point if the Emperor decides to poison me, well at least I can get out of this damn booth. 

“A reckless decision,” he counters. “It lends ear to the Capital’s gossips and puts you in unnecessary danger. I’d never allow my wife to be in such a precarious position.”

The first real feeling I’ve felt all morning flickers through the fog, rage making my teeth clench. 

“You haven’t earned her hand yet, Romulus,” Eris sneers from his seat behind me. 

The Emperor watches the exchange with amusement, as if this is just another part of the day’s entertainment. 

“I wouldn’t either,” Tamlin mumbles, voice soft in comparison to the others. There’s a lot of fanfare and music coming from the level beneath us, I almost didn’t hear him speak over it. 

Romulus turns to face Eris, weathered face crinkled in a snarl. “I should think the work your Father had to do to keep your whore of a Mother in line would have taught you to keep your females on short leashes.”

Flames erupt in Eris’s eyes, sparks flying from his ringed fingers. 

“Mind yourself,” the Emperor chides, his Guards shifting behind him to reach for their weapons. 

Eris draws a deep breath, teeth pulled back in a sneer, “Watch your mouth, Nephilim.”

“How is Hellion these days?” Romulus presses.

I’m damning myself to a life of misery. Any retribution or show of discomfort on my part guarantees that Father will pick whoever makes me the most uncomfortable, just to get back at me for making a scene. But I can’t sit here and listen to this. 

Maybe a couple weeks ago I would have just kept my mouth shut and my hands in my lap, but I can’t be that girl anymore.

I move like I’m trying to set my goblet on the arm of my chair, but purposefully leave it on the edge so when I let it go it tips right into Romulus’s lap.

The Nephilim jumps out of his seat with a shout of surprise, wine dripping down his toned legs.

The look in Father’s eyes is enough to tell me he knows he’s won, but all I see is gratitude in Eris’s. 

“I’m such a clutz!” I feign embarrassment as a servant with a towel comes over to help. “I’m so sorry, Senator!”

Romulus snatches the towel with a huff. The color of his clothes will hide the worst of it, and the summer heat will dry the wet patch between his legs quickly, but he’ll be sticky for the rest of the day; a small victory. 

“It’s a miracle you haven’t already married her off, Your Majesty,” Romulus snarls at my Father, as if he hadn’t heard me. 

“I’m sure you could find a way to keep her in line, Senator,” Father returns. 

My heart is in my stomach, but at least that means the drugs are finally weaning. 

The servant cleans the rest of the spill off Romulus’s seat and I slide a couple coins out of the purse on my belt and into her hand for the trouble, even as I continue the show of apologizing like I really, truly regret my actions. 

Romulus continues to huff and mutter under his breath, but never directly addresses me for the slight, probably due to the company. This would be a much different circumstance if we were alone, of that I’m certain. 

When another round of drinks makes its way into our booth, it’s Father that snatches it from my hand before I can do anything else with it, a warning glare to behave thrown my way. I duck my head in feign embarrassment and try to make myself as small as possible in my seat, letting them strike up another conversation around me as males typically tend to do in my presence. I can pretend to be small and cower as I used to in the face of their misogyny, just as Mother always taught me. I find myself trying to imagine what she would think of me now, but my mind does not have to wander far. She would be just like Anise. 

A sharp spike of pain filters through the fog. Am I to have no family left at all?

The horns sound, telling the crowd to find their seats before the festivities begin. Amarantha arrives with the twins in tow as the second warning blares. Dagdan leans drunkenly on his sister, already grumbling about the betting pool. Brannagh’s slate colored eyes land on the males around me, brow furrowing when she finds their usual seats occupied by Eris and Tamlin. 

“Looks like you’ll have to find another booth,” Amarantha hisses at them. By the fire in her eyes, it looks like the twins have been doing what they do best and making a nuisance of themselves. Good, it keeps her mind off my mates for a little while. I haven’t forgotten how she’d looked at Rhys the last time she’d seen him.

“Uncle,” Brannagh starts to whine but Father merely motions a hand for the Guards to deal with it and my belligerent cousins are promptly escorted from the overly crowded booth. 

“Quite the family,” Tamlin huffs under his breath. 

“I’ll remember to lock up the wine for the wedding,” Eris says with a grin as he reclines in his seat, long legs stretched out before him, a hand behind his head. He’s reigned in the fire that lives beneath his skin, tamped it down and shoved it into a neat little box where it can be hidden. Perhaps we have always been more alike than I’d ever bothered to notice. I know Azriel will hate it, but perhaps he could be a useful ally one way or another. I will have to bring it to their attention when this is over.

If we all make it through the day. 

The Games Master takes his perch on the podium across the Pit from us, the platform jutting out just slightly to allow the whole arena to have a good view of the gaudily dressed Fae in a ridiculous wig. The mage in all black beside him casts an enhancing spell and the shrill voice of the Games Master echoes through every corner of the arena. “Welcome, welcome! To all our esteemed guests!”

Bookies make their way through the booths, collecting our bets before they close the booths for the show. Eris and Tamlin don’t place any. Romulus frowns at me before scribbling down a number, and I manage to sneakily see Kallias’s Orc written under his bet. 

I don’t bother to shy away from his withering stare as I write out my mates’ names in the margins, and scribble out a number that would make most people faint. I’ve never bothered to look at the exact amount of my inheritance, it’s never been an issue. I don’t even think the number will be a dent. But when they win, that money goes to Illyria, or what’s left of it. 

Amarantha makes sure to tell Father exactly how much she bet against my mates, hoping for a reaction. I remain facing the Pit floor, ignoring her. 

The Pit looks no different than last time, the floor muddy and uneven, littered with bones and debris and scattered, rusty weapons. The section of the wall the Giant had knocked over has been seamlessly restored, not a crack or chip in paint to be seen. It’s as if we never left; it’s a very strange sense of deja vu. 

I send up a few silent prayers to Fortuna and Victoria for my mates’ continued favor, and a third to the Mother in thanks that the Pit is not under water. At least they will have an advantage in that department. 

Worry worms its way into my chest and I focus on my breathing. There are too many beings here watching my every move for me to start chewing on my lip or fiddling with my skirts. I need to keep my mask in place. 

They will win. They will be fine. They will come back to me. One breath, then another. They will win. They will be fine. They will come back to me.

The Games Master announces the first match and Romulus sits a little straighter beside me as some of the remaining rebels from his province are dragged into the Pit in chains.

“Your prisons must be full if you have this many rebels to bring back with you, Senator,” Amarantha muses. 

There are twenty in total. Twelve fighting men, their bare chests tattooed with Nephil runes and battle blessings, all now slashed through with a blade in a public display of humiliation. Three women, their wings bent and broken, some of the feathers missing in chunks like someone had ripped them out by the fistful. Two elders, their backs bowed with age; city officials perhaps. But the last three…

I shut my eyes against the image. The three boys can’t be more than fourteen! Their cheeks still youthfully round and tear streaked. They stand in a semi-circle, away from the others, wings trembling behind them. The chains around their wrists are too big for them, slipping up nearly to their elbows. Their dark hair and bronze complexion remind me too much of mates for my liking, making their place here all the worse. 

“You brought children?” I snarl at the Senator.

“I brought rebels, Highness,” he says curtly.

“They are not even old enough to be out of school.”

“Age has no factor in rebellion, Daughter.” Father chastises. 

He can’t do this! He can’t!

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tamlin wince, but he says nothing. He does nothing in the face of such cruelty. 

Eris meets my gaze and shakes his head subtly in warning. This is not a battle we can have here.

Cowards!

I turn my attention back to Romulus, who smooths a hand over his drying toga like it’s the most entertaining thing in the world. “Take them out of there.”

Across from us the Games Master calls out the rebels' crimes and gets the crowd going as he hypes up their opponents. 

“Too late for that,” Romulus shrugs as the gates open. 

Three Chimera’s come bursting out the gates before they’re fully opened, causing the iron to catch on the lever system that opens them, keeping them locked half way out into the arena. 

If the boys could get back into the tunnels, would they be safe? Was that allowed?

The Nephilim rebels descend into chaos as half of them try to find weapons, and the other half try to run, all while they’re still chained by the wrists to each other. The lion head of the first beast tears through two of the fighting men before they can even turn to find a discarded weapon on the Pit floor. 

The crowd cheers wildly at the first sight of blood. 

The three boys stay together, bent down looking for something in the mud. One of them manages to find a big enough rock, and he frantically bashes it against the chain that connects him to the elder who has curled up into a ball on the floor, wings wrapped around himself like a cocoon. Another grabs a rusty sword from a discolored rib cage on the floor. The weapon is too big for him, his small hands shaking as he tries to get a grip on the worn hilt.

I can’t stop myself from clutching my skirts as I offer up every prayer to the Mother I can think of. 

Some of the rebels rally, using their chains to their advantage as they manage to loop it around one of the beast’s necks and drag it across the Pit floor. The creature makes a terrible howling sound as they slowly cut off its air supply. 

The third beast goes for the weakest link, charging at the second elder with its gaping maw open. 

The elder stays rooted to the spot, weathered head tilted upwards to the sky, hands outstretched. “May the Mother greet me with open arms. May her favor carry me to the Afterlife. May her wrath find those who have wronged me,” he prays.

The crowd boos him.

The female he’s chained to digs her heels into the mud, gripping their joint chain with both hands, trying to pull him out of the line of danger, but he won’t budge. 

Goddess forgive us!

I will hear that crunch of bones and the female’s screams until I draw my dying breath. 

One of the boys falls onto his knees, retching up the contents of his stomach, even as the other manages to finally break the chain that tethers them to the first elder with the rock. He and the one with the sword grab the third boy under the armpits and drag him behind the shelter of a large boulder as that third Chimera abandons its meal to come enjoy the other elder. This one doesn’t pray, and the shelter of his wings around his body only hides his view of his impending doom.

The rebels that managed to take down one of the beasts take a long time to untangle the now bloody chain from the thing’s neck, costing them precious seconds as another launches towards them. One of the females gets her hands on a ruined spear and hurls it with a scream, but the shot goes wide, barely clipping the beast’s ear. She goes first, pulling the next male with her into its jaws. 

I’m going to be sick! The fog is beginning to lift more and more and the title wave of my emotions is almost too much to manage at one time. I find a spot on the wall to fixate on, willing myself to breathe, to not let it overtake me, shoving each into their own quaint little box in the back of my mind. There will be time to let them out later, right now, I need to stay in control. 

A feat easier said than done when the beast finishes off the elder and sets its sights on the boys peeking over the boulder.

Shit! Shit! Shit! Please, they're just children! I don’t know what Goddess I’m praying to any more, what deity I might beg to spare them. I keep a death grip on my skirts. Would a jump from the booth into the Pit kill me? Could I land with enough time to save them? If my powers can be touched just a little, maybe it would be enough…

I lean forward, muscles tensing. They’re running out of time! I have to move and I have to move now--

From the darkness of the half open gate, movement catches my eye. My stomach plummets; not another beast! It moves too fast to track at first, nothing more than a dark blur that rolls out from under the bent iron and hurdles forward. Time slows, I’m suddenly aware of the spraying of dirt as something moves across the Pit floor. The shouts of the crowd feel muffled and far away.

The Chimera prowls closer as the boy with the sword steps out from behind the shelter of the rock, weapon outstretched in his trembling hands. He screams at the monster, voice cracking in an attempt to be brave.

The beast lowers itself into a crouch, serpentine tail switching across the floor, splattering mud in all directions. 

A scream starts to work its way up my throat, my body still too sluggish to follow my command to get out of the seat in time to do anything.

And then a blast of red energy knocks the beast off its path.

Time comes flying back in a rush, the cheering of the crowd turning to shock and outrage. 

“Get back into the tunnel!”

Cassian!

The Illyrian puts himself between the beast and the boys, wings fully outstretched shielding them from view. 

“What the fuck?!” Amarantha drops her goblet of wine, splattering crimson across the floor.

I can’t stop myself from putting a hand over my mouth, nearly choking back a sob. My selfless, stupid mate.

“Go!” Cassian bellows, every bit the General.

The boys can barely be made out from behind Cassian as they sprint for the open door as fast as their legs will carry them, sword forgotten in the mud.

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to try and keep the tears at bay. They might kill him for this, he has to know that, and yet he’d come anyway. I don’t know how he’d gotten past the Guards that monitor the tunnels, but he’d done it. 

“Can he do that?” Tamlin asks. 

“No!” Romulus snarls. “Your Majesty, you must do something about him!”

Much to my surprise, my Father shrugs. “If he dies now instead of against the Orc, so be it. What’s one male going to do against two Chimeras?”

The beast gets back on its feet, shaking its massive head to try and right itself again. Cassian crouches low, bouncing on the balls of his feet, waiting like he just might try and wrestle with it. He’s not wearing the armor I bought him, his chest bare and… bruised? He didn’t have those bruises when he’d been at the house. But the bandage around his thigh is not blood stained, the stitches still hold. 

“You will let him get away with this?” Romulus asks incredulously. 

“We will see what happens,” Father shrugs. “I’m entertained for once.”

The beast stalks forward, ready to pounce and Cassian waits until it moves to launch into the air, using his wings for momentum to get himself up and over the thing’s head. With the tender spot of its back exposed, he has the right angle to hurl another crimson tinted blast of energy at it, effectively breaking its neck. The Chimera crumples to the floor with a howl and Cassian lands hard in the mud, wincing just a bit under the pressure it puts on his wounded leg, beside the spear the female had thrown earlier. He then lifts it high and drives it through the creature’s skull as it twitches and howls at his feet. 

Relief settles into my bones and I find myself leaning back in the seat with a sigh. For the first time all day I can feel that tiny little tether in my chest that links me to my mates and I run a mental hand down it affectionately. I hope he knows, whether he cares what I think or not, how incredible I think he is. How brave and good he is.

There’s still one beast left, and five of the Nephilim still chained together. The boys have made it into the safety of the tunnels, and none of the Guards have tried to shove them back out. I hope that’s a good sign. I will inquire as soon as this is over. There has to be something I can do for them too.

“Here!” There’s a length of chain still attached to a severed arm, and one of the male’s tosses it to Cassian. To his credit he doesn’t bat an eye as he catches the mutilated appendage but it certainly makes my stomach turn.

He works in tandem with the other rebels to use the chain to trip the charging beast and it flips end over end until it slams into the wall.

There aren’t enough words to describe the pride I feel watching him with them. They might have never interacted before, might never see each other again after this, but they have a common goal here. They are gladiators together; fighters with a common enemy. Race or creed doesn’t matter; they are of one mind and they move like they have always fought alongside each other. 

This is how it should be, in everything. 

Cassian still has the spear and when the creature tries to stand he hurls the rusted weapon right through its eye! 

Under different circumstances I would have stopped to admire the rippling of muscle, the gleam of sweat trailing down every ridge and dip in his bronze chest; every bit of him is sculpted for battle. But it’s a battle that’s not over and the realization quickly sours the moment.

“The money he has cost me,” Amarantha snarls at my Father, the only one here who would dare speak such things to his face.

Father runs a hand over his beard thoughtfully, “I’m sure the payout of the next fight will be reward enough.”

The Nephilim file out the broken gates, only eight total compared to the twenty that started. The remains of the others litter the Pit; no attempts to move them are made. Cassian doesn’t even try to walk out, he knows what comes next. He simply collects his spear and waits.

The relief at this first victory is short lived. 

“Well that certainly was entertaining, don’t you think?” The Games Maker calls.

Cassian tilts his head to look up at where the pompous male stands and raises his middle finger at him. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep back a laugh. He is reckless and foolish and yet I think I admire him all the more for it. 

Eris snickers behind me. 

Romulus crosses his arms over his broad chest with a huff. 

“Now, who’s ready for the real show!”

The crowd goes wild, chanting for Kallias’s Orc. The senator’s booth is a few down from ours, far enough away that I can just barely make out where he stands on the balcony, waving for his fans. 

I’d roll my eyes if I wasn’t so distracted watching the tunnels, waiting to see Azriel and Rhys. Seconds tick by like hours, my ears straining to hear footsteps from the tunnels--as if I could ever possibly hear something that far away under the din of the crowd, but hope tints everything in shades of possibility. The crowd continues to chant, louder and louder as time continues to tick by. 

I risk a glance at the Emperor, who reclines on his throne, sipping a goblet of wine, eyes bright and… excited. When was the last time my Father was excited about anything?

I look to Amarantha next, if he’s planning anything, she’ll know about it, and it will be much more plain on her face. Her pointed nails scrape absently through the hair of the slave reclined at her feet, other toying with the fragment of bone that hangs around her neck. A surefire sign she’s anticipating something, but aren’t we all?

Dread crawls its way up my insides; maybe I was too distracted about who their opponent should be to focus on what else they might encounter in the arena. It is an effort not to bite the inside of my cheek as two figures finally step out of the ruined gates into the Pit. 

I miss Azriel’s shadow around my ear. I hadn’t truly noticed how great a loss the silence of the bond had been until they were standing there, unable to really hear me. I can feel a glimmer of them there, in the darkness, but nothing like it was. 

When they step out into the light, Rhys’s eyes are on me in an instant, roaming every inch of me like he’s assessing why he can’t reach me. 

Every muscle in my body screams for me to get to him as I take in the bruising around his eyes, the dried blood along his lips. The marks are a twin to Cassian’s and Azriel’s, the dark purple marks smattered across their skin like freckles. None of them are wearing my armor. There’s not an arm guard or chest piece in sight, just their boots and pants, ripped and blood stained. 

My powers simmer deep beneath the surface, a flash of feeling breaking through and then suffocated. Someone beat them before they even got out here! It is an effort not to turn and glare at the Emperor. I don’t have to wonder hard about who that someone was. 

He’ll pay for this! For every last cut!

The crowds’ cheering turns to booing and cursing as the three step into the center of the Pit, collecting weapons as they go.

“Quite the crowd favorite,” Tamlin sneers. 

“You encountered them in your province, did you not?” The Emperor asks. 

“Once or twice,” Tamlin admits. “I made it clear they weren’t welcome.”

I have to bite my tongue to keep myself from telling them to shut up as Kallias’s Orc lumbers out of his side of the Arena. The male is monstrous! As tall as Cassian and twice as broad, leathery skin a patchwork of scar tissue. The left side of his temple sags over an eye that’s too cloudy to be functioning; nose bent at an odd angle. Each breath is a rumbled wheeze as he stalks to the center of the Pit, a belt of wicked looking daggers already around his chest.

Azriel assesses him from head to toe, calculating, then inclines his head towards Cassian as they silently confer. They seem to have a language all their own, no words or even Rhys’s abilities necessary. I can practically see them forming the battle strategy with just the movement of their eyes. 

I’d breath a little easier about my choice if the ground beneath us didn’t start rumbling. 

I risk a glance at my Father as one of the Mage’s standing with the Grandmaster starts furiously waving his pale hands, blue sparks of magic flying from his skeletal fingers.

“I think you’ll like the entertainment, daughter.”

My stomach pitches violently as the Pit floor cracks and splinters like old wood. Cassian’s arms pinwheel, trying to keep his balance as the ground beneath his boots suddenly shoots into the air! It happens so fast he gets airborne, wings flapping hard to try and find his balance again.

The Orc tips his swollen head back and laughs as the ground to his right sinks like a crater, a billow of steam rising in its wake.

Shit! The blast of heat from the quickly disappearing earth is unmistakable, the air tinted with a hint of sulphur. That’s lava!

Rhys grabs onto a jagged piece of earth that shoots up into the air as the rest of the ground beneath him crumbles into a pool of fire. 

“Lava?” Eris asks incredulously. Of all the crazy things this Arena has seen, it’s never been something like this. The ground continues to shift and rise, new pieces of steaming rock rising from the depths as others sink beneath the boiling waves. 

This is a new low. 

“The last challenge was too easy, the Gamemaker had plenty of complaints for me.” The Emperor takes a sip of his wine with a shrug. “I let him get creative.”

I have to stop this! This has to be some kind of bad dream! The drugs in my veins are making me hallucinate. 

That has to be it, right?

Azriel perches precariously on a thin strip of rock, arms outstretched to keep his balance. If he tips backward by even a hair, he’s going right down into the lava! 

Our eyes meet for a brief second and everything around us momentarily falls away. The grin he sends me is cocky, roguish; he winks and then he dives, rusted knife in hand, right on the Orc’s head!

Cauldron fucking boil me!

The ground the Orc stands on is not big enough to maneuver in, he has enough time to duck his lumpy head and take the full brunt of the blade and Azriel’s weight right on his shoulder. Azriel uses the momentum of the fall to swing himself up and around to another patch of safe ground a foot away, leaving the blade embedded out of the Orc’s reach. 

“Fucking hell!” Romulus hisses beside me.

Azriel’s barely got his footing before Cassian makes a flying dive, spinning in dizzying circles like a bird of prey around the moving pieces of earth to blast the Orc with a wave of red tinted magic that makes blood spray. 

The crowd gasps as the Orc’s ear goes flying into the lava and the male falls to his knees gripping his head. 

This fight might actually be over faster than the last one!

The coordination the three of them have is breathtaking! The moment Cassian flies out of the way, Rhys is there, leaping from rock to rock until he can get close enough to blast the Orc off its perch with a wave of star tinted ether. They’re movements are flawless, picking up right where the other left off with no room in between. This is a rhythm they’ve found a thousand times.

The Orc tumbles, slamming into jagged pieces of rock, hands scrapping for purchase, managing to catch itself at the last possible second. It dangles not more than an inch above the bubbling stream of lava.

Beside the Gamesmaker, the Mage’s hands move furiously and the piece of rock rises higher and higher, until the Orc can find a new place to stand on.

Cheater!

“Wonderful! Look how agile Kallias’s competitor is!” The Gamesmaker declares with an exaggerated clap of his hands. 

If it had been Cassian, the rock would have sunk. I should have been prepared for fowl play, but the obvious sight of it has me biting the inside of my cheek. 

A servant comes to wipe the sweat off the Mage’s brow as he continues to select which pieces of the Arena to sink or float. What I would give to have Azriel’s shadows! To be able to use them to distract the Mage and keep the playing field level! Sometimes the pieces separate mid way through their ascent and float like boulders aimlessly across the air until they hit the Arena walls and crumble. 

This makes people cheer all the more, as if this is a new interactive mode of the fight for their entertainment. 

Rhys finds his footing across a spinning boulder, trying to get the right angle for another blow and right as he finds one, small grooves in the arena walls open with a clunk and flying discs come shooting out like arrows!

What now?!

The disks are fast, zipping across the Arena with a buzzing noise not unlike a bee. One hits Rhys right between the shoulder blades and the contact makes a wave of crackling energy pulse from the center, skittering across his bare skin, filling the Arena with the scent of burning flesh as he tumbles from his perch and lands hard on a piece of rock three feet beneath him.

“RHYS!” Cassian screams as he dives down after him, racing to get there in case the ground drops out from under him before he stops twitching.

“New toys of yours, Your Majesty?” Romulus inquires.

My mate lays there on his back, eyes glazed over, muscles spasming in waves that I can see from my damn seat.

I have to stop this!

“My Mages have been working for months to get them just right,” the Emperor says proudly. “It’s taken quite some time to get the spellwork and disc shape just right, but with proper training, I hope to send them out with our armies to handle larger… opposition.”

Romulus rubs his hands together gleefully. 

“This is our first official testing before we begin mass production.”

Goddess! He just found a huge fucking upper hand and he’s using my mates as test subjects to get the finer details right. I need to get them out of there now!

The Orc finally manages to get his bearings again, and with a shout, he jumps up, using his hands and feet to find purchase in any and every shifting rock and climbs his way towards where Rhys lays, the easiest prey out of the three. 

Azriel, weaponless now with his blade still in the Orc’s shoulder, chases after him anyway, leaping from spot to spot, but the faster he tries to climb, the more the ground shifts beneath him! Every time he starts to catch up, his perch suddenly shoots down into the lava, taking him right back to where he started each and every time. 

My stomach shoots itself into my throat. I need to think and think fast! Jumping down there isn’t going to do them any good, not when my powers still slumber, no matter how deep I try to dig. No amount of panic breaks through the fog to drag them back to the surface. Anise has thoroughly ruined any chance I had at using them to save my mates. 

If I make a scene, would it be enough? 

Cassian throws a blast of energy but it goes wide. His wings still give him the advantage, the ground won’t be his problem, but just when I think he might reach Rhys first, another one of those disks come hurtling across the Arena, slamming right into his chest!

The carefully crafted mask I’ve managed to hold onto by a mere thread cracks, a choked sound slipping out of me as I try to bite back a full scream. Romulus’s attention is now fully on me as Cassian plummets towards the lava.

“Highness?”

Azriel’s not going to get there fast enough, nor will the Gamemakers’ Mage give him the footing he needs to get there. His only shot is to throw out a blast of blue tinted magic at one of the spinning boulders. It spins like a top as it hurtles across the Arena, right into Cassian’s path. He’s falling too fast, his body hits the rock and bounces like a ball. It’s only by some miracle, some divine influence that the trajectory of the fall knocks him right into Rhys and the two of them don’t slide right off their perch!

The Emperor’s looking at me now, brows raised inquisitively. 

Welp, here goes nothing!

I fan myself with my hand. The stress has sweat clinging to my skin anyway, might as well use it to my advantage. “I don’t feel so well.”

I can practically hear Amarantha roll her eyes. “I told you she wouldn’t have the constitution for this.”

“Let’s get you some water,” Eris suggests.

I let myself go limp and slump in my seat so fast I accidentally fall right out of it as I pretend to faint. 

Romulus curses.

Father just sighs. “Useless fucking girl.”

Somebody with a palm frond runs over to fan me to try and cool me off as I keep my eyes shut and my breathing shallow. 

The seconds tick by and I hope and pray that my Father is so vindictive he’d actually pause the Games just to make me watch them later once I’ve recovered. It’s one of the few cards I can play. 

It’s Eris that lifts me off the floor and back to my seat, the cinnamon and ember scent of him clinging to my damp skin as he scoops me off the floor. 

“Should I fetch a healer?” Tamlin asks.

My Father huffs and I hear him shuffle around for a moment, then he tosses a cup of water directly in my face!

I let my body react on instinct, jerking upright with a splutter and cough worthy of a theater performance. 

Not a single person outside the booth has noticed. 

“Dramatic as always, daughter,” Father sighs as he goes back to his seat. 

A servant remains to fan me, the only face aside from Eris that looks genuinely concerned and not irritated. 

The match continues to play out before us completely and utterly unhindered by my antics and my heart sinks into my chest. 

Father calls for another glass of wine and takes a sip, watching as the Orc inches closer to my mates. “Wouldn’t want you to miss such an important moment, now would we?”

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

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[addieslibrary]

Something Precious

Azriel x Reader

word count: 2.1k content: [ nun crazy just reader having mega insecure thoughts lol ] summary: Azriel has always been steady, unwavering—but the way you look at him makes something shift. Small moments, fleeting words, a tension neither of you acknowledge… until it’s impossible for him to ignore. author's note: IM BACK BABEYY!!!!! this ones a bit short but i thought it'd be a good one to help get myself writing again. i really like how it turned out, just a nice, sweet lil fic nothin crazy :) also not beta'd bc i just needed to get something out NEOW. hope this is to your liking anon thank u for the req!! <3 ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its golden glow casting shifting patterns across the walls of the House of Wind. The night outside was crisp and quiet, Velaris resting under a blanket of stars, but here, in this small cocoon of warmth and firelight, everything felt still. 

Azriel lay stretched out on the couch, wings spilling over the cushions in an easy sprawl. His shadows had retreated for the night, content to flicker lazily at the edges of the room, leaving nothing between you but firelight and the slow, steady rhythm of his breath. 

You lay draped across his chest, your weight a comfortable, grounding thing. His heartbeat thudded beneath your cheek, slow and sure, and the warmth of his skin seeped through the thin fabric of his shirt. One of his hands rested at the small of your back, tracing lazy circles under your sweater, while the other curled lightly around the nape of your neck, fingertips brushing idly over your skin. 

You sighed, nuzzling deeper against him, letting the scent of cedar and night-chilled wind wrap around you like a second blanket. Your fingers trailed absentmindedly over his ribs, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing, and when you finally lifted your gaze to meet his, your heart did that ridiculous little stutter it always did. 

Because Azriel was looking at you like that again—like you were something precious. Something worth holding onto. 

The firelight flickered in his hazel eyes, turning them molten, but there was something softer underneath. Something quiet and steady, tucked between the affection in his gaze and the slight curve of his mouth. You weren’t sure you’d ever get used to it. 

You exhaled, barely above a whisper, as if afraid you might shatter the fragile silence. “I can’t believe you’re here with me.”

It wasn’t meant to be a confession. Just a passing thought, one that had been lingering in the back of your mind since the moment you started whatever this was—since the moment you realized someone like him could want someone like you. 

But Azriel stilled beneath you. It was subtle, just a flicker of tension in his fingertips, a pause in the slow drag of his hand against your back. Gone in an instant. 

You wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t been laying on his chest, if you hadn’t felt the way his heartbeat faltered for just a second before steadying again. You didn’t call attention to it, just as Az hadn’t. Hadn’t asked what you meant. 

Instead, he shifted slightly, adjusting his wings so they wrapped around you both, pulling you deeper into the warmth of his body. His fingers resumed their slow, absentminded tracing, his thumb sweeping over the back of your neck in a way that made you shiver. 

“Where else would I be?” he murmured. 

You huffed a soft laugh, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. Anywhere. Everywhere. Someone like you doesn’t end up with someone like me.

But you didn’t say that. Just let yourself sink into his warmth, let yourself savor the way his arms tightened around you, as if holding you closer would make you understand. 

Because Azriel didn’t know—not yet. But he was starting to notice. 

And he didn’t like it. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Dinner at the River House was always an event. Not a formal one by any means—the kind where the table was too small for all the elbows knocking together where laughter wove itself between the clinking of glasses and the scrape of silverware. Where the air smelled of roasted lamb and rosemary, of spiced wine and honeyed bread, warmth curling through the candlelit room like an embrace.

Nesta and Cassian had somehow gotten into a debate over who was worse at flirting—Rhysand or Azriel—which had quickly turned into a full-blown conversation about all their past entanglements. 

“You’re all fools,” Amren said simply, swirling the deep red in her glass. “None of you were half as charming as you thought you were.”

Cassian scoffed. “I was charming.”

Nesta didn’t even look up as she speared a piece of meat. “Debatable.”

Across the table, Mor snickered. “He was charming, in the way a golden retriever puppy is charming.”

Azriel smirked into his wine glass. Cassian pointed at him accusingly. “You don’t get to laugh. You spent centuries avoiding love like the Mother herself would smite you for it.”

“That’s because he’s got high standards,” Mor shot back. “Honestly, I’m just surprised Az’s even dating.”

Feyre hummed, shifting Nyx higher against her shoulder as he dozed, his tiny fingers curled into the fabric of her sweater. “Dating? I’m surprised he’s managed to keep someone around long enough to–”

“Feyre.” His voice was soft, but the weight behind it was enough to cut her off. His expression was still easy, his lips curling at the edges, but there was something there—something firm, something protective. 

Your stomach twisted. 

The words weren’t meant to hurt. You knew that. They were lighthearted, Feyre smiling at her brother-in-law, the way siblings poked fun without malice. And Azriel had cut her off before she could finish—before she could say something that might have struck deeper.

But it was already unraveling in your head.

High standards. 

Avoiding love.

Managed to keep someone around long enough.

Because is that all this is? A fling? Something temporary? Another short-lived thing in a string of them? 

Your grip tightened subtly around your glass, the air suddenly too warm, your pulse thrumming a little too fast. And before you could stop yourself, before you could sit with the spiraling thoughts for even a second longer, you laughed. Too loud. Too sharp. A sound that cut through the warmth of the room rather than settling into it. 

“Yeah, just wait until he realizes how much of a pain I am.”

Silence, just for a beat. 

Azriel’s head snapped toward you, sharp enough that you felt it before you saw it—the weight of his gaze landing on you, the furrow in his brows, the shift in the air between you. But you didn’t look. Couldn’t. 

Rhysand chuckled, breaking the brief pause, shaking his head. “Yeah, right. You’re practically a saint for dealing with him.”

Cassian smirked, lifting his glass. “Agreed.”

Laughter rippled through the table again, and just like that, the moment passed—folded itself into the fabric of the conversation, buried beneath the easy back and forth, the scraping of plates, the pouring of wine. 

Azriel let it go. Again. 

But it lingered.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Azriel eventually pushed past that uneasy feeling. It wasn’t a big deal—not really. He figured you probably hadn’t even meant anything by it. But something about it rubbed him the wrong way, settled uneasily in his chest, and he couldn’t explain why. 

But then it happened again. 

And again. 

Little things, small enough that they would have slipped through the cracks if he hadn’t been paying attention. The way you waved off his compliments, dodging them with a laugh like they were jokes rather than truths. The way your smile sometimes faltered, like you’d caught yourself enjoying the moment a little too much. The way your fingers curled into the fabric of your sleeve when he touched you, like you were steadying yourself. 

And then there was the way you looked at him—that was what unsettled him the most. 

Because he was used to being looked at in a thousand different ways—calculating, cautious, reverent, fearful. People looked at him and saw a legend, a warning, a weapon. He’d spent a lifetime standing on the outskirts of things, watching them unfold from the shadows, knowing that no matter how close he got, he would always be separate.

But you looked at him like he was something untouchable. 

Like you didn’t quite believe he was real. 

Like you were waiting for the moment he’d come to his senses and walk away. 

And Azriel—who had spent years mastering the art of patience, of knowing when to hold back—found himself growing more and more frustrated. 

Not at you, gods, never at you. 

But at the way you’d convinced yourself that you were less. 

That he was something more. 

It all came to a head one evening in the training ring. 

You weren’t training, just sitting on one of the benches, legs tucked beneath you, book resting open in your lap. You liked being here with him, and he liked having you here, even if neither of you’d ever said it out loud. He could feel your eyes on him as he moved through his drills, the steady weight of your attention like a tether pulling him back to earth. 

When he finally finished, muscles burning, wings flexing as he rolled his shoulders, he walked over to you. You grinned up at him, eyes warm despite the sharp winter air, and handed him a cup of water without a word.

Az took a long drink before murmuring, “You staring at me again?”

You scoffed, though the way your mouth twitched told him you were fighting a smile. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He smirked, resting a hand on the bench’s backrest beside you, bracing himself as he leaned down. “Too late.”

You made a face, but the slight pink creeping up your neck gave you away. He kissed you softly, just a brush of lips, tasting warmth and wind and something undeniably you.

And then you said it.

“I still don’t know what you see in me.”

You said it casually. Offhanded. Like it wasn’t a confession. Like it wasn’t the worst thing you could’ve said.

Azriel  went still.

The words settled like a stone in his chest, heavy and suffocating. And suddenly, every little moment from the past few weeks clicked into place—the deflected compliments, the hesitations, the way you looked at him like you were waiting for him to wake up and realize you weren't enough.

The frustration that had been simmering in the back of his mind finally snapped.

His voice was quiet, but firm. “Don’t do that.”

You blinked, tilting your head slightly. “Do what?”

“That.” He straightened, looking down at you, jaw tight. “Talk about yourself like that.”

You shifted, clearly thrown off by the sudden change in his tone. “Az, I was just—”

“I mean it.” His wings flared slightly, a flicker of restrained emotion. “You say things like that all the time. Like you don’t think you belong here. Like I’m some…” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Some gift the Mother decided to bestow on you.”

You opened your mouth, but he wasn’t finished.

“You don’t think I notice, but I do,” he said, voice softer now, rough around the edges. “I can see it in the way you dodge compliments, the way you downplay yourself like you’re the lucky one—as if I’m not the one who should be grateful every damn day that you want to be with me.”

You swallowed hard, looking away. “That’s not—”

“Look at me.”

You did.

And when your eyes met, something inside Az ached.

Because you really didn’t see it.

Didn’t see what he saw every time he looked at you—the quiet strength, the unwavering kindness, the way you fit so effortlessly into the parts of him that had always felt empty.

Didn’t see how, before you, he had spent centuries standing on the outside looking in, wondering if he would ever have anything or anyone just for himself.

Didn’t see how you were already everything.

Azriel exhaled, slow and steady, forcing himself to find the words. “You are not some… temporary thing I decided to entertain myself with.” He took your hand, curling your fingers between his own. “You’re not lucky to have me.” He squeezed, firm but gentle. “I’m lucky to have you.”

Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out. You looked like you wanted to argue, to tell him he had it backwards, but there was something raw in his expression—something that made you hesitate.

Az lifted your joined hands and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the back of yours, his lips brushing your skin as he whispered, “Stop acting like you’re less than.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy with everything unsaid.

Finally, you exhaled shakily and leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his. “I don’t know how to stop feeling like I am.”

Az closed his eyes, letting himself breathe you in. And then he whispered, “Then let me remind you.”

And he would.

As many times as it took.

[addieslibrary]

Letters Never Sent (Azriel X Reader)

   Word count: 3200

Azriel and the reader used to best friends, but when she left for the day court and he didn't even come say goodbye, she no longer knows where they stand. I love angst.

        

    Your time in the day court was nothing but welcoming. There seemed to be a different aura in the air there, a brightness that the night court didn’t have and the sweet smell of growth and spring wherever you turned. You and Rhys had agreed to station you here, with Helion, due to all the tensions throughout the courts. He hoped that your stay would ensure that Helion would not switch sides.

               You doubted Helion would, after eating meals with the high lord twice a day for a few months, you felt like you knew the true him. Helion was genuinely kind and caring of his people, and you could see that once he was an Ally, he would be an ally until the end. You spent your days roaming through the halls of his estate, looking at art or examining the flowers filling the vases down every hall.

               Although the day court was beautiful and occupied you, you missed your home, and you missed your friends. You received numerous letters from Mor and Feyre, telling you about recent events and updates about the males. Every word about Azriel piqued your interest and simultaneously filled you with a sense of anxiety, hoping that he was alright.

               As you arrived back in your room, you noticed a letter on your bed, enveloped in a dark red paper. You smiled to yourself, jumping on the bed and snatching it, nearly ripping it open and reading the words from Mor.

“Y/n,

I know that you are probably having a fantastic time with the day court high lord, you know I would be, but I must ask that you take a break from your serious work and come home to join us for starfall. We all miss you, and you know it is your favorite event of the year.

Cassian wants me to note that he insists that you come home, but we all trust the day court will be able to live a few days without your presence.

I expect to see you tomorrow night,

All my love,

Mor

               You smiled, hugging the letter to your chest as you looked around the grand room Helion had granted you. Despite Mors assumptions, you had not entertained Helion in anyway but your conversation and friendly company. You jumped off the bed, pulling the box of letters from under it and placing another letter to the pile. Over the months, Mor had sent you multiple letters, so had Feyre and Cassian, but none from the shadowsinger.

               You thought of Azriel and sighed, brushing your hair back from your face and leaning against the bed. Sure, Rhys had asked you to come for the sake of your court, but you had agreed to come here to get some space. And while you were gone, you had thought about him every day, written numerous letters and thrown them out, letters filled with sadness, then anger.

               He was one of your closest friends, someone that you had known for centuries, yet he didn’t even blink when you told him you were leaving, and he wasn’t even there to say goodbye.

               You could feel the tears well in your eyes and blinked them away, standing up and looking around the room. You grabbed a small bag from your wardrobe and started packing the essentials, although you had clothes at the night court, the day court attire was starting to grow on you. You actually enjoyed not wearing black all the time.

               You took one last look at the room as you closed the door, heading towards Helion’s chambers to let him know about your departure. As you walked in, your bag dropped from your hand and a gasp left your lips. Morrigan stood with him, deep in conversation.

               “Mor!” You shouted, running over to her and wrapping your arms around her frame. You could feel her jump and surprise, but then felt her arms wrap around you as well. “You’re here!”

               “of course I am, it’s not like you can winnow.” She teased, pulling you away and giving you a closer look. “How are you so tan? It’s only been 2 months.”

               “It’s almost as if she belongs here.” Helion mused, sending a wink in your direction. “Don’t be too long, Y/N. The day court will grow darker with each day of your departure.”

               “You’re so dramatic, “you teased, he gave you a handsome smile.

               “Grab your stuff and let’s go.” Mor ordered, and you grabbed the small bag from the floor. “It was nice seeing you again, I’ll pass on the message to Rhysand.”

               Helion gave you a short wave as mor grabbed your arm, and you could feel the normal rush of winnowing, the feeling of two pieces of fabric folding together. You were suddenly in the night court, and as you took a deep breath you could smell the familiar scent through the air of home.

               “Wow, it feels so good to be back.” You smiled, turning to look at Mor. She smiled back at you.

               “Thank you for writing to me, I swear, sometimes reading your letters was the only thing that kept me sane.” ‘

               “Oh I’m sure I wasn’t the only one.” Mor teased, wiggling her eyebrows. “I know I’ve seen plenty of ink stains on Azriel’s hands, how many letters has he sent you?”    

               “Yeah right.” You rolled your eyes, looking around for any hint of him. “Azriel didn’t send me any letters, he didn’t even say goodbye Mor.”

               “What, really?” Mor asked, and you two started walking to your old room. “That surprises me, he hasn’t been the same since you left. “

               “Well, I thought we were friends, but now I realize that’s not the case.” You huffed, Mor opened the door to your bedroom, and the familiar sight of your bookshelf and made bed made your heart drop to your stomach. You hadn’t realized how much you had missed this place. “You’re my friend, but he is definitely not.”

               “Maybe just ask him?” Mors voice ended on a higher pitch, sounding more like a question than a demand. “I don’t’ know, that just doesn’t sound like the Azriel I’ve been watching mope around.”              

               “I’m okay, really. You don’t need to worry about me.” You comforted, placing your stuff on your bed and laying back on it, staring at the stars drawn on the ceiling by Feyre.

               “Starfall is in a few hours, I’ll let you get settled in, but you have to come hang out with me today.” Mor scolded, and you nodded. The door quietly shut, and you were left alone. You sat up, leaning back on your hands as you stared around your old room.

               You had so many memories in the room, memories with him. You two had spent so much time together over the years, from drunk nights to pillow fights, to reading sessions in the small library. Azriel was unlike any other male, he was strong but also vulnerable. He knew how to take care of you but also knew when to let you take care of yourself. The friendship eventually turned into a crush, and then…well, things fell apart.

               Pillow fights turned into real arguments, drunk nights were spent by yourself, and reading did not feel the same without him next to you. Then you decided that you had let your feelings go too far, and you went to the day court.

               That day was full of tears, you hugged Mor and Cassian, and even Amren accepted a small hug, much shorter than the others. But as your teary eyes looked around, they found Rhysand and an emptiness you couldn’t describe. You had even stayed late, just hoping that Azriel would come and say bye, and some twisted part of you imagined that he would even ask you not to go.

               That didn’t happen, and the night ended with you arriving to the bright and sunny day court, with the feeling of heartbreak in your chest and tears in your eyes. That’s when you knew, Azriel never felt the same.

*

               You spent the next few hours getting ready for Starfall, putting on a nice dress and doing a light makeup. You were going to drink to your heart’s content, dance until your feet hurt and not think about Azriel at all.

               Mor came and got you shortly after that and led you down to the small balcony where Cassian, Rhysand, Feyre and Amren were waiting. You pretended not to notice the absence of the shadow singer. Lots of hugs were exchanged, and eventually as the sky grew darker, the laughter grew louder and the drunker you became.

               You pressed the glass to your lips, taking another sip of the wine when your eyes fell upon a figure on the other side of the balcony. He looked the same as always, black feathers, dark wings and a dark look in his eye. His shadows surrounded him, causing him to look hazy, or maybe that was the alcohol.

               You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the pang in your chest as you finished your glass, turning to Mor and holding it out for another pour. Mor obliged you, grinning and you two clinked your glasses. “Come back!” Mor laughed, her hand drunkenly reaching out and touching your cheek. “We all miss you!”

               “I’m doing something important.” You chided her, “I am…I am helping forge an alliance. That’s a big responsibility.”

               “Helion is loyal, and you know it.” Mor pleaded, “you can come back! We can have fun again!”

               “Not yet, I need more time.” You replied, and you were telling the truth as your eyes drifted back over to the Shadowsinger, who was inching closer.

               “Can I steal her for a second?” Azriel asked Mor, nodding his head towards you. Mor nodded, pulling away, but you grabbed her hand and pulled her back.

               “No you may not.” You replied.

               “I need to speak with you.” Azriel insisted, and you could feel Mor trying to pull away. “Please.”

               “Fine.” You huffed, letting her go and handing her your drink. “But let’s make it quick.”

               Azriel led you inside the house, holding open the door. Once you entered, you turned towards him, arms crossed in front of you. “Yes?” You asked expectantly, and his eyebrows rose.

               “Is something wrong?” He asked, looking around. “You seem angry.”

               “It’s because I am angry.” You retorted, “is there something I can help you with or can I leave?”      

               “I-what? Y/N, are you okay? You’re acting different.” Azriel’s eyebrow grew close together, and he took a tentative step towards you. As his arm reached out for you, you took a step back. “Seriously, what’s wrong?”

               “What’s wrong?” You laughed, disbelief coating your voice. “What’s wrong with you?”

               “Nothing! I just wanted to talk to my friend, who I haven’t seen in-“

               “We are not friends.” You growled, your laughter immediately fading away. His eyes narrowed. “You didn’t even come say goodbye to me when I left, I waited for you!”

               “I tried-“

               “I’m not done!” You shouted, turning around and running your hands through your hair. “I waited for you! I delayed my trip by an hour because I thought my FRIEND would want to say goodbye. You know what friends also do? They write letters.”              

               “Y/N please-“

               “Cassian wrote me letters, Mor wrote me letters- hell, even Feyre wrote me letters and she just learned how to write!” You shouted. You turned back to him, glaring at him with all the anger that has been growing since you left. You knew you should stop, you knew this was all because of the alcohol. “And now- now you want to talk, to a ‘friend’. Well, find another one to talk to because that is not me anymore.”

               “You don’t mean that.” Azriel replied, “We are friends, I swear.”

               “I want friends who care about me, you didn’t write me a single letter Az.” You growled, walking past him and ramming your shoulder into his. He moved out of the way, but you knew he wasn’t impacted in the least. “So no, we are not friends.”

               The door slammed and you walked back out on the terrace, but the magic of the night was gone. You grabbed your drink from Mor, taking another sip before the guilt started to settle over you. “Did you let him explain?” Mor asked, turning towards you. Once she saw the tears streaming down your face and your shaking hands, she took the glass and set it down and pulled you into a hug.

               “I told him we aren’t friends anymore.” You whispered, not even having the strength to wrap your arms around her. You had way too much to drink. “I..he broke my heart Mor, I don’t think I’ll ever be okay again.”          

               She pulled away from you, a frown on her face as she evaluated you. She wiped tears from your cheeks. “I need to go say sorry.” You whispered, turning towards the glass door, but Azriel was gone.

               “Just give him some space and talk to him tomorrow.” Mor rubbed your back, and you nodded. “I think…I think I’m going to head up.”

               Mor nodded, patting your back. “You’re going to miss it if you go now.”

               “I’ll see it from my window.” You whispered, trecking into the house and making your way up the stairs. The house was quiet, and you made your way to Azriel’s door, hesitating before knocking on it.

               “Azriel?” You whispered, and after a moment you knocked again, no answer. You turned the knob, surprised when it opened easily, allowing you access into his room. You took a step, the whole room smelled like him. He had a large bed in the center of the room, large enough to encompass him and his large wings, and his windows were covered by a black curtain.

               You walked over to his desk, fingers trailing over the chair, and your eyes caught on a box. That box was definitely not here the last time you were in his room. You could see a piece of parchment sticking out of the side, and you looked around as you nosily pulled it free of its confinement.  

               You started to skim the words, immediately freezing as you stared at the smudged ink on the page. Your name, written in neat letters. Your eyes quickly skimmed the letter, the sound of your heart pounding filling your ears.

               ‘Y/n, I’ve spent all my nights and all my days thinking about what to write to you, but none of the words come out right. My whole world is quieter and so much sadder since you’ve left, I hope you can forgive me.”

You opened the box, seeing multiple crumpled up letters. You grabbed another one, skimming it.

               ‘I was coward for letting you leave with no fight, please- come home.’

And another,

               ‘I hope you are enjoying the Day Court, I know you will love it there. If you would ever like a visit, I’m sure I could arrange to see you, or if you would prefer Mor I know she would happy to oblige. I really hope you are happy Y/N.”

               “What are you doing?” Azriel’s voice sounded, and your head whipped to the door frame. “Why are you going through my things?”

               “I’m not-“You stuttered, and he walked over, ripping the letters from your hand and throwing it back in the box. You cringed as you heard the sound of crushed paper. “Please- what are those?”

               “Get out.” Azriel’s voice was monotone, and he didn’t look at you.            

               “Did you..are those from you?” You whispered, and he ignored you. You walked over, grabbing his arm. “Az, are those letters?”

               “Get out.” Azriel repeated, his face blank. He held the box firmly, and you knew you couldn’t rip it from him if you tried.

               “Why didn’t you come say goodbye to me?” You whispered, squeezing his arm. “Az, please, why didn’t you come say goodbye?”        

               “I didn’t want to.” Azriel retorted, not looking at you. “I didn’t care enough.”

               “That’s not true.” You whispered, “I hope…I hope it nots true. Just tell me.”

You let go of his arm, but he didn’t even look at you.  “I came in to say I’m sorry for what I said, I didn’t mean it, I was just…I was just really mad, okay?”

               He didn’t say anything as you walked through the doorframe. You made you way down the hallway, and then you heard his deep voice.

               “I didn’t come because I knew I wouldn’t be able to let you go.” Azriel’s gruff voice filled the space, you turned around to look at him. He was walking swiftly towards you. “I didn’t come say bye because I knew you really wanted to go, and hell, you deserved to go, and I wasn’t going to stop you.”

               “Az-“

               “I’m not done.” He stopped in front of you, and you took a deep breath. “I regretted as soon as you left, but Rhysand told me to give you space. Then Mor started writing letters and I thought I would send some too, but I couldn’t get any of them right.”

               He grabbed the box from under his arm, opening it and dumping all the letters on the ground. There was at least twenty of them. “I felt so many things, I was happy for you but so angry that you left. I was so sad that you were gone, I would stay up for hours and just look at these blank pieces of parchment and wonder what was wrong with me.”

               “I wish you would have sent one.” You whispered, reaching down and picking up a random one. You read the words, immediately tears came to your eyes.

               ‘Y/N, I cannot express my feelings for you through a letter or even with words. If you feel even a quarter of what I feel for you, then you already know. You must know.’

               “Azriel…”You trailed, you eyes moving from the letter slowly up to his. His eyes had a flicker of hope as your hands shook. “You wrote these?”

               “I did.” He confessed.

               “Why didn’t you send them?” You whispred, picking up another one and reading the heatfelt words. This could not be happening right now. “Azriel-“

               “I didn’t know if you felt the same.” Azriel looked down, and you grabbed his arm gingerly. “I didn’t want to risk scaring you off and you never coming back. I was…I was going to tell you, earlier.”

               “I’m sorry, I’m sorry for being mad.” You replied, but he shook his head.

               “You had every right to be, I should have been more straightforward. Which is why I want to be straightforward now.” Azriel straightened, his wings shifting behind him. “Don’t go back, stay here, stay with me.”

               “Az-“ You started, and he shook his head, your indication to be quiet.

               “Stay, don’t go.” He took a deep breath, “I can’t breathe when you’re not here, I can’t sleep, and…and I love you more than I know how to say. Every time you leave, you take a piece of me with you. So just don’t leave.”

               You stared at him, your heart thudding. You nodded, and he gave you a small smile, enveloping your hands in his. “I love you too.”

[addieslibrary]

Ludos Imperiales 9

Author's Note: Sorry this chapter is a little shorter than usual, I've been sick in bed for a good couple of days and didn't have as much time to write as usual.

Content Warnings: Talk of Depression/Depressive Episodes; Reader Gets Drugged.

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

The Trajan Markets are the pinnacle of growth and development in the Capital, a sign the people said that the Gods favored us above all others. No other province grew as ours does. No other nation boasted such booms in business that a five story building need be built for the sole purpose of selling goods. Our streets have become too crowded, markets overflowing with buyers and sellers until the roads clog and the city becomes too rowdy during peak times of the day. There are other Markets in the city of course, but none as grand as Trajan.

None as easy to hide in as Trajan. 

I keep my hood pulled up over my face, a full basket in one hand, the other tapping anxiously along the hilt of the dagger strapped to my thigh. The crowds are heavy, the summer air thick with the smell of sweat and incense and the roasted meat from the food stalls. The heavy din of haggling and bartering makes the pounding of my heart sound far more dull than it had on the crazed dash I’d made to get here. Ditching the Guard to come out had been a challenge; dodging Anise a military feat I think might have made even Cassian proud. Not that Cassian knew I’d left. Or any of my mates for that matter. They would be too recognizable in this crowd; as is I feel like eyes watch my every move. This needs to be quick.

My list of supplies is half scratched off, just a few more pieces of armor and a couple more custom weapons and my mates will be well protected for their next match. I’ve all but thrown myself into the task, as if the extra effort will make the difference in the arena. As if the extra bit of leather might be the very thing that ensures they return to me afterwards.

I try to shake off the pressure driving into my chest like a spike. The Games are tomorrow. I’d chosen Kallias’s Orc for their opponent via a letter--Father hadn’t spoken to me directly since the Council meeting two days ago. I suppose that means Eris has kept his word thus far, but the silence makes time stretch out like a bad dream. I’ve spent nearly every waking moment watching the windows, waiting for the worst to happen.

Abandoning one booth, I move to another, fingers skimming over metal and leather chestpieces alike. All too thin. Too hollow. Orc’s favor axes, they need something that can withstand multiple blows. 

The next shop is too flashy. Too many Imperial colors. My stomach turns at the thought of seeing Rhys in Imperial gold. 

I dodge a squad of the Praetorian, they’ve been doing routine sweeps through the city more frequently since the parade. Perhaps it’s just Father’s paranoia, but there is a small piece of me that dares to hope that there was some sympathy in the crowd, that someone, somewhere in this damned city felt as horrified as moved to action as I was. 

I keep my hood drawn a little lower over my face as I move to the next level. This would be easier if I could have brought them along, no need to constantly double check the scribble of measurements I’d had the tailor make. They could pick what would be most comfortable for themselves, and I’d feel better about sending them off in it, at least they knew what they were doing. But the risk was too great. And worse, I’m a terrible coward.

I haven’t so much as looked at Azriel since the Council Meeting. I’d forced myself to climb into my empty bed and not use the secret tunnels. I’d found anything and everything to keep myself busy the next day. Not because I didn’t want to see him, or any of them, but because I couldn’t bear the waiting. The countdown to the next match had started like a death null in the back of my head. I can’t bring myself to be selfish and sit there with them when there are things within my power to do to save them. It’s not right that I will sit in my cushy booth with a drink while they fight for their lives. I have to give them a fighting chance. I have to do more than last time.

I have to ensure they get back alive. We will have time to work out what we want from each other when this is over. When I can ensure my heart won’t shatter into a million unfixable pieces if something happens.

I give myself a little shake as I skirt past food stalls swarming with several families of Sprites. Trajan, unlike many of the markets on the Square, is full of all sorts of creatures: Trolls and Goblins pull carts of wares down the aisles and up the stairs to the top levels. Pixies and Sprites flit about in the open air, directing traffic. Nephilim with their feathered wings tucked tight shop with Humans and Elves. We are all just shoppers here, none of the Empire’s prejudice to separate us. None of it’s cruelty to turn us on each other. This is how it should be. Tomorrow we will be in the Arena again. The crowds will be different. The atmosphere will be different. It will not be so peaceful.

My next stop is a merchant shop boasting the best armor in the Empire. This will be the third shop with that sign, I don’t have high hopes, but I cannot leave until I’ve searched every shop, exhausted every outlet. 

My fingers trace over the plated armor, shaped like scales. The design is well made, but the material… I tap a knuckle against it and hear a dull, hollow echo. Too thin. The next stall, boasts the best greaves and manicas. The extra padding of a sleeve will be useful, and the dark leather, layered like scales would look good on them. I buy three, one for each and add them to my basket before moving on.

A small cart selling ribbons momentarily halts my search, the colors vibrant and blowing softly in the breeze that drifts through the open market windows. I run my fingers over a violet thread, the same shade as Rhys’s eyes. 

“That’s a pretty color!” The merchant woman, a human I think, but her ears are tucked under a multicolored head scarf, calls out from the worn stool she sits atop.

If we were normal, I’d braid the ribbon into my hair, boast Rhys’s colors with a bit of black thread for everyone to see. A pang of longing hits me in the chest; we will never be normal people, not while the Empire stands. I’ll go to the Games tomorrow in white and gold to match my Father.

“It is,” my voice shakes as I remove the ribbon from the hook. I shouldn’t. I should be practical. It’s a waist of coin, I can’t wear it anyway. Still… 

“We’re having a sale,” the merchant continues. “Three for the price of one!”

The irony makes a laugh bubble out of me. Of course it would be three.

A cobalt one draws my eye next, then a bright red one. Before I can think twice about it, I’ve taken them off the hooks too.

“For anyone special?” She asks as I fish some coins from my purse.

“Of course,” I reply, but I don’t give her any more of an explanation.

The merchant pats my hand affectionately as she passes my change back, a knowing smile on her lips. I tuck the ribbon into the pocket of my cloak that sits over my heart; they’ll be another secret dream, meant for a girl less duty bound as me, but I cannot stop myself from hoping for a chance to one day wear them. 

“I hope they bring your lover luck,” the merchant says in farewell.

A shiver of anticipation runs down my spine; they’ll certainly need it.

--

It had taken hours, but I finally found suitable armor on the fifth floor of the market. Upon sneaking back into the House, I’d left the supplies with the tailor and instructed that she take it to our guests. If the Guard were to ask where she’d gotten it, she’d been instructed to say she’d picked it up in town on her last visit and had just finished adjusting the straps and various ties up until now. A ruse that should be believable and hopefully not be looked into too deeply. I was curious to see what they thought about my decisions, but bringing it in myself felt like it would draw too much attention, so I schemed as best I could and busied myself by going back to the Temple to make some offerings for tomorrow. 

I doubt there is enough bronze in the Empire to sway Fortuna, but that doesn’t stop me from offering my sacrifices all the same. 

Victoria’s altar gets more than its fair share of bull’s blood and wine; I’ve burned so much incense the warm spice mixture feels like it’s seeping into my skin. 

But while my offerings to Luck and Victory may look extreme to the priestesses, they are small in comparison to the blood I spill for the Mother. My nightly prayers have felt feeble and unheard, I remain at the altar far longer than necessary, whispering in Latin for as long as I can before people start asking questions. 

By the time I’ve finished, the afternoon heat is settling into a warm evening wind. I gather my spinning thoughts and head to the kitchens to give Cook instructions for our guests' nightly meal. It takes more than a few coins to bribe him into making enough food for a feast and then sending all of it to the guest wing, along with far more deserts than probably necessary. 

Everything today has probably been a little more than necessary, truth be told,  but I have to do everything in my power to help. I have to tell myself it’s enough. That I’ve exhausted every outlet, covered every angle, left nothing to chance. I won’t sleep tonight as is, but it’ll be worse if I cannot find some way to convince myself that I helped. 

I’m so busy directing plates this way and that I don’t even stop to consider that I haven’t eaten today until Anise grabs me by the elbow. With a couple plates in hand, she all but drags me into the triclinium to eat, despite my protest. There is still so much I need to do! 

“Sit!” The plate clangs against the table. 

The formal dining room has been empty for months. I’ve been eating my meals in my room for one reason or another. She throws open a dust covered curtain with a huff, letting in the last few glimmers of sunlight. 

“You’re pale as a fucking spirit!” She hisses at me. Her gnarled hands strike a match and light a few candles along the forlorn tables, her own plate sitting untouched next to me as she fusses over the room. 

“Probably high off incense too,” she grumbles.

I place my elbows on the table and brace my face in my hands so I can rub my temples. There’s that stash of mirthroot in my bedside table I’d purchased to trick my Father and I’m tempted to use a little bit of it, just to calm my nerves. 

“Do my prayers bother you all of a sudden, Anise?”

She leaves for a moment and returns with a bottle of wine and two glasses. Glaring in my direction, she fills the first glass to the brim and chugs the entire thing before pouring a second, less generous portion into her glass. “Your reasons more so.”

I grab a fork and stab at a piece of roast chicken. “Do we need to do this tonight?”

She pushes a glass my way as she weighs the bottle in hand, debating if her second glass is really full enough to deal with me tonight. 

My eyes fix on the door to the kitchens, where the shadows from the other room make it obvious that some of the staff are listening behind the door. This is not the time or the place. My nerves feel absolutely shot. I run my fingers absently over my ribs, where I feel a burst of power flittering around my lungs, like it just might bubble out and spill from my throat.

“You’ve scarcely made yourself available for it any other time,” she snaps.

I sip the wine and tear into a loaf of bread, swirling it around in the red sauce next to my plate, trying to find ways to swallow down my powers before they hurt someone. Or blow out the window. “For months and months you’ve harassed me about never leaving the house and suddenly it’s become a problem?”

She slams her palms down on the table as she lowers herself into the bench seat. “You were drowning!” Her voice is so loud I can hear the staff listening at the door jump back in surprise.

“Do you know what it was like? Watching you get swallowed up by your grief? It was like watching you be hollowed out, turned into this shell that didn’t care if the world around her caught fire. You were empty and broken, a ghost of a person.”

“I know,” I nod, shifting vegetables around on my plate until they turn to mush in the sauce. 

“I couldn’t reach you,” her breath stutters out of her and I look away so I don’t see her cry. “Nothing I said worked! Nothing got through to you. Sending you out to watch the Games…”

I use the wine to try and dislodge the lump forming in my throat. She’s the only real family I have left and I know that all this secrecy has hurt her, but I can’t let her in now. She can only know what’s necessary. If something were to happen to her because I’d told her the truth, I’d never forgive myself.

“I knew you hated them. You’d always come back crying as a child. They’re brutal and bloody and…” She pauses to gulp down more wine. “I thought it would wake you up. That seeing all that death might… might convince you that you still wanted to live.”

She’d been right of course, she always is, just not for the same reasons she’d thought. Her actions had pushed me right onto this path; given me a reason to hold on, to fight. 

“It did, Anise,” I start.

“Did it?” She cuts in. “Because this looks a Hel of a lot like self-sabotage to me! Do you have any idea what they’re saying about you in the Capital? What the staff whisper about when you leave the room?”

“You’re the one that’s been pouring contraceptive tea down my throat, I think I can guess.”

Her weathered palm hits the table again, rattling the glasses. “This is not a joke! They kill people for rumors like this! They’ve already tried to do so! Doesn’t that bother you, even a little?”

Truth be told, that Raven has felt like the least of my worries these last few days. 

My gaze flicks to the partially open door; how many of the staff will report this conversation to my Father? How many will go into town for one reason or another and gossip in the markets over this little spat? I have to be extremely careful about what I say next. 

“Of course it does,” I say slowly. 

“Then you know what you have to do to make this right.”

“I’m doing everything that has been asked of me-”

“That’s not what I mean!” She hisses, emerald eyes flashing. “Get rid of them!”

The room spins. Candlelight flickering. The window rattles; table bouncing off the floor. It takes far longer than it should for me to realize that it’s my doing. Dark clouds of ether seep from my skin, slithering out from under the soles of my feet like snakes--like Azriel’s shadows.

Anise gapes at me as more and more pours from my skin, filling the room. 

Shit! I draw in a shaky breath and hurriedly pull it all back beneath my skin, until there’s not a drop of it left in the room. The bond is a roaring, living thing in my chest, bashing against my rib cage, filling up my lungs with the acrid scent of smoke. I drown it out with another big gulp of wine while Anise gapes at me like I’ve grown a second head. It has never been that bad before.

I swallow hard and push away from the table. “They’re not going anywhere!” My voice doesn’t sound like my own, the growling a deep rumble from within my chest. I rub absently at the spot where the tension feels the greatest, even as I storm from the room. 

Anise doesn’t follow, and the staff scatter out of my way as I sweep throw the kitchen in a huff. How dare she demand I send my mates away! They’re mine to protect! Mine to care for! 

Mine.

Darkness trails out from behind me like a scarf, billowing and snapping from where it seeps out of my back. The bond will not quiet, will not stop bashing itself against my insides at the mere thought of being separated from them. 

I all but sprint down the hall, looking for somewhere to expel all this energy. Now is not the time to lose control! I have too many things to do before the morning to worry about this new found lack of control. 

I make it to the safe room, tucked behind a bookshelf in the library, and rip the key that always hangs around my neck off. My hands tremble as more darkness loops round and round my hands. My breath rasps out of me, chest heaving; I can’t get air in fast enough. 

By some miracle, I manage to wrangle the key into the lock and force my way inside before I explode entirely. Darkness, empty and cold and unyielding flies in every direction, until there is no longer light in the room. Until there is nothing but shadow. I surrender myself to it; let it fill and empty itself from every orifice until I no longer exist as I am. There is only darkness. Endless void. Nothingness. The room is inlaid with gorsian stone, so that no outside force could feel the power that escapes me. Mother says she built it in case I needed to hide from the outside world, but I have always known the truth: She built it in case she’d needed to hide the outside world from me.

If this is an indication of the sort of possessive intensity I’m capable of, maybe she was right to do so. 

I’m not sure I closed the door. Blindly, I reach out a tendril of power and ensure it's sealed before I let myself sink back into the nothingness. Let everything that is dark and ugly and cold pour out of me like water. It feels as if it might never stop coming out of me; more and more flows like the breaking of a damn.

Until I hear an ominous crack.

The sound in the emptiness pulls me back from the edge and I count down from ten to try and reign my power back in. 

Another crack follows, the sound like stone crumbling.

I have to blindly find the door to let out the cloud of darkness that fills the room and find a lantern. Once it’s lit, I find myself gaping up at the ceiling, where my power had not only splintered the heavy layer of concrete, but the gorsian stone as well. The greenish metal splinters in the shape of a lightning bolt as the concrete crumbles and falls away from the roof, littering the floor with debris.

“Shit,” I whisper to no one in particular. 

I run back out into the library to grab a chair so I can get a hand on the roof and further inspect the damage. It’s a deep cut, about three inches through the gorsian stone. Not all the way through the other side but enough that I can feel the waning power. The stone is built to absorb and hold power, with a crack like that, it releases into the air like vapor. A clean crack all the way through might very well make the whole room as un-warded and unprotected as another other room.

And there’s nobody who can fix it.

I climb down from the chair with a shudder. No one can know about this. The room itself has always been a closely guarded secret, but if anyone were to see what I had done, what I was truly capable of, forget the mating bond damning me, my powers would ensure my head rolled from my shoulders. Power like that cannot exist within the Empire.

I drag the chair out and lock the door behind me. This place will have to remain a tomb; just another secret to add to my ever growing list. 

I place the chair back at the proper table and go to turn off the lamp when it hits me. If I can crack this stone, can I do it with all of them?

My fingers trail absently over my throat as the idea mulls around in my head. Could I hone it just enough that I could be capable of cracking, say a collar?

The house is dark and quiet. I’d spent a lot longer there than I‘d thought! I rush through the now quiet kitchen, nothing left but a few dirty dishes for the morning, and slip into the cellar. Maybe this could be the edge I’d prayed for! Maybe Fortuna had accepted my offerings!

I can’t get the secret door open fast enough, my hands shaking again, but this time from excitement. I could save them! If done right, the collar wouldn’t be an issue, they could fight freely.

I should have brought a light with me. I’d be a liar if I said I was a little disappointed that the other end of the tunnel isn’t already open and none of them are waiting for me on the other end, but I guess can’t really fault them. I haven’t exactly given the impression I’d be coming around any time soon. 

I fumble for a few minutes to find the lock, pausing briefly to press my ear to the door to listen for signs that it’s even safe for me to do so. None of the vents have picked up any conversation, which is odd now that I think about it. Have they already gone to sleep?

I turn the lock gently. They do need as much rest as they can get, but if I can give them this advantage, maybe this will be the last time in the Pit they ever have to have. Maybe we can turn things around from here. I have to try.

The door groans when it opens, ominous in the stillness. All the lights are off, the curtains drawn so not even a sliver of moonlight can filter through. 

Strange…

I tap at the bond. There’s no sounds of Cassian’s snores. And the thing in my chest is… quiet.

I pick my way carefully over to the room they’ve crammed all their beds in. The door is shut, the metal of the handle cold like it hasn’t been touched in awhile. My heartbeat is a clanging drum in my ears as I turn the knob and push the door open.

It feels like an eternity for the hinges to turn, for the room to come into view. My heart plummets into my stomach, every second of the drop a free fall into the depths of an abyss. The room is empty. 

Every room is empty. I check each in a panic, tugging incessantly at the bond but there is only quiet. 

This can’t be happening!

I was so close! I was going to be able to fix this! 

Footsteps sound down the open tunnel and for a moment the swell of hope threatens to overwhelm me. They’re fine. They’re fine. They’re-

Anise appears in the doorway, frowning. 

Just like that, my hope deflates. My legs wobble and I have to brace myself against the base of the statue of the Mother. “Anise, where are they?”

She closes the door behind her, emerald eyes shifting around like she expects some great beast to pop out and devour us. “The Guard came.”

Panic sweeps through me like a title wave, so intense my fingers live indents in the metal base of the statue. “What did you do?”

She huffs at me, offended. “I hadn’t decided what I was going to do yet, since you no longer are capable of seeing reason, but…” she shrugs, “the decision was made for me. The Emperor has declared that no sponsored champions should spend the night before a match anywhere but the Arena’s barracks. To ensure no outside tampering with the gladiators, of course.”

The room flips end over end and it’s a fight just to get enough air in my lungs. No! No! No! This can’t be happening!

“They’ll be returned to you, if they win.”

“Anise,” I don’t know what I mean to say, what I mean to beg for. I have to see them! I have to finish what I came here to do!

“This will be good for you,” she insists. “This obsession of yours is unhealthy. You need to start tomorrow with a clear head.”

“I need to see them!” I choke out.

“The morning will come soon enough. It’s best if you put it out of your mind and get some rest.”

Rest? They stole my mates! The statue rattles beneath my hands as my control weans again. I have to get them back! I have to-

Something pricks the back of my neck as Anise comes around the side of me, her weathered hand outstretched. 

“I’m sorry, my dear,” she says gently. “I told your Mother it would never come to this, that I would never need to use it. You’ve always had such exceptional self-control, even as a child. It seemed silly that she’d had such precautions, but now…”

It feels like flames beneath my skin, fire shooting up my veins, consuming every lick of power it can find. A hand like a vice clamps itself around the beast that lives in my chest and squeezes so tight my knees give out and I fall like a penitent sinner at the base of the altar.

“Anise-” I choke out.

“It’s just a little faebane, to help with the control. It’ll help you sleep.”

NO!

My body curls up on itself as the burning intensifies. She bends, her old knees popping, to pat my head. “I know you don’t believe me, but I am doing this for your own good.”

Tears prick my eyes as they roll down my cheeks. I don’t know if they’re for me, or my mates. 

Anise wipes them away, making shushing noises like she used to do when I was a child with a scraped knee. “I promised your Mother I’d never let anything happen to you.” She coos. “You’ll thank me in the morning.”

Spots swim across my vision and I thrash my head, trying to fight them off, but it’s useless. The faebane continues to course through me like a wildfire, burning all resistance in it’s path until my limbs go limp and the darkness inside me snuffs out. Worse, the bond, fragile as it is, shrivels further, until it is a hollow, empty echo. I can’t even feel them on the other end.

“Please,” I whimper. “Please, make it stop, Anise!”

She strokes her hands through my hair, humming a lullaby she used to sing me to sleep with, as if this is normal. As if I’m still a child too scared of the dark to sleep. The spots that swim across my vision grow bigger and bigger. I can’t move my limbs enough to struggle, can’t even turn my head.

The chill of the tile seeps through my skirts as my erratic breathing starts to calm, heart rate slowing.

“There you go,” she coaxes. “Stop fighting it.”

“Please,” the word sounds garbled; feels strange in my mouth, my tongue not quite forming the letters.

“Sshhh.”

The spots consume me, darkness yet again filling my vision, but this time it pulls me under as I lose the battle against it.

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Chapters 1/2/3/4/5/6/ 7/ 8

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[addieslibrary]

Fable - Consequence

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel understands how it feels to regret; he understands it most as he holds you and he prays.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: Angst, injury, violence, this has a lot of grief in Azriel's pov but also subtle pov shifts and memories

a/n: This is part of a mini-series with one part left <3 I've honestly been using this series as a way to explore angst and loss in depth so thank you all for being addicted to angst. Last part coming soon (but also considering doing an alt ending too). Thank you for reading ily!!

Series Masterlist (all parts ♡)

~~

Azriel was digging. His hands were raw and specked with blood, and it took him a moment, but he was faintly aware that his throat felt raw as well. He was digging and he was screaming. 

The rubble of the cliff was unforgiving. Sharp rocks and misshapen twigs caught his skin and he pushed and pushed and pushed. His shadows had escaped him, weaving their way through the debris, slinking into the crevices Azriel so viscerally despised. 

He had to get you out. 

The bond was still there—still glowing in his chest. 

Every morsel of time you had spent with him this past year was on a painful loop in his mind, reminding him of the progress you’d made, of the life that had settled back in your eyes. You were so perfect, had always been so perfect, and Azriel was hoping you’d find that truth in an existence without your wings. 

He thought you might’ve been close. 

But then you’d discovered what had been kept from you. You’d learned that he and the others knew where your remaining attackers were, and they hadn’t told you. 

There had been a plethora of reasons. 

For Rhysand, it was your continued safety in the face of the uprising camp. He was a leader, which meant keeping information from you to ensure what you could not. For Cassian, well—he was pissed off. Cassian wanted to kill the men himself, and it had been a battle with the rest of the circle to keep him tame. And Azriel. Azriel knew what the life returning to your eyes would mean in the face of such news. He knew it that first day in Rhysand’s office when the spies made them privy to that first bit of information, and he knew it when the weekly meetings began, his informants closing in on the vile men’s location. 

So, he knew, with all certainty, that if you knew about these men, you would have gone after them. And then you did. 

You had never been the most sly at eavesdropping, so Azriel knew you were listening in the second your unsteady gait closed in on the High Lord’s office door. He let you listen, and then he confronted you when you were preparing to leave. It had been a few months of you walking on your own, but he still caught the way your right foot fell too quickly in front of your left as you skirted around your room. 

He had begged you. Gods, had he begged you to stay. To calm. To allow other people to take the lead on this. He had promised you would still have the final blow, but Azriel knew this had never been about your attackers simply dying. This had been about something else entirely. 

Was it worth it now, he wondered, as your once broken body—now healed with time—was slowly uncovered by Azriel’s bleeding hands? 

His throat stopped aching for a moment, a momentary reprieve as a sob soothed the ripping pain in his vocal cords. Some rendition of your name left his lips, slipping past the screams and the sobs that punctuated the guilt within him. He had been caught off guard, rendered unable to reach you when you needed him most. And he had had to watch you fall. 

Eventually, the rubble cleared enough for him to pull you onto his legs. His shadows blocked his view of your body, but they were whispering to him. You were alive, they told him—alive but hurt hurt hurt. He couldn't parse out exactly what was broken about you, but his shadows had never been calm in the face of your danger. 

That should have been a sign to him. He should have been protecting you far sooner. 

“Y/n?” Azriel croaked once more, his hands, still ruined, brushing along your face. “You’re okay. You’re fine,” he whispered to no one, his forehead coming down to meet yours. 

The scene was reminiscent of one he was quick to push from his mind, the blood and loss you had experienced in such a similar fashion something he wished not to relive. 

His body was shaking, he realized. Adrenaline and fear wracked him, turning his nerves into live wires that would spark at the touch. Azriel watched the subtle rise and fall of your chest as you lay against him, cursing his inability to command his shadows to bring you home. Faebane still influenced the power in his veins. His shadows remained, if only for you, but he had less pull over them. 

Azriel held you close and he prayed. 

You would be fine. You had to be fine. He had a lifetime more of taking care of you, even if only peripherally, even if you never knew what you truly meant to him. Azriel had set that fate in motion from the moment he chose to believe you about the camps—from the moment your wings had been torn from you and your existence felt less than. 

He knew you had been struggling with that. That the delicate furrow of your brow each time you passed a reflective surface was not a simple coincidence. 

It was his fault. You were his mate, and this had happened to you while he was off living in some fallacy. 

Azriel tugged you closer, watching the world go by through the small feats of movement on your face. 

You had told him once, about a month ago, that life was different now. You had said that it made less sense, that you were trying to make meaning of things that had once come naturally, been intuitive. Azriel had chalked that up to your inability to fly; it was difficult, he presumed, to conceptualize such a thing being taken away. 

But now Azriel realized what you meant. Breathing did not feel intuitive. How he positioned his body beneath yours did not feel natural. He did not know how to move, how to care for you, how to make this better. He kept passing over your face and body with his hands, but life felt different now—between an hour ago and now. 

He had feared you would never return from the dark abyss that consumed you when you first lost your wings, but then you had healed and coped. 

He had gotten too comfortable with the idea of you being okay. 

He had foolishly believed that nothing bad would ever happen to you again. Not now. Not with the magnitude of what you meant to him. 

You let out a small cough. Azriel’s breath sputtered. 

“Angel?” he called, his gaze scouring every inch of you. His thumb rubbed along your hairline. “Tell me if you can hear me.” 

A long pause punctuated the air between you. Your eyes fluttered but did not open. 

“Please. Please, please,” Azriel pleaded, tears unknowingly falling from his cheeks and scattering on your skin. 

He only needed a few moments. Rhys would come. He knew he would.

Right? 

“This isn’t s-supposed to happen like this,” Azriel cried, his touch imprinted along your body. “I needed more time. I was supposed to tell you. I was supposed to—” 

Azriel’s shadows were becoming frantic, swatting at his head and twisting along his dim siphons. Do something, they seethed into his ear, save her. 

To an onlooker, Azriel would seem as though he were talking to no one as he stressed, “I can’t. I don’t know how. I don’t… I can’t…” 

Azriel heaved you up into his arms as he stood. He was desperate, clinging to the thread that was growing fainter and fainter within him as he began taking steps to nowhere. He kept talking to his shadows, shouting to them when he knew that wasn’t necessary. 

“Help me then!” he demanded, tucking your head into his shoulder as he kept an unsteady pace. “Take her, at least. Help her.” 

As much as his shadows had an affinity for you, they would not take such large action without a direct command from their master. Azriel remembered his wings then. He had been refraining from using them for so long, not wanting their presence to deter your healing. They had been glued to his back for the better half of a year, and so he had forgotten them. 

He was unpracticed as he unfurled them and shot into the sky, eyes racing down to your figure to catch any change in your expression as he went. There was still nothing, no indication that you were present in the living world other than the dim feeling of you within him. Azriel had the fleeting thought that he might be sick. 

He pressed on. 

“What, do I look weird?”

Azriel’s chest panged as another memory flooded him. 

“No, of course not,” he had assured, brow furrowed at the obscene thought. 

“You can tell me if I do. I’m trying out a new wardrobe now that… you know. And Mor’s always been a bit flashy.” 

The dress was impressive, to say the least, a clear product of Mor’s eye. But it wasn’t the dress that made Azriel take a second look. He had seen you in much gaudier attire; the blue and white was saintly compared to what you wore in Hewn City.

To be frank, it was your posture that first caught his eye. You held yourself taller than normal as if a weight had been lifted. He hadn’t seen you with your shoulders pulled back since you lost your wings, and if it was the result of this damn dress he was going to kiss the ground Mor walked on. 

“I think you look beautiful,” Azriel candidly replied. 

You had blinked and looked away, giving Azriel some sarcastic remark that held no bite. Azriel gazed down at you in his arms and he regretted. He regretted so many things, but with the memories of the time after—of the time after you had been solidified as his—he regretted wasting so much time. He regretted ignoring the pull to you, being so quick to sign it off as familiar love. He regretted chasing after women he couldn’t have, didn’t even really want, and making you a spectator to his ridiculous failures. 

You had always been so forgiving of it all. 

“I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you,” Azriel spoke into the wind. He could feel tendrils of his power licking at his fingertips. A little bit longer and he could reach Rhysand. “Even if you never want to see me again.” His lips were salty as he spoke. “I’ll—” 

His next promise was lost behind the whisper in his head, a fleeting echo of Rhysand’s voice like an answered prayer. Azriel searched for the inkling of power within him and surged it forward, creating a beacon with his mind. Azriel was weak, but there was enough. 

He landed in the snowy dirt with a resounding thud. He viewed the world through watery, unseeing eyes as his High Lord usurped his vision. It was only a beat before Rhysand was there. Azriel watched as he took an unsteady breath in, taking in your form as Azriel held you close, and then steadying himself with outstretched hands. 

Something inside of Azriel tensed. 

Rhysand only shook his head, an argument clear in his eyes, his hands motioning for you to be transferred over. But Azriel’s jaw was quivering and there was no way he could let go of you. Not if it was going to be the last time. Not if the last time he felt the bond you were anywhere but his arms. 

“I can’t,” Azriel whispered, and even though it wasn’t the safest means of travel, Rhysand’s defeated breath was followed by a hand on Azriel’s shoulder. 

This was familiar. 

Back in the House—back with you broken in his arms. Only you weren’t bleeding, not as you were the first time. He hadn’t taken stock of your injuries, too overcome with the shock of trying to get you out. He had grabbed you and ran and nothing else was clear in his mind. 

“She looks stable,” a voice noted with urgency from across the room. Azriel looked up to find Feyre rounding a chair to meet where he was standing, you still firmly in his arms. 

She had been hesitant last time, Azriel remembered. Someone had thrown up and the room had been in chaos. 

“What happened?” Rhysand urged, catching Azriel’s eyeline as Feyre maneuvered herself around Azriel’s tight grip. “A healer is coming. You need to tell me what happened, Azriel.” 

Azriel figured he was still in shock. Feyre attempted to tug you from his grip and he snapped at her, a nasty look shot in her direction and a wing coming around to push her away. Azriel’s shadows disapproved, weaving around your midsection and the disruption of your skin along your head. 

You were bleeding, he realized. 

Azriel choked on nothing. 

“Azriel,” Rhysand tried again. “I’m not even sure where you both are coming from. You left with no explanation.” 

“Just look,” Azriel gritted out, eyes unable to leave you. 

And Azriel knew that with his power still dimmed from faebane Rhysand would see everything. He couldn’t put up the barriers that guarded the important, private moments of his life, and those moments were front of mind as you lay in his arms. 

Rhysand sifted through them as he entered Azriel’s mind, but they were unavoidable. Rhysand passed the moment Azriel discovered you were mates, the first time he saw you out of your room after the incident, the first time you ate a full meal, when you fell asleep on his shoulder and didn’t look at him with distrust after you woke in his arms; Rhysand felt the overwhelming emotions that accompanied each of those moments and he pressed on. 

He pressed on even as Azriel’s mind pushed forward memories of before. They were each tainted with regret and longing and Rhysand could see the parts Azriel highlighted. The blush on his face when you spoke to him; the urge to press closer to you as you sat on the couch after dinner; the light feeling in his chest as you laughed over coffee in that ridiculously small teahouse. 

Azriel wished he could stop. He swallowed—hard—and attempted to quell the onslaught of memories that wouldn’t stop, but it was impossible as he stared down at you and continued to regret. 

Finally, mercifully, Rhysand reached Azriel’s memory of just an hour before. He saw the way you packed on weapons in haste and the futile attempts Azriel made to get you to stay. He watched Azriel winnow you through his shadows and the near-instantaneous ambush that was waiting for you at the camp. They had gone after Azriel, pushing you closer and closer to the cliff’s edge as you tried to get to him. 

He felt Azriel’s panic—watched the cliff disintegrate with you along with it. One last cruel lesson from the men of Illyira; women should not have wings, should not have independence. 

Rhysand removed himself from Azriel’s mind, eyes flickering over you now. 

“Do you still feel her?” he asked.

Azriel gave a short nod of his head, his cheeks glistening in the faelight of the room. 

“Good. That’s good.” 

From the depths of your mind, you could hear it all. You couldn’t register the words or the happenings of the space, but you knew you were somewhere. It felt safe. 

There was pressure on your face at times, low murmuring that your brain was working overtime trying to interpret, and there were aches in your body that you weren’t sure of the origin. Wading through the confusion was one broad feeling that rose above the rest. 

A tug at your chest, just below your heart, pulling you closer and closer to the sounds and the discomfort. 

Someone was asking you for something but you couldn’t make out what. 

You wanted to give in to the pull at your ribs. You knew it would bring more pain, but it was enticing and spelled every good thing you could conjure up in your muddled mind.

You must have made a sound, or moved, or made some indication that you were fighting for consciousness because the voices became louder, more direct. You were moved slightly, pain radiating at the motion, and several apologies followed. 

You tested the path to your eyelids, blinking once and then twice to get used to the light assaulting your retinas. It wasn’t bright, you noted, but everything felt like too much. It felt like too much to be working this hard, but you needed to see something. You weren’t sure what it was, but you needed to before… 

“Y/n?” 

Your eyes slid towards the voice. 

Azriel. 

Your senses knew him before you did, tugging you toward his presence. Only—only this time something felt different. His hands kept your face steady as you fought past the pain to get a better view of him. You needed to see before… 

Something shifted. Aligned. The pull in your chest sprung to life. 

In your delirium, the muscles in your mouth twitched into a smile. 

“Angel?” Azriel called. He tapped a hand against your cheek, thumb brushing the upturn of your mouth.

This felt final. You took in the deepest breath you could manage. 

“My mate,” you whispered. 

You caught the shaking of Azriel’s chin before your eyes closed once more. The answer you wanted was just there, and the world made more sense as you chased the exhaustion that lingered ahead of you. 

You forgot about your wings. You forgot about the cliff, the men, the months of healing that hurt. 

The peace that blanketed your face was not comforting to Azriel. Panic seized him instead. You were bleeding, yes, but not like last time. He didn’t know where you were hurt the most and you only stayed awake long enough to whisper those two words. 

His life was slipping away. 

This was not supposed to work this way. 

With dread threaded through his fingers, Azriel’s trembling touch moved across every inch of your face. “Yes,” he choked out, nodding to your closed eyes. “Yes, I am yours. And you are mine so you have to stay awake.” 

He had moved to a couch, leaning over your figure. “We can… we can fix all of this.” Azriel moved his touch down to your chest, hand pressed to the plane. “You worked so hard to get here. You—life is different now but I’m here and I can help you make sense of it.” 

Across the room, Rhysand stood with his hand over his mouth, feeling like an intruder in a moment that might not last. Feyre had fled the room in a desperate search for the healer. 

“Okay?” Azriel asked. When you didn’t answer Azriel squeezed his eyes shut, his forehead coming to rest on your chest. This was somehow worse than the first time—more calm, more final. 

The door opened, smacking against the back wall with a resounding bang that Azriel could not hear. He was pulled away from you, just as he was the first time, only this time he was not covered in blood or confused or desperate for answers. 

He had answers. 

He had you. 

Well, in some ways—in the ways that mattered. 

“I forgive you, you know,” you told him, thumb pressing into the page edge.

Azriel turned from his mission report, brows lowering over his eyes. “What?” 

You kept your thumb on your page as you closed your book. “I know you blame yourself. I want you to know that I forgive you. That it’s not even your fault to begin with.” 

“Y/n—” 

“No, I’m serious,” you moved to your knees on the loveseat you shared with him, giving this conversation your full attention. “I made decisions that day. I knew you would have come with me if I told the truth. I chose to lie.” 

Azriel abandoned his work on the end table, turning his body to face you fully. “Yes, but I made you feel that you should lie. I put my inconsequential desires over you. You—Y/n, you have experienced loss because of the choice I made. I always go with you. That’s my job—to protect you.”

“I don’t think they were inconsequential,” you whispered. 

“What?” he said again. 

You flitted your gaze between his eyes. The fire behind you was strong, reflecting orange on your skin. “You wanted to be in love. To be loved. I don’t think that’s inconsequential.”  Azriel held your stare, chest caving in a way you couldn’t understand. “No,” he replied. “I suppose it’s not.”

[addieslibrary]

Slow Burn

After a mission in Illyria, you find yourself drugged with some sort of aphrodisiacal breeding tonic. With Azriel seemingly interested in Elain, who can keep you from enduring a torturous night of pain?

WC: 5k

Warnings: Smut, piv, oral (female receiving), dubcon (i guess due to the drug but consent is given), sex pollen, slight angst but mostly fluffy smut

a/n: If you would like notifications for my writing, you can turn on notifications for the blog @assassinslibrary where I reblog all my fics! I do not do taglists anymore.

Wildfire (Eris)

Burning. An intense burning flowed through your veins, radiating from your form and making your pulse hammer under your skin. Your entire body pulsed with the movement of your blood. Sweat accumulated on your forehead, and your vision blurred slightly as you became more and more lightheaded.

"Can you hear me?" Madja asked.

You nodded, but it felt like it took everything in you to move your head up and down. She placed a small damp towel on your forehead when you began squirming.

Immediately, her strong hands held your wrists down to the bed. "Stay still, young one."

Tears lined your eyes in frustration. You needed -- you needed...

What on earth did you need? What was happening to you?

"Madja-" you started, breaking off with a gasp at a sudden pain in your abdomen. "Am I dying?"

She scoffed. "No. Not as long as any of your friends can help it."

"What's happening to me?"

She stroked your hair back, and you couldn't help the way your stomach knotted at the action. It had to be bad if she was showing this much sensitivity.

"You were drugged. At the Illyrian camps, one of the males must have slipped you a strong tonic."

You tried to think back to all who you had interacted with, but your mind was fuzzy, brain unable to focus with the ripple of electricity buzzing under your skin.

A tear broke free and rolled down your cheek despite your attempts to hold it in. You felt so uncomfortable, so uneasy, the pain steadily rising...

"Madja." A strong, very male voice broke through the haze.

Rhys. He was here, and he would make sure you survived. He always did.

But it was silent. You could barely see the way his eyebrows knitted together in concern and concentration as he spoke mind to mind with Madja. You reached trembling fingers out toward him, but he stood completely still, not faltering at your rasping breaths or pleas.

"Rhys..." you breathed out.

He swallowed harshly, and then he was breaking his conversation with Madja and turning his piercing violet eyes to you. They cut through the haze around your mind and vision, wrapping your attention entirely around him.

Still, he said nothing. Only nodded slightly in that graceful way of his before backing out of the room swiftly.

A whimper left your throat at his absence, a foreign feeling of betrayal burying deep in your chest at his loss of safety and protection. And then you were twisting with pain once again. Madja was quick to step back to your side. She delicately dabbed at your sweat-soaked skin, and you put whatever energy you had into focusing on your breathing.

"It is a breeding tonic."

The ringing in your ears quieted at her explanation, and you listened to your heart beat faster and faster as you waited for her to explain. Your skin tingled with discomfort and a need to do something.

"Illyrians often use it on unwilling females. It seems one may have wanted revenge. Or an immoral night of pleasure. Possibly both."

You swallowed, trying to soothe your dry throat to no avail. "Why does it hurt?"

A sigh, and then she was rewetting the fabric. Her attention cast downward, but you still felt her voice wash over you as she spoke. "Your only antidote is in what they would take from you. The pain makes it more likely for the females to give in."

The only sound in the room came from the water in the bucket by your bedside and your raspy breaths.

Who did this to you? Who would do this to you? Wretched, disgusting, fucking animals, all of them.

"Rhysand had put you under, and I have kept you unconscious with sleep aids until this point but your body is burning through them too quickly. Is there anyone we can ask to treat you?" Madja asked, the damp fabric dabbing at the beaded sweat on your skin.

Treat you. As if they would be feeding you medicine, monitoring your symptoms and heart rate. No. Madja wasn't asking if there was someone who could check your temperature and put you to bed. She was asking if there was someone who could appease your body and take you to bed.

There wasn't. Even if you felt comfortable enough asking one of your best friends, they were all happily mated or in relationships. Rhysand had Feyre, Cassian had Nesta, and Azriel... he had Elain.

Your mind drifted to the strong shadowsinger, picturing the moment you had seen him last. In the training circle, his leathers had long been stripped and the muscles rippling under tan skin had been addictive to watch. His chest heaved with each controlled breath, sweat dripping down his chest, lower, lower, lower, until the small beads dip under his waistband, led by the small trail of hair and contracting muscles pointing directly downward toward his--

A cramp ravaged your abdomen so suddenly and viciously that you audibly cried out, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes and sliding down your temples.

Azriel. The male who had proved you wrong when you had trusted no one. The one who came to your rescue when the priestess temple was invaded. The one who trained you to be lethal and vicious and better than you proved yourself to be on your latest mission.

You would always want him. But he always seemed to want someone else.

Muffled sounds in the hall distracted you briefly, but the cramps, nausea, dizziness, fever, lethargy, it all left you feeling dreadful and delirious, your mind far away from the present moment.

You pushed the damp cloth away with little energy, gritting out through clenched teeth, "There is no one."

Madja sighed, her facial expression stern in your blurry gaze.

When she stood, she dumped the towel into the bowl of water, patting her hands dry on her clothing. "Would you like me to ask for someone to be chosen for you--"

"A stranger? No."

This wasn't just a one-night-stand. You felt small and weak and vulnerable. You didn't know what you were going to say or do. There was no way you wanted to be in this situation with someone you didn't trust. Good male or not, you would feel uncomfortable and exposed with no ability to defend yourself.

"Without treatment, your temperature will rise to dangerous levels. The pain will increase. You will be left to suffer overnight until your body burns away the drug. You will be delirious and will beg for it to end. I have seen the effects of such a drug; it is not pretty."

You would not endure the unpredictable touch of a stranger and you would not force your friends into a difficult position. One they, and their mates, were unlikely to forgive you for.

You licked your dry lips, voice catching as you asked, "Autumn... Eris or Lucien?"

Madja showed no judgement as she nodded. "I will have Rhys send a letter."

Then her hand dropped from your body, the sound of her footsteps fading away as the ringing in your ears increased. Burning, burning, burning. You needed an ice bath, to jump in the Sidra, to peel the skin from your bones, reach inside of yourself and quell the ache.

Small sobs left your mouth.

You heard shouting. An outraged "Eris?" and shuffling of feet. You weren't sure if your hearing was going in and out or if the voices were fluctuating.

It was not difficult to recognize Rhysand's stern voice echoing through the house and disrupting your muddled state, his position as High Lord a declaration in his tone. "This is not up to you."

"He will take advantage-"

"She is asking for him."

"Let me talk to her." The voice was quieter. Muffled and hard to make out. "If she still wishes for him after, then that will be her choice."

Quiet. Only the ringing. Your pulse as it beat, beat, beat in your head. The sweat and tears slowly dripping from your skin. The tremble in your limbs.

And then a knock.

You did not answer, you could not answer. But it was as if this was known, because the door inched open slowly anyway, revealing deep hazel eyes and the broad frame of Azriel.

A whimper escaped at the sight of him, your body reacting to his presence. It was not abnormal for you to preen in his presence, to admire his beauty and long for something more. But this was heightened. Your abdomen knotted up at his concerned expression and strong hands reaching out to you hesitantly.

He sat slowly next to you, fingers just barely brushing the sheets of the bed you laid upon. You whined, only inches away from his touch.

"Sweetheart..." Azriel mumbled under his breath, looking you over with worry.

The sound of his deep voice nearly made your eyes roll back, shivers trailing down your already trembling form. You wanted that voice to whisper in your ear, his hot breath fanning along your neck and cheek as he claimed you.

"Azriel," you gasped. In any other moment, if you were coherent, you would have been embarrassed at the need in your own voice. You sounded absolutely debauched.

"I'm here." His fingers moved quicker than your blurry vision could track, and suddenly they were on your skin. A breath whooshed from your chest as strong capable hands caressed your face, thumbs stroking at the heated skin with reverence and fear.

"Gods, you're burning up."

You focused on his eyes, dizziness making all other surroundings blend into the background. You wanted him so desperately. You wanted him to move those hands down, gliding across your neck down to your sweat-slicked chest, grasping at your breasts and your hips and your ass...

His hands were gone as he spoke sternly. "You need water. You're dehydrated and feverish."

As he poured water into a glass, you could have sworn you heard him mumble something about a "stubborn female," but your mind was already spinning and you felt on the brink of delirium. You were half convinced Azriel wasn't even really there.

"Drink."

Cold water poured slowly into your mouth and down your throat. You greedily swallowed it, trying to reach up with your hands to grasp the glass and send more flowing down. Azriel shushed you instead, stroking the skin of your arm with his free hand as a way of telling you he's got you.

When the glass was empty and the internal fire ravaging your body dimmed only slightly, Azriel skimmed your form, fingers fidgeting with inaction.

"Who drugged you?"

His voice was lethal, and it sent a pang of pleasure to your core. You held back a whine. "I don't know."

"I'll kill them for what they were planning to do. For what they did."

You couldn't respond. It felt like you were being stabbed, skinned alive, split open. Your skin burned and your abdomen ached. Each limb weighed a thousand pounds and your tongue felt like lead in your mouth.

And the anger in his tone only amplified your agony. His fury was palpable and as easily as you imagined him taking you gently and lovingly, you pictured his harshness and ragged edges as he instead pinned you down and ravished you. Your body suddenly ached for bruises and bites and possession.

It was getting worse. This was so much worse than when you first woke.

Tears flooded your eyes as your head swiveled to the side, noticing the darkness still shadowing the sky. There would be hours more of this. Hours of torture and pain.

"You need to go," you breathed out. "You're making it worse."

"Let me help you."

His words were short but confident. Both a demand and plea, although you knew deep down it was a question. He would do nothing without your consent.

Frustration built inside your chest. You so badly wanted to say yes, your lungs ached to scream it. But there in the back of your mind was Elain. Bright and beautiful and holding the desire of the male beside you.

You could not withstand having him for one night only to be thrown away after. Eris or Lucien would be preferred.

"I can't," you choked out, a tormented cry catching in your throat as you spoke the words you so badly didn't want to.

Instead of taking the chair next to your bed once again, Azriel crouched by your side, trying to be eye-level with you. He swallowed harshly, eyes moving across your face and studying you with a pained look that rivaled your own.

His mouth opened then closed, as if trying to hold down his arguments. Finally, he said, "I will not hurt you. I will be respectful and gentle and thorough--"

"It is Elain!"

The words flew from your chest with a desperation. A release you needed to let go, a way to get him to stop talking, a plea to stop making your pain worse.

Azriel only shook his head, though. "I do not understand."

"I will not--" you took a breath trying to stay focused. "I will not lie with a male who wishes me to be someone else."

"Someone else," he repeated.

At the silence permeating the room, the only sound coming from your labored breaths, Azriel mumbled, "You stubborn, stubborn female."

Hands cupped your face again and your own gained enough strength to hold onto his wrists. Despite your words, you could not bear for his touch to leave your skin again. He looked desperate and hungry as he brought your face toward his own and looked into your eyes.

"There is no one and there will never be anyone I wish to be with who is not you."

Nails dug into the skin of his wrists. Thighs clenched and eyelashes fluttered.

"I have been in love with you for ages. You are courageous and perfect and exasperatingly maddening."

His lips inched closer.

"When I heard you were injured in Illyria, I nearly tore this house apart to get to you... And when I heard the issue, I wanted to kill all of the soldiers and any other males near you."

You shivered, mesmerized.

"Don't make me keep watching you in pain."

Then quietly, a temptation. "Just say the word, and I will make it all stop."

Lips brushing against your own, just barely. Enough to make you whimper without satiating any of the fire beneath your skin. "I will give you anything."

"Please," you begged.

Azriel only continued to tease and hold back. Thumb stroking your cheek and lips still hovering, touching and fleeting along your own. "Not that word."

But you couldn't think. Your mind felt like it was in a blender, spinning and spinning with nothing to focus on but those hazel eyes and those words. His shocking words of admiration. You did not know anything but him -- his touch and his eyes and his voice...

"Azriel..."

His large hand stroked your sweaty hair back from your face. "Yes, sweet girl?"

Yes. His word echoed in your head. Yes, yes, yes, you wanted him so badly.

"Yes," you whispered against his lips, feeling hypnotized by his presence.

Just that one word. As the last syllable left your lips, his own were pressing down. You immediately trembled against him, into him, moaning into his mouth. You were completely drawn in, a spell overtaking your mind and body. The feel of him was addicting.

Powering through the weight of your limbs, you dragged your hands into his hair, gripping and tugging, greedily trying to take all that you could. You needed help, you needed more.

Azriel pushed your shoulders back at your insistence. The panicked noise that left you had him immediately leaning back in, standing to hover over you and move closer into the bed. You wanted him in the bed, in you, absolutely everywhere. Fingers clasped into the hem of his pants, but he did not let you get far, stopping your fumbling hands.

"Patience," he spoke against you, moving his lips to your neck and soothing the sting under your skin there. "I'll make you feel better."

The feeling of his lips, tongue, and teeth on your neck had you moaning in relief. "I need more."

Azriel’s fingers slid from your face to your chest, and you arched into him. They explored and teased, moving down your side and underneath you until his hand rested firmly beneath your shirt, palm flat against your warm skin. You used the hand as a platform, arching against it and toward his body. He accepted you greedily, leaning down to trail his lips further down your neck and to your chest, the fabric lifted to give him access. You could feel the arousal pooling in your underwear, soaking you, and you couldn’t help the noise that escaped your throat as his teeth bit down on your right breast lightly.

Tilting your head, you watched the veins in his hand as he grasped you, the muscles in his back tensing with his movements.

Your hands snuck between the both of you, fingers still shaking, and found their way to his abs, pressing into his sculpted skin and moving downward. Before you could reach the waistband of his sweatpants again, his scarred hands engulfed your own, pinning them above your head.

"What did I say, sweetheart?"

You whined, arching into him both seeking his touch and begging to be released.

"You're torturing me."

“What do you need? I want you to say it."

The pang of annoyance that made an appearance at his teasing was overtaken by need, a cramp stabbing through you.

"You, you, I've always -- I need you-" you rushed out.

You wanted to yell at him to hurry and do something, because you swore you would internally combust if he didn’t give you more. But your voice was exhausted, and your words caught in your throat, as his strong hands released your wrists and moved underneath your pants to finger the elastic of your underwear. You lifted your hips eagerly to help him pull them both down, your own fingers now gripping the pillow beneath you.

“Such a pretty girl,” Azriel breathed out as he moved lower, lips beginning to tease the inside of your thighs. Your hips bucked at the feeling, tears of frustration nearly spilling over.

His hands caressed the remaining untouched skin, moving up and down your legs before one strong hand rested on your stomach and another began to explore your center. His thumb brought the slickness from your core up to your clit and back down again, spreading your lips for his view as if he were there solely to admire you. His hazel eyes were heavy with lust as he watched his own fingers explore your body. A protest was on your tongue when his middle finger slowly prodded and breached your entrance, filling you swiftly.

You nearly jumped at the intrusion, reaching down with limited strength to grip the strong forearm resting on your abdomen. Azriel briefly glanced up to make sure you were okay before continuing with his movements, slowly thrusting his finger in and out of you.

His lips retraced their previous pattern on your thighs, only this time edging closer to your core. Distracted by the movement of his mouth, you let out a yelp of surprise as Azriel added a second finger.

“You okay?” He asked against your thigh, voice husky. His lust-filled eyes met yours through his dark eyelashes and you nearly moaned at the sight of him laying between your legs, cunt tightening and pulsing at the view.

You nodded desperately, head falling back as his large fingers stretched you out, rhythmically curling against the spot inside you that made you see stars. Your vision swam even more than before, and you thought you might pass out.

You were gushing around him, your wetness coating the inside of your thighs. The pleasure he was bringing you was going straight to your head, and you felt like you were on cloud nine. You were unsure how he was making you feel this good with only his fingers, unable to question if it was due to his own skill or because of the drug in your veins. You stopped caring immediately when he suddenly licked lightly over your clit, placing a gentle kiss there before sucking lightly.

You gasped at the feeling and out of nowhere your walls were clamping down on his fingers, pulsing around them sporadically, and you were gripping his arm tight enough to bruise, the muscles underneath your fingertips flexing.

Vision gone black, you came down heavily, feet kicking at Azriel weakly in an attempt to gift you some relief. His tongue lapped at you like he was begging for more time to savor your taste, but with your insistence, he acquiesced.

Azriel had barely pulled away before he was placing the two fingers that had been inside of you into his mouth, trying to appease his need to get more of your taste.

You nearly came again at the sight.

The fabric of your clothes was suffocating, and at your attempts to pull at them, Azriel immediately moved to free you from the restrictions.

His hands replaced the clothing immediately, once again feeling the bare area that had been sanctioned off to him for so long. Large hands groped your breasts, tongue tasting your sweat-salty skin.

“Az, please.”

He released you, although it looked like it took an effort. “I’ve got you.”

Leaving one last kiss on your sternum in between your breasts, he sat back, hooking his thumbs under the band of his pants. Your anxiety steadily rose at the action, your current state making you wary. Were his words spoken under pressure? Will he still want you tomorrow?

He immediately sensed the change in your body language, eyes meeting your own. “I can keep-”

“No,” you blurted out, desperate to have more of him. “I’m okay.” You tried to push his lengthy history out of your mind, the history that included both Mor and Elain, before it created more of an ache in your chest.

“We don't have to do anything you don't want. I stop when you say.”

“Okay,” you breathed out.

He gave you a small smile, leaning forward to kiss your lips gently. While he was distracting you with the feel of his mouth on your own, his tongue beginning to explore yours, he slowly reached with one hand and pulled his sweatpants down and off, leaving you both completely nude in the bed.

His hand returned to stroke up your burning skin, following a path to your breast and back down to your core, feeling to ensure you were still soaked before moving any further. At the assurance, he grabbed ahold of his cock, guiding it to your cunt and dragging it through your folds. The wetness made him groan, and you released a gasp into his mouth at the feeling of him. Your fingers gripped his biceps and he moved his forearms up to cage your head, grabbing your own hands along the way, leaning over you and covering you fully with his body as his fingers intertwined with your own.

His bright eyes questioned you one last time, giving you an out, no questions asked.

“Please, I need you. I want you,” is all you said, barely a whisper, but he heard it. Then, he was pushing forward.

The head of his cock breached your entrance, and you whimpered at the intrusion. You didn’t get a good look at it, but now you wished you would have because he was big. You figured he would be from his heightened power, strength, and overall large stature, but he felt even bigger than you imagined. Your fingers gripped his own harshly, holding onto him both to ground your anxieties and in hopes he’d keep going.

Azriel entered you slowly, his thickness stretching and stretching you until you felt only a deep sting, your breath catching in your throat. He was quick to soothe you, whispering quiet praises into your ear, telling you that you were being so good, that you were taking his cock better than anyone ever had, that you felt so good wrapped around him.

It felt as if it took forever for him to fully enter you, but at last he hit your cervix, sending a pained squeak out of you. You weren't even sure if he had fit all of himself into you.

“So good, sweetheart. Doing so good for me.”

He pulled out nearly all the way before slowly re-entering you, the drag of his cock against your walls sending fireworks flying across your vision.

“Oh my gods.”

The burning under your skin cooled with each movement, the cramping in your abdomen turning into pleasure. His hips moved freely into you, his pelvis grazing your clit with each surge forward.

"That good? My sweet girl feeling better on my cock?"

Your eyes rolled back at the words, pain ebbing into pleasure, the sting of the stretch and the trembling in your bones fading away in favor of a heavenly feeling spreading through you.

"You're huge, Az-"

"I'm yours, sweetheart."

His lips hovered over your own, your noses brushing against each other's as he moved into you. The feeling was so overwhelming, the fluidity in which you became one, and you found yourself removing your hands from his, wrapping your arms around him and instead clutching his back, mindful of the wings hovering around the two of you.

You clung to him, and you could hear the whimper that escaped you as he began to move faster, his muscles moving underneath your fingertips.

“Cauldron, you feel like heaven.”

You couldn’t even respond. Your nerves tingled with pleasure, your mind still hazy from the drugs, and tears blurred your vision from how good you felt. You gasped, listening to his own groans, the sounds you made as you connected, and the movement of your bodies against the sheets. Your brain was gone, replaced by complete bliss as he entered you over and over and over again.

Azriel recognized the glossed over eyes, the incoherent whimpers and moans, the way you couldn’t seem to get out a thought. Your fingers drew him in closer, massaging his back and arms while his own hands explored your body, trailing from your calves to your face. His palm cupped your jaw, his hand moving until his fingers were tangled in your hair.

“Gorgeous girl. Want you to let go and take what I give you. Let me make you feel better." His gaze faltered from your own as he moved his thumb from where he was stroking your cheek to move down against your clit, bringing some of your wetness up toward it before moving at a deliberately gentle and teasing pace.

Your toes pointed, body tensing to the point of pain, and hips attempting to raise off the bed. Azriel only held your hip down, forcing you to absorb what he offered. “That’s it, come on. Want to feel you around me. Want to watch you come undone.”

His thumb brought you higher and higher, his giant cock moving through your walls like he was made solely to pleasure you. Tears finally fell over and down the sides of your face, dripping onto the sheets below as you nearly let out a scream.

Then you unraveled. Legs shaking, fingers grabbing onto anything, cunt clamping down onto his cock as if he was going to leave you, fluttering and pulsating until you only saw white behind your eyes and felt the burning hot waves of an orgasm shoot through your veins, traveling up your back and straight to your brain.

Then it suddenly felt like you had been shoved underwater, the embrace of the cool liquid soothing your skin, your heartbeat, any pain that had been coursing through you.

You were floating, completely at peace as your high dwindled back down.

When the feeling passed, you could hear Azriel faintly grunting but your hearing was still submerged, ears ringing from your high.

The warm feeling of his spend filling you up soothed whatever was left of the ache in your body, like a primal medication with immediate effects. Then your vision was back, and Azriel's head was hanging forward, hair dangling into your face as he watched himself pull out of you.

You let out a noise of discontent as he removed himself, but he was quick to try to appease you with a kiss to your lips, his fingers busy pulling his pants back on.

When he pulled back, you were breathless. The effects of the drug were gone only to be replaced by the addictive male in front of you.

"Better?"

Nodding, you reached for his fingers. "I don't know what to say or where to start. Thank you."

The love in his eyes was obvious, and you wondered how you had missed his eyes on you this whole time. How long had he looked at you like this?

"You don't have to thank me."

You brought him back down to you, ready to finally rest under his strong and protective arms. A conversation long in the making ready to be had in the morning.

He kissed you once, twice, before pulling back.

"You do have to explain why you asked for Eris, though."

[addieslibrary]

Ludos Imperiales 8

Summary: Acknowledging the bond between them creates a challenge Reader wasn't prepared for.

Content Warnings: Jealous!Azriel, Slight NSFW; Mentions of Death and War.

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

----------

I wish we could stay like this forever: The first rays of sunlight peeking through the drawn curtains, the lightweight comforter warm from the large body at my back. The scent of jasmine and citrus lingers on one side of the sheets, night-chilled mist and cedar on the other. The tether in my chest warms with every steady heart beat against my spine. Sleep threatens to pull me back under, contentment a yawning precipice in which I dangle dangerously along the edge.

I want nothing more than to close my eyes as soon as they open. I wish time would still and there would be no demands, no threats over our heads, no Empire to ruin these precious few moments of peace. But the stomping and shouting of guards outside the door brings all thoughts of bliss and peace to a screeching halt. There very much are threats over our head and an Empire out there doing its damndest to ruin everything that is good in this world.

I force myself to sit up, to throw off the warm comforter and the arm still looped over my waist. Force my body to move, to not linger in the early morning light, to not roll over and trace the swirling patterns of my companion’s tattoos over the firm planes of his chest.

There will be other mornings.

Rhys is gone. Cassian still snores from his bed, half hidden in the shadows. Azriel sits up with a grunt beside me. The slight tremor of disappointment that runs down the tether that links us 

tells me he’s not thrilled about the arrangement either.

If I had more time, I’d be a little more mortified about the drool I feel crusted to my cheek, or the way my hair is sprouting out the side of my head like one of Anise’s vines. “Shit! It’s late!”

Azriel’s hazel gaze flicks to the door. “We wanted to give you as much time as possible to rest.”

My heart constricts painfully tight in my chest. Last night was an ordeal, yes, but I have no physical wounds, not like they do, and no one has offered them the same luxury. I want to kiss him. Want to crawl back into bed and into his lap, tangle my fingers in the thick locks of his hair and kiss him until we can both forget how awful the last couple of days have been. I want to lose myself in him, let him lose himself in me until there is no longer all this shit between us. I want to know what the bond might feel like if we had the time to explore it properly. Instead, I lean forward and give his scarred hand a squeeze.

“Thank you.” And before he can even respond, I’m sprinting for the secret door. 

Rhys already has it open. It looks like he’s been watching the door to make sure the guards don’t try to come in before I’m gone. There’s no time to share anything other than a conspiratorial nod before the darkness of the tunnel envelops me and the door locks shut behind me. 

I have to sneak past Cook as he gets the stove lit for the day, his back turned as I sprint from the cellar, the noise of the door opening only covered because he keeps banging logs against the old iron doors to make them fit. The Guards have made collecting the right size firewood difficult, as they’ve been stealing his carefully crafted supply to make fires to keep themselves warm during the night shift.

Thank the Mother and every god of luck we have that no one sees me run down the hall and back into my room.

There is still a little bit of the Raven’s blood on the wall. I find myself shuddering as I race past it to get to my closet. The Senate Meeting is in an hour, maybe less. What I would give to have wings!

I throw on the first dress I can find and dip into the bathroom to fix my hair. Shit I’m going to look awful! At least I can blame some of it on the ride over, but Father will never let me hear the end of it. Hell, if Brannagh and Amarathan don’t beat him to it.

I wrangle my hair into a braid that I wrap around the back of my head and pin in place with a gold clip that’s sharp enough to stab someone with, just in case. I shouldn’t be totally unarmed. Scrambling, I remember my Mother��s blade in my vanity drawer, and I lose precious seconds finding a way to hide it in the extra fabric tucked into the gold belt around my waist. 

Anise meets me at my bedroom door, looking solemn. “I looked into those other gladiators like you asked.”

I loop my arm through hers. “Walk with me, please.” Her stiffness tells me she’s still mad, but she obliges me.

“The Attor is always top of the list, you know this.” She says with a sigh. At least for now, she has decided to pretend to tolerate whatever nonsense she thinks I’m getting into. I will take this fragile peace while it lasts.

I shiver. “Hard pass. What are their other options?”

“Senator Thessian has three Elven archers who have never been beaten.”

Archers leave too many variables. Especially since last time they’d flooded the arena and the Elves had won by finding a perch on some driftwood and slowly picking the competitors off one at a time. They need someone who can match their physicality with a sword, regardless of the obstacles in the arena.

“Too many uncontrollable variables.”

She sighs again as we inch closer to the front doors, and the Guards that stand waiting. “Senator Kallias just acquired an orc from the Western Wastes. He is untested, but his staff says he paid a pretty coin for it.” 

Better. I like those odds a little more.

I kiss her cheek as we reach the front door. “You’re wonderful, Anise! I will find a way to thank you later.”

She frowns at me as her weathered hand squeezes my arm. “You shouldn’t go alone.”

In earshot now, a young Fae guard says, “She will have a squad after the events of last night.”

I fight back the urge to roll my eyes. A squad of males loyal to my Father. I’m just as likely to be dragged off the horse and murdered in the road by them than another Raven. A thought that does make me uneasy. I could, probably, hold them off on my own, but truth be told, now that I’ve been forced to stop and take a breath, I do still feel shaky. Training and muscle memory keeps me composed, but last night was a lot.

It will cost me precious time, but the idea forms easily, and I turn to Anise. “Good thing I have a few gladiators to protect me.”

Her frown deepens. “I am not comforted by that.”

I pull free of her and turn to the guard. I can’t bring Rhys with me; bringing the figurehead of a known rebellion into a Senate meeting would be grounds enough for Father to take my head here and now. I can’t bring Cassian either, he’ll need every precious second he can get for that leg to heal. “Bring Azriel to me.”

The guard hesitates, clearly taken back. 

I keep walking towards the stables. “Quickly, or it’ll be your head I throw on the chopping block for making me late.”

That does the trick.

I bite back a grin as I make it to the stables in record time and instruct Grayson, a wiry, half dryad stable boy, to prepare two horses. By the time the Guard brings Azriel, I’m settled in the saddle. 

“The Emperor will not like this,” the Guard begins.

“I did not ask for your opinion.” I state, using my best courtly voice. Mother always used to tell me I sounded just like my Father. It had always felt like an insult, but at least it has its uses.

Besides, the way Azriel grins as he swings into his own saddle is enough to ease the discomfort. I think it’s a flicker of pride I feel down the bond from him, but I’m not totally certain. Perhaps I’m imagining it, but I sit a little straighter in the saddle regardless. I want to make all of them proud. I want them to know I can do this, that I’m not some fragile little girl. I can handle what they’ve asked of me.

We head out before the Guard are totally ready, giving us a bit of space between us and them. There isn’t exactly room to talk at the pace we set, but I appreciate the breathing room all the same. At least, for now, it doesn’t look like they’ve been instructed to stab me in the back. 

The ride to the Capital is a blur all the way up until we’re in the city once more. The crowds are significantly less than yesterday, but there are still crushed roses and streamers in the streets. Worse, the crucifixes still stand, the Illyrian bodies still pinned. 

I nearly bite through my tongue with how hard I’m clenching my jaw. Some of those males were still alive yesterday. None are today. There is no obvious intent to remove them either, to offer a proper burial. People walk past like they don’t notice the carrion coming in to pick the bodies apart.

Azriel remains stiff and silent beside me. I try my best not to look at him, to not make it obvious that I am checking on him now that the Guard have finally caught up.

I do not breathe any easier once inside the Palace. The place feels like it should have heads on spikes posted at every entrance. All the glittering gold pillars and sparkling fountains feel out of place in a spot built upon the blood of so many innocent lives. I never liked it here, but more and more this place is starting to give me the same anxiety I’d have walking into a dragon’s lair.

The Guards follow close behind, as I once again hold the chain around Azriel’s throat. It feels heavier today, the metal hot from the sun. 

“You’re welcome to leave the brute with us, Highness,” one of them sneers. “We’d watch over him carefully.”

I’m still debating how much time it would take me to strangle the male with the chain as we reach the Audience Chamber. 

“Ignore him,” Azriel huffs in my ear. As soon as we’d gotten off the horses he’d taken his position behind me, close enough that my hip brushed his if I turned even a little. Maybe it’s a little too close for the story we’ve been selling, but it puts him between me and anyone trying to stab me in the back like a giant shield and he knows it. I don’t like that he doesn’t have armor to protect him, should something happen, but we simply haven’t had the time to find any. A situation I’ll need to handle before we leave the city.

The Chamber doors are still open, by some miracle, and bits of conversation float towards me as I enter. All of which suddenly halt as soon as the gathered group of elites realize who I’ve brought with me. 

I square my shoulders, even as the heat of Azriel’s withering glare skids across my shoulder. He’s very expressive today, and I have a sinking feeling that’s on me. Our proximity makes the bond relax, not so taut between my ribs any more, but it also heightens emotions. My protectiveness mounts the longer we’re together, I catch myself leaning towards violence anytime somebody looks at him wrong and from what the nymphs used to tell me, it’s usually worse for males.

Today will be interesting. 

We walk down the center of the room, towards the throne where my Father lounges, being fanned by two slaves with palm fronds. Amarantha already sits to his right, drinking from a goblet of wine, her mood sour. Both their eyes narrow in on me, then Azriel, as the crowd dramatically parts, like we have the plague.

I give a brief curtsy to my Father as I take the seat next to him. A seat that has long been empty and was more for show than use. Nothing my Mother ever said in these meetings came to pass. The rest of the senate seats are filled by males, Amarantha and Brannagh the only exceptions. 

“Be seated,” Father calls out, waving a hand in irritation. 

A servant comes with a tray of wine and fruits, and despite the rumbling of my stomach, I wave it away. I’d like to not test my luck today; I’m just as likely to be poisoned as I am stabbed and even Azriel can’t do anything if I ingest arsenic. 

The Emperor leans over in his seat, gray eyes sharp, jaw clenched tight. He’d never hit me in front of so many people, but that doesn’t mean I’m safe from his wrath either. 

I brace myself, hands folded gently in my lap, even as Azriel tenses from his perch behind my seat. 

“So good of you to show up,” he snarls.

“I had an interesting visitor last night,” I say and I hate the way my voice shakes. 

“So you brought a known rebel into my council meeting in retaliation?” He hisses. 

There’s a heavy layer of wine on his breath and it takes every bit of training to keep myself from trying to scoot further out of his reach. If he’s been up drinking, that’s a sign we’re moving in the right direction, he’s so off his game he’s unravelled, but that makes him dangerous. There is no telling what he could do next and my first impulse is to curl into a ball and make myself as small as possible.

“I questioned my safety in the hands of your guards on the empty roads over here,” I say, digging my nails into my palms to get the words out. 

“But not with this savage?” He gestures with his chin towards Azriel.

All I can see is red. If I had not used so much energy to kill the Raven last night, my powers might not be slumbering so deep beneath my skin now. For that I am grateful. I do not need one more thing to worry about today. 

“Their interests are in keeping this deal for their people, that’s hard to do if I’m dead,” I retort through my teeth.

“We’ll discuss this later,” he snarls.

My hands shake in my lap as Azriel’s shadow makes its way around my ear again, murmuring softly in a strange language as it rubs itself against my temple soothingly. It is an effort to breathe evenly and I do my best to turn my attention away from my Father and to study those in attendance today instead. 

Thessian, Kallias and Beron sit on my right. Eris stands behind his father’s seat, serving as a guard today, and the auburn haired male winks at me when my gaze passes to him. I hope that means he did that research I asked him for yesterday.

Azriel’s hand tightens on the back of my seat with just enough pressure I hear the metal groan. Thankfully, no one seems to notice but me. 

On the opposite side of the room sits Dagdan and Brannagh, their seats pushed together instead of giving them the five feet of distance all the other chairs have, just so no one is close enough to throw a punch if things get heated, as it often does. Next to them are senators Helion and Tamlin. Helion studies Azriel intently over the edge of his goblet of wine, but I can’t tell if it’s genuine interest or the same disdain everyone else has been throwing his way. 

Tamlin broods silently in a stack of parchment in his hand, quiet without Lucien to balance him out. 

Directly across from us are some of the few Senators who were not previously Lords of Prythian, as it was our biggest conquered province. They’re also the only ones on the Council who aren’t Fae. Giais is the only Elf. Ancient and ethereal, he’s been on the council since my Great Grandfather, though he doesn’t look a day older than me. Acacius had once held Amarantha’s title, but the Goblin had lost an arm in one of the last battles of the Giant War, and had been given a seat on the Council in his retirement. Maximus, who’s self-proclaimed title is Great Lord of the Dragon Shifters; he wears no shirt, but his entire top half is drenched in gold--gold rings with giant gems atop his long fingers, golden bracelets from wrist to elbow, a dozen gold chains in varying lengths and a belt, all catching the light and nearly blinding anyone who looks too closely at him. He’s the youngest male here, with the exception of Dagdan. The only seat empty is Senator Romulius’; the Nephilim away dealing with an uprising in his adjoining provinces. 

There are no Humans or Giants on the Council. No Nymphs or Dryads. It used to be more diverse, but as Father’s paranoia grew, so did his prejudices, and the Council became smaller and more segregated as time passed. 

“Who shall start today’s session?” Helion calls out as the chamber quiets and the doors close. 

It’s like being sealed in a tomb. I wish I’d said yes to the wine, I think I might risk being poisoned just to not have to sit with the swirling anxiousness in the pit of my stomach. 

Father gestures to Amarantha with a grunt that tells everybody we’ve found him in the middle of one of his moods. The quiet shifts to something more uneasy, shared glances passing between the senators. They all know this means they must tread carefully. 

“Tax season is upon us,” Amarantha says, her voice carrying through the antechamber. “Are there any concerns we need to discuss?”

Tamlin waves his stack of parchment in the air. “My province is still recovering from last year’s tax season. Our prisons are full of debtors. My advisors are organizing things as best they can, but rumors of…” he pauses, worrying his lower lip between his teeth as his eyes flick to my Father. “...unrest are spreading. I would like to request a heavier presence of the Praetorian, just to ensure things go smoothly, if they can be spared?”

“Why should your inability to lead your people be our problem?” Acacius snarls. “Every other province has managed to reign in its citizens but you.”

“I would hardly call the situation in Illyria reigned in,” Helion says over the edge of his goblet. 

Azriel tenses, wings rustling behind him. It takes everything in me not to turn and take his hand.

“Illyria is an outlier,” Amarantha snaps. “One that has been dealt with.”

Father’s head swivels to look at Azriel with the same air of an owl getting its sights on a mouse. A shiver runs down my spine as his eyes narrow in on my mate. 

“Was it dealt with, Shadowsinger?” 

The chamber quiets, every eye landing on Azriel. He keeps his composure near perfect, save for the hand still gripping the back of my chair with enough force to dent it. 

“Aren’t the crucifixions testament enough?” He growls through his teeth. 

Father grins wickedly. “Since my daughter is so certain she needed you here with her, why don’t you go ahead and tell this council exactly what happens to provinces that do not comply with our laws? Perhaps Tamlin needs a reminder about why he should keep his people in line?”

Tamlin frowns, hand tightening around the stack of parchment.

“What provinces?” Azriel snaps. “There is nothing left of Illyria but ash. It is a graveyard of women and children.” His voice breaks on the last word and down the bond comes the flash of a memory: A small body crumpled on scorched earth, a blood splattered doll clutched in its too small hand.

My stomach shoots into my throat.

Amarantha grins on the other side of my Father, pleased with my mate’s discomfort, pleased with her efforts of destruction in the name of the Empire.

“Sons must pay for the sins of the father.” Dagdan wins more than a few accolades for the sentiment. Beron goes as far to salute him with his wine glass.

“You must have known this would happen?” Brannagh counters. “Surely you knew the cost of your rebellion would be their heads? This is the price of rejecting the Empire and its protections.”

I glance around the room, looking for anyone to argue, anyone to challenge them. Helion shoots me a sympathetic look, but he says nothing. Eris shifts his weight behind his father, but he won’t look my way. They might be uncomfortable, but not enough to challenge them. Not enough to take a stand. We truly have no allies. 

“You have never been hungry,” Azriel says, his voice low. The white-knuckled grip on my chair tells me he’s trying his hardest to keep his voice down. The shadow curled around my ear moves with the agitation the rest of them have to feel, even in their hidden perch behind his wings. “You have never been without clothes. Without a roof. You have never gone without clean water, without people to tend to your every need. You have never known what it is to crawl for your basic necessities and then have them ripped from you purely because the people over you could. My people were dying. As are yours-”

“That’s enough,” Father says dismissively.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep back the growl that threatens to slip past my teeth. How can he be so flippant about it? So careless? I have always known him to be cruel but I hadn’t realized how truly heartless he is. How heartless they all are as they laugh off the dismissal like Azriel is beneath them. As if his story is nothing more than a piece of fiction and he a worthless storyteller.

My hands ball into fists in my lap, power awakening in my chest, bubbling up like a wave, ready to wash over everything in this godsdamned room--

Azriel’s hand settles on my shoulder, squeezing gently in warning.

The Council goes back to arguing uselessly, forgetting immediately that Azriel is even here. It is for our benefit in the long run, I suppose, but I can’t get past it. How can they all be so blind?

Azriel’s hand slides down my shoulder slowly, rubbing a soothing line down my spine until he feels my breathing even out, until I unclench my fists in my lap and he’s sure I won’t explode. I tamper down on my power like I always do; always trapping it down beneath my skin so that no one notices it’s there. My shoulders slump. Why didn’t I say anything when I had the chance? Why do I always sit here uselessly?

Maybe I am no better than they are.

The topic shifts to clearing clogged trade routes. Thesian offers his daughter in a political marriage to Kallias’s son as if bartering items of clothing. The marriage is arranged in a matter of minutes, without either of their consent. It’ll be for the good of the Empire, that’s all they care about.

Helion turns the conversation to imports on wine for a while after that.

I feel myself slipping back into my hollow shell. My voice escapes me, buried with my powers until I feel nothing. Until the words fade in and out of my ears, eyes vacantly held on a spot on the wall. They talk around me like I’m not here, like it doesn’t matter that I’d ever left. Unaware that all of their problems are so petty and stupid when there are bodies of desperate men rotting in the street as we speak. 

I want to see this whole damned Empire burn.

My thoughts remain on this one point for so long I don’t notice time slipping away until Father announces the meeting over and waves us all out. 

My movements feel stiff as I finally stand. How long have I been clenching my shoulders? My teeth?

Azriel follows, chest against my back, as I move robotically towards the exit, and dart into a quiet adjoining hall. Father will be around shortly, it is not like him to let me escape without further incident, but I just need a moment to take a breath. 

“How do you do this?” I whisper as the door shuts behind us. “How do you not explode every time they fucking speak?”

Azriel puts his hands on my shoulders and turns me around to face him. “Usually I imagine how it will feel to drive my blade through Hybern’s throat.”

This close to him I’m eyelevel with his collarbone. I have to look directly at the collar around his neck; the skin beneath pink from being rubbed raw over and over again by the iron. My hands reach for it instinctively, as if I have any power to take the pain away.

“But lately…” he shakes his head as one hand leaves my shoulders to catch my wrist as I fiddle uselessly with the collar. It’s not coming off without a key and I have nothing in my arsenal to make it easier to carry.

Useless once again.

“Lately I just worry that he’d take it out on you, if I stepped out of line, and I can’t risk that.”

The raised edges of his scars are a stark contrast to the soft, smooth skin of my wrists. I have no battle scars, no obvious signs of my Father’s abuse; my skin is unblemished and soft in a way that reminds me exactly why Cassian said I was a pampered princess. I’ve never had to do anything this hard. Never had to fight for what I wanted.

“It’s not like I don’t deserve it,” I blurt and he reels back a step like I’d hit him.

“Don’t talk like that,” he snarls.

“Cassian was right about me,” I return. “I’ve never had to work for anything in my life. I’ve never stood up for anything. I always shut up and shut down and look the other way. I should have done something before. I should have done something now!”

“You are doing something,” he says carefully, hazel eyes darting to the door, conscious of where we are and who might be lurking just outside.

“Not enough.”

He steps back into my space so he can cup my cheek. Damn me and my fragile resolve but I lean into that gentle touch like it’s my lifeline. He’s so warm and comforting and that broken, touch starved thing in me leans in like a moth to flame, so desperate for even a hint of affection. I hate myself for it. Hate that this is all it takes for me to take a breath. 

“We have to take it slow,” he bites out. “We have to move carefully. We are under so much scrutiny. I know that it is hard, but you did exactly what we need you to do today. You have played your part. The time for action will come later.”

“I feel useless,” I confess. 

“Hate to drag up bad memories, but you killed a guy last night,” he counters. “That’s far from useless.”

“That needed to be done.”

“So does this,” he assures. 

I sigh and lean my head down against his chest. His heartbeat is steady and even against my skin. Breath warm against the back of my neck. I wish I could melt into him, let him consume every bit of my being until there was nothing left of me.

Azriel wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me flush against his chest. My body short circuits, frozen for a moment as I try to comprehend what he’s doing. I don’t remember the last time somebody hugged me. Yes, last night he’d slept with an arm around me, but that is different somehow. I don’t immediately know what to do with this. Last night had a purpose, I’d needed the security to sleep. This was in comfort. And no one had comforted me like this in years. Not even Anise when my Mother had died. 

His embrace is all encompassing, strong arms tight around my middle. Something in me cracks open and tears pool in my eyes as I slowly work up the courage to wrap my arms around his middle, conscious of where his wings sit in the middle of his spine. 

The bond hums in approval, or maybe that’s his shadows, more of them than the one curled around my ear move to caress my arms and back.

A breath stutters out of me, trapped by the lump in my throat.

“We will beat him,” he promises into my hair, lips brushing the top of my head. “I can take a few punches on the way to that victory, Princess.”

I tighten my grip around his waist. “Not if I turn them to mist, you don’t.” The words are comically muted by his shirt, but they draw a chuckle from him all the same. The sound is rich, like melted chocolate and I’d do anything to hear it again.

“Vicious, little thing,” he tuts.

I work up the resolve to pull my head out of his chest so I can look up at him. “I’ll be whatever you need me to be.” Whatever it takes, no matter the cost, I will see this collar off him, all of them; I will see his people free. 

He practically has to duck to look me in the eyes at this angle, but that intense hazel gaze goes straight to my mouth. Heat flashes down the bond, a glimmer of desire so intense I’d think I might have imagined it were it not for the way his tongue darts out to run over his own full lips. It feels as if we share a breath, a heartbeat. I meant the words in a very literal sense, for the sake of this mission, but I think I might mean them in other ways too. 

He leans in and I feel his heartbeat stutter in his chest. Or maybe that’s mine. I cannot tell us apart anymore. What is him and what is me is suddenly very intertwined.

In contrast to the firm planes of his body, his lips are sinfully soft as they brush tentatively over my own. I lose all sense of time and reason as I lean up on my toes to close the distance between him, to finish the kiss.

And then the door to the hallway opens.

Time comes in a blazing rush and I suddenly remember where the hell we are as we jerk away from each other like we’d been thrown. 

Eris saunters in with his thumbs looped in the golden belt around his trim waist, grinning like a cat. There’s no way he didn’t see us.

“There you are,” he purrs. The shadows of this hidden servant’s hall suit him, bathe his sun kissed complexion in dark hues that make his amber eyes glow like coals. There’s a shade of gold dust in his unbound auburn hair. Everything about the Autumn heir seems to glow, even in the shadows of the world. “I had a feeling you’d be hiding in one of these secret places. You always did like them better.”

I don’t know how to explain myself. I just start smoothing my hands over my skirts, trying to find some semblance of control as my head spins. He can’t tell anyone what he saw! Azriel’s dead if does.

“Just needed to collect my thoughts,” I say, voice uneven.

Amber eyes flick to Azriel and roam over him slowly. I can’t tell if it’s admiration or that look Eris sometimes gets as he decides how much of a challenge a fight would be. Honestly, both those looks are pretty much the same. Eris has always toed the line between flirting and fighting.

“And his?” It’s teasing, not judgment, that much I can tell, but by the way Azriel’s wings open and shut behind him with a snap says he doesn’t share the understanding. 

“Eris,” I warn.

He shrugs as he comes to stand in the space Azriel had just held. I don’t miss the snarl that flashes across my mate’s features, or the way his hands clench and un-clench at his sides. He can’t do anything to Eris, not without risking his head. He knows it just as much as Eris does, which is why the male keeps stepping into my space, testing what he can get away with. 

“Relax,” Eris tuts. “Who am I going to tell?”

“You want me to make a list?” I retort. 

Eris shakes his head, long locks of hair kissing his high cheekbones. “Now now, what fun would that be?” 

Fun. Eris might be a bastard, but he is not cruel like his father. Beron would sell out his own mother for a chance at power, but Eris? Eris likes to play cat and mouse. He likes to collect secrets and trade with them. His influence in the court is strong not because he’s paid for it, but because he knows enough to get people to move in the ways he wants without having to lift a finger. Crafty and cunning as a fox; he’s dangerous, but he’s not an enemy, not yet.

“What do you want?” I sigh.

He grins, teeth perfect in his face. “I heard you’re looking for a husband?”

Azriel actually growls at that, stalking towards, shadows slipping out from behind his wings.

Eris rolls his eyes at him before turning back to me. “Have you decided on one yet?”

The obvious dismissal, or perhaps the blatant disregard to the danger he’s in, makes me pause. Why is he playing with fire like this? Is he really that confident Azriel won’t rip his head off his shoulders?

“I’m not on the decision committee,” I say, but I keep my eyes on my mate, a hand raised in his direction, silently begging him not to do something stupid. 

The gaze that was so focused on my mouth just seconds ago drops to my hand and he stills, teeth clenched so hard I can see a tick in his jaw. A shadow snaps angrily behind him, like they’re fighting the grip he has on them. 

“I should think your word would have some sway,” Eris muses.

He can’t be serious? “You want to marry me?” 

“Most females swoon under such an implication,” he starts.

“I thought you preferred males?” I counter.

He grins at that and I am not so blind that I don’t understand why people swoon when he gives them a few seconds of his undivided attention. “I don’t discriminate.”

We’re getting off subject.

Azriel may have allowed me to call him off the attack, but that doesn’t stop him from taking up his position at my back again. The rise and fall of his chest as he tries to steady his breathing is hot and heavy against me, I’m suddenly very well aware of his size compared to mine. The thin line of his restraint is fraying, worse than it was in the Council Chambers. 

“Fine, I will pose the suggestion to my Father.”

The bond flares with an anger so hot it seers my insides. I can practically taste Azriel’s rage as it floods down the tether between us. 

“Good, then this will be our little secret, won’t it?” Eris purrs, smug expression shot in Azriel’s direction. 

Gods they’d kill each other if I wasn’t physically standing between them.

“Yes,” I concede. How has this day gotten so far away from me?

He slides his thumbs back in his belt and strides towards the exit on the other side of the hall. “Oh,” he throws over his shoulder, “by the way, you’ll want to ask for Kallias’s Orc in the arena. It’d be the best match-up for your little pets.”

Azriel is shaking at my back, shadows unfurling from behind his wings like snakes, bathing the room in darkness as Eris opens the door. 

“I look forward to our future, Highness.”

Azriel explodes as the door shuts behind Eris, shadows lashing against the walls so hard the lights flicker. His wings snap open, apex talon striking the wall and leaving an angry slash in the paint. His chest rises and falls rapidly, breath rasping out of him like he can’t get air in fast enough. 

I spin to face him, taking his face in my hands. He has to get this under control or someone else is going to come running down the hallway. “Azriel-”

“No,” he chokes out, scarred hands gripping my wrists like a vice. “You can’t!”

Panic floods down the bond so fast it sweeps away all that rage like a tidal wave, ice filling my veins. I’m losing him and fast.

“You can’t!” He repeats and the ground shutters beneath his feet. 

I panic, worried about who else might be close enough in the hallway to hear, and do the only thing I can think of to get his focus back: I surge up on my toes for leverage and press my lips against his. It’s messy, and not at all how I wanted this to go, but it does the trick. His shadows still, their hissing cut off like they’re trying to wrap their ethereal heads around what just happened. The ground stops shaking. 

Azriel’s eyes widen, hands un-clenching. For a moment he freezes, just as I had when he’d hugged me a minute ago. And then he’s on me, hands tangling in my hair, pushing me back against the wall as his lips slide over mine. His tongue lashes behind my teeth, desperate and hungry. He kisses like a male starved, like he’s trying to get the very air from my lungs. He loops an arm beneath me and lifts, a shadow helping guide my legs around his waist as he kisses me again and again and again. 

Now we’re going in the wrong direction again. This is not the place for this!

Mother help me, I’m not sure I have the control to tell him that though. Especially not as he pulls away for the briefest of moments, eyes so dark they’re almost all pupil, nostrils flaring. 

“Mine,” he growls, dipping his head to press hot, open mouth kisses along my jaw and neck. 

Shit! I knew going into it that our growing proximity, and maybe the fact that we’d both acknowledged the bond last night was going to start causing some problems, but I didn’t think it would be this bad this fast. I didn’t think I’d have such a hard time trying to think rationally about it either. 

We have to stop. We have to get back out there before this situation gets worse than it already is. But my body doesn’t seem to know that. Hell, the bond doesn’t seem to know that. It purrs and glows between us, warm and bright in the contact of our bodies. 

My fingers tangle in the thick locks of his hair as he nips at the juncture of my neck and shoulder. If I’m lucky, the neckline of my gown might just cover any mark he’s leaving. Maybe.

“Azriel,” my body arches into every kiss. My skin is on fire. I need more. I need him everywhere. I don’t know if his name on my lips is an admonition or plea. 

His hips rock unconsciously against mine, searching for friction, and holy gods is he hard! My mouth falls open at the contact, even with the layers between us, he’s bigger than I imagined he would be. 

Azriel’s lips trace back up my neck. “My mate,” he murmurs into my skin. I’m losing him to the bond, to his instincts, the primal aspect the nymphs warned me about taking over. I want it to. I want to know what would happen if the immaculate control he’s held since I met him were to slip, but I can’t. Not here. The door feels like it’s suddenly made of paper, as if anyone could walk by and see us through it.

No one will be as forgiving as Eris.

The thought is sobering, like a bucket of ice water in my veins. We can’t do this here.

“Azriel,” I start and he groans into my neck, hips rocking into me once more as if I’d said something dirty and not simply his name. The sound makes heat shoot right down to my core and I clench my eyes tight to try and ground myself. One of us has to be in control here. I don’t know for the life of me how that ended up being me.

“We have to stop.”

His lips find mine again, desperate and needy and he moans into my mouth like this is the best thing he’s ever had. “Don’t,” he begs. “Don’t offer to marry him.”

I glide my fingers through his hair. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, kissing my chin, the corners of my mouth, everywhere he can reach like he just can’t stop himself. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. I should have been listening for the door. I shouldn’t have gotten us caught.” 

The words fall like he can’t stop them. “I’ll find a way to get around it. I’ll deal with him. Let me deal with him. Don’t…” he shakes his head, goes in for another desperate kiss. “Please. You can’t do this.”

I cup his cheek in my hand and he tilts his head to kiss my palm. “Eris is a snake-” his gaze darkens when I say his name, shadows hissing angrily. “But for now, let’s not make an enemy of him.”

His teeth flash angrily, a growl rumbling up his chest. Heat flares between my legs at his outright possessiveness. Still, I force myself to unwind my legs from around his waist and he, begrudgingly, sets my feet back on the floor. The ache between my legs is uncomfortable. The bond feels like it whines at the loss of contact.

“No decisions have been made,” I promise. “Besides, hearing me suggest it might turn my Father away from the idea entirely. At least, to that end, I can’t say I didn’t try.”

Azriel’s hands leave my hips to fix my rumbled skirts in an attempt to collect himself. He looks a mess! Hair disheveled, lips kiss swollen, eyes dark. I doubt I look any better. “Nothing is happening today.”

“I won’t let anybody take you from me,” he vows.

My heart clenches in my chest and I can’t stop myself from placing one last, gentle kiss on his lips. He chases after me once more like we weren’t just aggressively making out. We’ll have time for more later, when it’s safe. When nobody can take him from me.

I grip his scarred hand tight and place it on my chest, over my heart, in promise. “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to make sure no one takes you from me either.”

I mean it. No matter what it costs, no matter what deals I have to make, this male is mine. No one in this damn Empire is going to take that away from me.

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

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[addieslibrary]

Bird in a Cage (Pt. II)

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel had spent a lifetime mastering control, but when he sees the fragile ruin of his mate—the love he was forced to leave behind—shattered by grief and betrayal, his restraint splinters, and vengeance ignites in his veins.

───────────────────────────────

Azriel had spent years perfecting the art of control.

He had endured pain, had survived wounds both seen and unseen, had been broken and reforged in a way that left no room for weakness.

But as he pulled back—just enough to look at her, to really look at her—he felt something inside him snap.

She was fragile.

Too fragile.

His mate, his fierce, brilliant, impossible mate, who had always burned with a quiet, unwavering strength, was—

Gods.

Her skin was too pale, stretched too thin over the delicate lines of her face. Dark circles bruised the skin beneath her eyes, her lips cracked, her cheekbones sharper than he remembered. She felt smaller in his arms, like she had withered away into something barely holding itself together.

Azriel’s stomach dropped.

His jaw clenched so hard it ached.

Because this—this wasn’t just exhaustion.

This was starvation.

This was grief.

And not just grief.

Grief that had consumed her.

His blood turned molten.

He had known it would be bad. Had known that his death—his supposed death—would hurt her, would break her in ways he could never forgive himself for.

But this—

This was unforgivable.

His hands trembled as he brushed a knuckle over the ridge of her cheekbone, as if afraid she might disappear if he wasn’t gentle enough. She leaned into the touch, her eyes fluttering shut, and the way she sank into him, the way her body melted against his as though she didn’t have the strength to hold herself up—

Azriel saw red.

His shadows curled viciously around him, coiling tighter and tighter, feeding off the fury threatening to detonate inside him.

Because there was only one reason she had gotten this bad.

Only one reason she had been left to wither away into nothing.

Rhysand.

His brother.

The High Lord who had looked him in the eye before he left, who had promised to protect her, to take care of her while Azriel was forced to stay away.

Rhysand, who had let her suffer.

Who had watched her break.

A growl rumbled in Azriel’s chest. His wings flared slightly, his fingers tightening at her waist.

Y/N blinked up at him, confusion flickering in her exhausted eyes.

“Az?” she murmured.

His breath came sharp and shallow. He forced himself to breathe, forced himself to temper the rage clawing its way up his throat.

Not here.

Not now.

Not when she was in his arms, when she was alive and breathing and still shaking like she didn’t fully believe he was real.

But he would deal with Rhys.

Soon.

And it would not be pleasant.

Not when his mate—the love of his gods-damned life—had been left to waste away.

Azriel exhaled shakily, forcing the tension from his muscles, his focus shifting entirely back to her.

“We need to get you inside,” he said softly, his voice still laced with an edge of barely-restrained fury.

She frowned slightly, blinking as if only now realizing that she was trembling in his arms.

Azriel didn’t wait for her to argue.

With ease, he scooped her up, her body feather-light in his arms, and cradled her against his chest.

Her fingers curled weakly into the front of his leathers, and that was nearly his undoing.

Because she shouldn’t be this frail.

Shouldn’t feel like she might break apart at the slightest touch.

Shouldn’t have suffered like this.

His wings snapped open, and he took off, his jaw tight, his mind already sharpening with deadly precision.

Rhysand would answer for this.

And nothing would stop him.

Azriel had never been one for dramatics.

His anger was a quiet, simmering thing—a blade honed so sharp it barely needed to be wielded. He did not shout, did not let rage dictate his actions.

But as he stormed into the River House, shadows lashing violently at the air around him, his rage was unstoppable.

Cassian barely had time to react before Azriel’s voice cut through the space like a blade.

“Rhysand!”

A crash echoed from the study—like a glass shattering against the floor. A second later, Rhys appeared, his face darkening as he took in the sight before him.

Azriel, rigid with fury.

Y/N, barely standing behind him, her body still too thin, her skin still too pale.

Cassian had gone deathly still beside them, his hazel eyes narrowing in realization as they darted between them all.

Rhys’s lips parted, but Azriel was already moving.

His shadows snapped out like a whip, slamming the doors shut behind them, sealing the room in silence.

“What did you do to her?” Azriel’s voice was lethal, quiet, but the weight of it filled the entire room.

Rhys inhaled sharply, his violet eyes flicking to Y/N, something unreadable flickering across his face.

“I did what I had to—”

Azriel lunged.

Cassian was barely fast enough to step between them, shoving a hand against Azriel’s chest to stop him from tackling Rhys to the ground.

But the shadowsinger didn’t need to touch him to make his fury known.

“You let her suffer.” Azriel’s voice was a deadly whisper. “You let her believe I was dead.”

Rhys’s jaw clenched. “I had to.”

“Had to?” Azriel snarled. “She was starving herself. She was withering away and you let her think—” He sucked in a sharp breath, his hands shaking with the effort to keep himself from lunging again. “You swore to protect her, Rhys. You promised me.”

“I know,” Rhys said, his voice suddenly raw. “You think I wanted this? You think I wanted to see her like that?” His throat bobbed, guilt carving deep lines into his face. “But there was no other way.”

“No other—” Azriel exhaled sharply, stepping back, his hands shaking with restraint. “Tell me why. Now.”

Rhys hesitated.

Cassian shifted beside them, tension rolling off him in waves.

“You owe him that much, Rhys,” Cassian muttered, arms crossed. “You owe her that much.”

Rhys closed his eyes briefly, before opening them. When he spoke, his voice was low, but certain.

“If Y/N had known you were alive, she would have found you,” he said. “She would have come after you no matter the risk.”

Azriel stiffened.

“The mission was too dangerous, Az,” Rhys continued. “If she had followed you, it would have compromised everything. I needed her to believe you were dead. I needed her to stay safe.”

Silence.

The words settled over them like a storm cloud.

Y/N was shaking.

Not from anger.

Not even from grief.

From betrayal.

Azriel turned, just enough to see the devastation in her expression.

Her breathing was shallow, her lips parted like she couldn’t quite comprehend what she had just heard.

“So you let me break?” she whispered.

Rhys flinched.

“I—”

“You let me suffer?” Her voice trembled. “Let me believe I had nothing left?”

Her hands curled into fists at her sides.

“I wouldn’t have followed him,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I wouldn’t have jeopardized the mission.” Her eyes burned. “But you didn’t trust me enough to let me make that choice, did you?”

Rhys’s throat bobbed.

“I couldn’t risk it,” he admitted, voice low. “I—I know you, Y/N. And I know that if there had been even the slightest chance that you could save him, you would have done it, no matter the cost.”

She sucked in a sharp breath.

Rhys looked wrecked.

But Azriel didn’t care.

Not when his mate had suffered like this.

“I trusted you,” Azriel said, his voice quiet but lethal. “And you took everything from her.”

“I was trying to protect her,” Rhys rasped.

Azriel shook his head.

“No,” he said. “You were protecting your mission. Not her.”

Rhys opened his mouth, but before he could say another word, Y/N stepped past Azriel.

She didn’t look at Rhys.

Didn’t say a word.

She just walked away.

And when the door shut softly behind her, the silence that followed was deafening.

Azriel’s voice was a whisper of fury.

“Stay away from her.”

And then he was gone, following after his mate, leaving Rhys standing in the ruins of his choices.

───────────────────────────────

The cabin was quiet.

Not the suffocating, heavy silence of grief, but the kind that settled softly, like fresh snowfall. A reprieve from the chaos, from the pain. A space untouched by anything but the sound of the fire crackling in the hearth, the distant rustling of trees outside.

Y/N sat curled on the worn leather couch, a thick blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She wasn’t sure how long they had been here—days, maybe. Azriel had brought her to this quiet refuge in the mountains, away from Velaris, away from everything.

When they had first arrived, she had barely spoken.

Too tired to fight, too exhausted to keep her walls up.

And Azriel… Azriel had only been patient. He hadn’t pushed. Hadn’t asked anything of her.

He had just been there.

Across the room, he was stirring a pot of soup over the small stove, his movements slow and deliberate. His body was still healing, the fresh wounds from his mission a reminder of how close he had come to never returning. The bruises along his jaw had darkened, his normally sharp features drawn tight with exhaustion.

But he was alive.

And so was she.

She exhaled softly, watching the way his shadows curled around his shoulders, brushing against his skin like they were checking on him. She wondered how long he had gone without rest, how long he had spent knowing she was in pain but unable to reach her.

She had spent weeks drowning in grief.

He had spent weeks enduring hell, knowing she was suffering, unable to do anything.

They had both been destroyed in different ways.

Now, they would have to rebuild. Together.

Azriel turned, catching her gaze. His expression softened as he wiped his hands on a cloth, moving toward her.

“Try to eat something,” he murmured, kneeling in front of her. He held out a bowl of steaming soup, the scent rich and warm. “Just a little.”

She hesitated, but the concern in his gaze, the gentle way he was looking at her, made her lift the spoon to her lips.

The first taste was like warmth spreading through her, a stark contrast to the numbness that had clung to her for so long.

Something in Azriel’s shoulders eased when she took another bite.

“Good,” he murmured. “That’s good.”

She studied him as she ate—really studied him. The way his hands trembled slightly when he exhaled. The way his hazel eyes, darkened with exhaustion, never left her.

She set the bowl down on the low table beside her before reaching out, fingers grazing the scarred skin of his hands.

His breath hitched.

“Az,” she whispered.

His eyes flickered to hers, wary. As if he thought she might pull away.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she took his hands in hers, running her fingers gently over the callouses, the scars, the hands that had held her, fought for her, killed for her.

“I’m here,” she murmured. “You don’t have to carry it alone.”

Azriel let out a shuddering breath, his eyes closing briefly.

“I thought I lost you,” he admitted, voice raw. “I thought—” His throat bobbed. “I felt what you were going through, and I couldn’t—”

His voice broke.

Something in her broke with it.

She shifted, moving until she was sitting on the floor with him, her hands cradling his face.

“I’m here,” she whispered again. “We both are.”

Azriel’s hands came up to frame her face in return, his touch feather-light, as if he was afraid she might disappear.

For a long moment, they just breathed together.

His forehead dropped to hers, and when she exhaled, he was already there, catching the pieces of her, holding them together with his own.

They had been broken.

But they would heal.

Together.

───────────────────────────────

A few more days passed before Y/N could even think about returning to Velaris.

She had been terrified of it—terrified of the memories, of the house that still smelled like grief. But Azriel had been patient. He never rushed her. Never forced her to speak of what came next.

But she knew it was time.

They winnowed back to the townhouse at dusk. Feyre was the first to meet them, worry and guilt warring in her eyes. Cassian appeared a moment later, relief etched across his face.

And then there was Rhys.

He stood at the edge of the room, waiting. Not stepping forward. Not speaking.

Y/N inhaled slowly.

Her brother.

The one who had let her suffer, let her believe her mate was dead.

Azriel stiffened beside her, as if readying himself for another fight.

But Y/N only took a slow step forward, watching as Rhysand’s shoulders locked, as he prepared himself for whatever she was going to say.

“You lied to me,” she said quietly.

Rhys flinched.

“I did.” His voice was hoarse. “And I will never forgive myself for it.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.

“You let me break,” she whispered. “You let me believe I would never see him again.”

Rhys swallowed, something shining in his violet eyes. “I thought I was protecting you.”

She let out a shaky breath, her fingers curling at her sides. “It wasn’t your choice to make.”

“I know.” His voice cracked. “I know.”

Something in her chest squeezed.

He looked exhausted. More than that, he looked remorseful.

And despite all the pain, despite all the anger—she still loved him.

Azriel remained tense beside her, shadows curling at his fingers. But he didn’t stop her as she stepped closer to Rhysand, as she stared up at the male who had been more than a brother, more than a High Lord—he had been family.

“You hurt me,” she said softly. “But I can’t lose you, too.”

Rhys let out a sharp breath, his hands trembling at his sides. “I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

“I don’t want that.” She exhaled. “I just want my brother back.”

His throat bobbed. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

She hesitated. Then, carefully, she reached out.

Rhys pulled her into his arms without hesitation, wrapping her in a tight, desperate embrace. She felt his breathing stutter against her, felt the regret that radiated from him like a storm.

It didn’t erase the pain.

Didn’t erase what had been lost.

But maybe… maybe it was enough.

Azriel stayed close, a silent protector at her back. And when she finally stepped away from Rhys, she turned to her mate, to the male who had survived, who had fought his way back to her.

Her fingers found his, their bond humming.

Whole. Unbroken.

And as she looked around at the people she loved—her mate, her family—she knew one thing for certain.

They had been shattered.

But together, they would heal.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

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[addieslibrary]

Bird in a Cage (Extended Version)

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Grief turned Y/N into a ghost of herself, drowning in the unbearable silence of a bond that should have shattered—unaware that her mate still breathed, just beyond her reach.

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The City of Starlight was quieter without him.

Not the kind of quiet that soothed, but the kind that suffocated.

Velaris had always been a sanctuary—a beacon of warmth carved from darkness. The place Azriel had loved most in the world, the place where they had built a life together, where his laughter—so rare, so precious—had once melted into the hum of the city.

Now, it was a tomb.

Y/N barely recognized herself anymore.

The mirror reflected a ghost.

Her skin, once kissed by the sun, had paled into something colorless, something brittle. Her lips—Azriel had always traced them with his fingers, with his mouth, worshipped them like they were made of stardust—were chapped, cracked from the relentless winter air she no longer cared to shield herself from.

But her eyes—her eyes were the worst.

They had once been filled with fire. They had burned when she was angry, glowed when she laughed, softened when Azriel looked at her like she was his entire world.

Now, they were empty.

Hollowed.

Dulled by grief.

The bond—it was the cruelest thing of all.

It should have broken.

The moment he died, it should have shattered inside her like glass, the way everyone said it would.

But it hadn’t.

Instead, it had gone quiet.

Not severed. Not gone. Just… silent.

She should have felt it snap, should have felt something inside her tear apart at the moment his heart stopped beating. But she hadn’t.

And she hated that she hadn’t.

Because it left her with questions.

With doubt.

With a tiny, traitorous whisper in the back of her mind that refused to believe he was truly gone.

A whisper that tormented her in the darkest hours of the night.

When she woke, gasping, chest heaving, reaching out for something—someone—who wasn’t there.

When she swore she could feel the ghost of his presence lingering in the room, the faintest whisper of his scent curling through the air.

When her soul still ached, as if something tethered it to a mate that no longer existed.

But that was just grief, wasn’t it?

The way it twisted things. The way it made you believe in impossibilities.

Her mate.

Her husband.

Her best friend.

Gone.

She curled further into the window seat, a thick blanket draped over her shoulders, though it did nothing to warm her. She didn’t feel warmth anymore.

Beyond the glass, Velaris glittered under the night sky, so full of life.

The Sidra River shimmered beneath the glow of the city’s lights. Laughter echoed through the streets, the faint melody of a string quartet drifting from a café near the water. Couples strolled hand in hand, shadows twining together beneath the lanterns.

It was all the same.

As if the world had not ended.

As if Azriel had not died.

As if everything had not been ripped apart at the seams.

It was unbearable.

───────────────────────────────

“Y/N.”

The voice was soft. Careful.

Rhysand.

She didn’t turn to look at him.

She knew how he saw her.

Knew what he was thinking.

That she was slipping away.

That she had already slipped too far.

“I brought you dinner.”

She swallowed.

Her gaze flickered to the plate he placed on the small table beside her.

Her favorite meal.

She had no appetite.

She hadn’t for weeks.

“Eat,” Rhys pressed, lowering himself into the armchair across from her.

She didn’t.

His sigh was barely more than a breath.

“Feyre is worried about you,” he said carefully. “We all are.”

Her jaw tightened.

Her jaw tightened, the tendons in her neck pulled taut as if they might snap under the weight of the silence between them.

Rhysand didn’t look away.

“Y/N…” His voice was quiet. Careful.

Like he was afraid she might break.

She clenched her fists beneath the blanket, nails digging into her palms so hard she half-expected to draw blood. Maybe she wanted to. Maybe she wanted to feel something that wasn’t this hollow, gnawing ache in her chest.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she said, her voice flat, lifeless.

Another beat of silence. A pause thick with things unsaid.

Then, carefully—too carefully—

“The bond hasn’t broken.”

The words landed like a knife between her ribs.

Her breath hitched.

She went utterly still.

For a moment, the sounds of Velaris—the distant hum of laughter, the faint notes of music drifting from a tavern, the rustling of the wind against the glass—faded into nothing.

She hadn’t told him that.

Hadn’t told anyone.

Because it was impossible.

Because it wasn’t supposed to be this way.

The bond should have shattered the second Azriel took his last breath. Should have ripped itself from her, leaving only a gaping, unbearable emptiness in its wake. That was what happened when one mate lost the other. That was what she had expected—the pain, the tearing, the finality of it.

But there had been no breaking.

No shattering.

Only silence.

A cruel, hollow silence that left her questioning everything.

“I don’t know why,” she admitted after a long moment, her voice hoarse, frayed at the edges. “I should have—felt it. When he—”

The word stuck in her throat like poison.

She couldn’t say it.

Couldn’t force it past the raw, aching knot in her chest.

Rhys didn’t press her.

Didn’t finish the sentence for her.

But he didn’t look surprised, either.

The realization sent a chill down her spine.

She turned her head slowly, her eyes locking onto his for the first time in days.

Violet met Y/E/C.

Something flickered there.

Something off.

Something withholding.

A flicker of hesitation. A fleeting flash of guilt.

“… What?” she rasped.

Rhysand shook his head. Too quickly. “Nothing.”

It was a lie.

She could see it in the way his throat bobbed, in the way his fingers twitched before stilling, in the way his power coiled subtly around him as if bracing for something.

Rhysand was many things.

A High Lord. A brother. A friend.

But above all, he was a master of deception.

She had seen him weave lies with silken ease, had watched him manipulate and maneuver people like a game of chess—always three steps ahead, always knowing exactly what pieces to move and when.

And now, he was lying to her.

She should have pressed him. Should have torn the truth from his lips, demanded to know why.

But she didn’t.

Because if he was lying—if he was hiding something—she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

Because the truth, whatever it was, could be worse than the lie she had been living in.

So she let it go.

She had no more energy to fight.

And that night, when she closed her eyes, the dream came again.

Azriel.

Standing just beyond the veil of shadows, his hazel eyes locked onto hers.

He never spoke.

Never moved.

Just watched.

And she—she always ran toward him.

Always reached for him.

But the moment her fingers brushed his—

He disappeared.

Vanishing into smoke.

The loss of him—again—ripped through her like a blade.

She woke with a start, gasping, her body shaking, drenched in sweat.

Her hands fisted in the sheets, her breath coming in ragged, shallow bursts.

And the bond—

It was there.

Faint. Muted.

Like something was blocking it.

Her heart slammed against her ribs, a frantic, erratic rhythm.

No.

No, she was imagining it.

This was what grief did.

It twisted things.

Warped reality.

Made you believe in impossibilities.

Azriel was dead.

The bond hadn’t broken.

And she would never know why.

───────────────────────────────

Cassian slammed his fists against Rhysand’s desk so hard the wood cracked.

“You have to tell her.”

Rhys barely flinched. He remained seated, fingers steepled, his expression unreadable. The picture of calm. But Cassian knew better.

There was a storm brewing beneath that composed mask.

“I will tell her when the time is right,” Rhys said evenly.

Cassian barked a laugh, sharp and humorless. “The time was weeks ago. Do you even see her, Rhys? Do you see what she’s become?”

Rhys’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

So Cassian pressed forward, his wings flaring, barely able to keep his rage in check. “She’s withering. She doesn’t eat. She doesn’t sleep. She stares out that fucking window like she’s waiting for death to come collect her.” His voice dropped, turned guttural, desperate. “She is not surviving this. And you are letting it happen.”

Rhys’s violet eyes flashed.

“I am protecting her.”

Cassian slammed his hands down again. “From what? From knowing her mate is alive? From knowing the truth?”

Rhys stood, slow and measured, his power pressing against the room, dark and furious. “From false hope.”

Cassian scoffed. “False—” He let out a sharp breath, dragging his hands through his hair. “She feels the bond, Rhys. She knows something isn’t right. You think you’re protecting her, but all you’re doing is destroying her.”

Rhys’s fingers curled into fists.

“She deserves the truth,” Mor said quietly from the doorway.

Cassian turned, startled to see her standing there, her golden eyes lined with pain.

Mor never took his side over Rhys’s.

And yet—

“She’s drowning,” Mor continued, stepping forward, folding her arms tightly over her chest. “And you’re letting her.”

Something flickered across Rhys’s face—guilt, maybe. Regret.

He closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling through his nose.

Then—

“I will tell her.”

Cassian didn’t release the breath he was holding. Not yet.

“When?” he demanded.

Rhys hesitated.

Cassian’s blood boiled. “Not when it’s convenient for you, Rhys. Now.”

Rhys opened his mouth—

And then, the sound of footsteps echoed through the River House.

The three of them turned.

Y/N stood at the threshold, her face pale, her eyes dull but watchful.

Cassian’s stomach dropped.

How much had she heard?

He didn’t have to wonder for long.

“You’re hiding something,” she said.

Not a question.

Rhys went still.

Cassian swallowed hard, his throat thick.

“Y/N—”

She turned her gaze on Rhys, cutting off whatever weak excuse Cassian knew was about to leave his mouth.

“Why do I still feel the bond?” she whispered.

Rhys hesitated.

And that was his mistake.

Y/N sucked in a breath, her lips parting slightly.

Cassian saw it happen—the exact moment she knew.

“… No.”

Rhys took a step toward her. “It’s not what you think—”

“He’s alive?”

Her voice broke on the last word.

The walls closed in.

Cassian felt his own knees nearly buckle at the sheer devastation in her voice.

Y/N stumbled back a step, her breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts.

And then—

She turned and ran.

Cassian moved to follow, but Rhys stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“Let her go,” Rhys murmured, his voice tight.

Cassian shoved his hand away. “Are you fucking serious?”

Rhys didn’t respond.

Cassian didn’t care.

Because Y/N had just learned the most important truth of her life—

And she had learned it alone.

And none of them knew if she would ever forgive them for it.

───────────────────────────────

By the time Cassian stormed back into the study, the walls trembled with the weight of Rhysand’s magic. A silent rage cloaked the room, dark and suffocating, shadows stretching unnaturally as if his power itself recoiled from what had just happened.

Mor stood by the fireplace, her arms wrapped around herself, eyes fixed on the floor. Guilt weighed heavy in her golden gaze.

“You don’t get to walk away from this,” Cassian growled, slamming the door behind him.

Rhys didn’t move from where he stood near his desk, his jaw tight, his fists clenched so hard his knuckles had gone white.

“She deserved the truth,” Mor said softly, her voice raw.

“She deserved better than this,” Cassian snapped.

Rhys’s power pulsed, the chandeliers rattling above them. “You think I don’t know that?” His voice was low, shaking with restrained fury.

“Then why?” Cassian demanded. “Why did you let her suffer? Why did you break her?”

Rhys turned to them then, violet eyes dark with something unreadable. Something haunted.

“Because I had no choice.”

Cassian’s wings flared, his body thrumming with unspent rage. “Bullshit.”

Rhys exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “If she had known—if she had felt the bond the way she was supposed to—she would have gone after him.”

Cassian stilled. “What?”

Mor frowned. “But the bond was—”

“Blocked,” Rhys finished. “Because I had to block it.”

The air shifted, the weight of those words settling like a stone in Cassian’s chest.

“You blocked their bond?” Mor whispered, disbelief painting every syllable.

Rhys lifted his chin, unapologetic. “I had to. Azriel is on a mission that cannot be compromised.”

A sick feeling curled in Cassian’s gut. “What mission?”

Rhys hesitated. Just for a moment.

Then—

“We found out that Koschei has allies—ones we didn’t account for,” Rhys said, his voice tight. “They captured Azriel. They tortured him. Nearly broke him.” His throat bobbed. “But he got out. And when he did, he realized something.”

Cassian and Mor exchanged a wary glance.

“What?” Cassian asked.

Rhys’s eyes gleamed with something dark. Something dangerous.

“That he could end them.”

A slow, cold dread crept up Cassian’s spine.

Rhys went on. “He knew he couldn’t come back. Knew that if he did, they would find him, find us. So he let us believe he was dead. We barely got to him in time, barely found out before it was too late. He’s been playing a long game, infiltrating their ranks, feeding us information from within.”

Mor’s breath hitched. “For how long?”

“Since the night he went missing,” Rhys murmured. “Since the night he died to us.”

Cassian swallowed hard. “And the bond?”

Rhys’s gaze darkened. “It had to be silenced. If she had felt him, if he had felt her, she would have known he was alive. And she would have gone after him. And if she had—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “They would have killed them both.”

Mor’s hands trembled where she held herself.

Cassian clenched his jaw, but there was no denying the truth of Rhys’s words.

If Y/N had known—if she had even suspected—she would have torn apart the world to find Azriel.

And she would have died trying.

“So why now?” Cassian rasped. “Why tell her now?”

Rhys’s throat bobbed.

“Because he’s coming home,” he whispered.

A beat of silence.

Then—

Cassian swore under his breath.

Mor closed her eyes.

Rhys turned toward the window, gazing out at the city below.

“He’s not the same,” Rhys admitted, so quietly it was nearly lost in the hush of the room. “I don’t know who he’ll be when he returns.” A pause. “I don’t know if she’ll even recognize him.”

Cassian ran a hand over his face. “And you didn’t think she deserved to prepare for that?”

Rhys’s eyes gleamed as he looked at them.

“No,” he said. “Because she deserves to see him. To feel the bond the way she was meant to. Not as a whisper, not as an absence—but as a promise.”

Cassian’s throat tightened.

Because if Azriel was coming home—

It meant the game was ending.

And none of them knew what pieces would be left standing.

───────────────────────────────

The world had ended once before.

The day Azriel died.

Or at least—the day she thought he had.

The grief had come like a tidal wave, unrelenting and merciless. It had drowned her, pulled her under until she forgot what it felt like to breathe. She had mourned him, had shattered beneath the weight of a love ripped away too soon, had tried to understand why the bond—the thing that should have severed the moment his heart stopped beating—had remained.

She had screamed at it. Had begged it to break, to free her from the unbearable agony of existing without him.

But it hadn’t.

And she had hated herself for what that meant.

For the sliver of hope that had curled in her chest despite the impossibility of it.

But she had silenced it. Forced herself to accept that it was simply another cruelty of fate, a mistake, a malfunction of whatever magic tied them together.

Azriel was gone.

And she—

She had become nothing.

Now, standing on the landing, her hands shaking violently as the night stretched before her, she wasn’t sure how to exist in a world where that was no longer true.

Where he was alive.

Her heart was a wild, frantic thing in her chest, slamming against her ribs as if trying to escape. Her pulse roared in her ears, drowning out the sounds of the city behind her, the voices inside the River House, the gentle rustling of leaves in the wind.

She could feel him.

Not a faint whisper, not a distant echo of something she had convinced herself was grief—him.

Close.

Real.

And then—

The steady, haunting sound of wings.

Her breath caught.

Her body froze.

The world seemed to still.

A shadow swept across the sky, darkening the stars, and she felt it the moment he arrived. Felt it in her bones, in the sharp pull of the bond that slammed into her with the force of a tidal wave, so overwhelming it sent her staggering back.

She choked on a breath, her vision blurring, her chest aching with the sudden, uncontrollable flood of emotion.

It had never been like this.

Even before, even when the bond had first clicked into place, it had never been this—wild.

This raw. This desperate.

Like it had been waiting.

Like it had been starving.

Like it had known what she hadn’t.

Azriel landed.

The impact sent a gust of wind swirling around her, whipping strands of hair across her face, but she couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Because he was there.

Not a dream.

Not a ghost.

Not a cruel trick of her mind, taunting her with something she could never have again.

Her mate.

Her mate was alive.

He was thinner.

The sharp angles of his face were more pronounced, his golden-brown skin tinged with exhaustion. His leathers clung to his frame, battle-worn and stiff, and his hazel eyes—

Gods, his eyes.

They locked onto hers, widening as if he, too, could barely believe what he was seeing.

His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths, his hands clenching at his sides as his body visibly shook.

Her throat closed.

She couldn’t speak.

Couldn’t move.

Because if she did, she might wake up.

She might wake up again to a cold, empty bed, to a bond that still existed but didn’t feel.

She might wake up and realize that this was just another dream—another nightmare.

And she couldn’t survive that.

Not again.

A broken sound tore from her throat, her knees buckling, and that was all it took.

Azriel moved.

One step. Then another. And then—

She was in his arms.

A sob ripped from her lips as she collapsed into him, her fingers clutching at his leathers, at his shoulders, his back—anywhere she could hold, anywhere that would prove that this wasn’t a lie.

Azriel exhaled sharply against her hair, his arms locking around her so tight it was almost painful, as if he thought she might slip away if he didn’t hold her close enough.

The bond snapped.

A jolt of pure, unfiltered connection crashed through her, so powerful that she gasped, her body trembling violently as the walls that had dulled it for weeks shattered in an instant.

It was like breathing again after drowning.

Like sunlight after an eternity in the dark.

She felt everything.

His heartbeat—wild, erratic, matching the frantic rhythm of her own.

The way his chest heaved, the way his hands fisted in the back of her sweater like she might disappear.

The way his entire body shook against hers, like he, too, was barely holding himself together.

His scent wrapped around her, heady and overwhelming—home.

She let out another strangled sob, burying her face in his shoulder, breathing him in, needing to memorize the way he felt, the way he smelled, the way their bond sang so loudly it was nearly unbearable.

“I thought I lost you,” she choked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Azriel inhaled sharply.

His fingers traced over her back, shaking as he pulled away just enough to cup her face, to tilt her chin up until their eyes met.

He looked wrecked.

His throat bobbed. His hazel eyes were damp.

And his voice—

His voice was hoarse when he whispered, “I thought I’d never see you again.”

Something inside her shattered.

Her hands flew to his face, tracing the sharp planes of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbones, the rougher skin where a new scar cut across his temple.

Azriel’s eyes fluttered shut at the touch, his breath catching, his grip tightening on her waist.

“I thought you were dead,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

He swallowed.

“I know.”

Her lip trembled. “I grieved you.”

His hands trembled as they slid into her hair, as he pressed his forehead to hers.

“I know,” he rasped, pain cracking through his voice.

She sucked in a breath, squeezing her eyes shut.

───────────────────────────────

Pt. II? 😏

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Taglist: onebadassunicorn, k-godling, masbt1218, suggesteddoubletake, vanserrasimp, meritxellao

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[addieslibrary]

Found You 3

Baby Daddy Azriel!

Series masterlist ⋆ Part two ⋆ Part four

Pair: Azriel x Spring Court! Reader

Word count: 4.369

Warning: violence, domestic abuse

Summary: Chaos enters Spring

The clock was ticking and your eyes were on it. He was late - again.

You and Amias had been waiting for Azriel, he should have arrived hours ago. It was already ten past twelve.

“Mama, is Daddy coming?”

“Yes, darling. He is probably just busy for a bit longer.”

Azriel’s visits had been irregular over the past few weeks. Sometimes, he sent letters explaining that work was keeping him away. 

Nine days had passed since Amias had last seen him.

You could see the sadness in his eyes. He tried to hide it, but you saw the unshed tear.

His toys laid forgotten around him, his small wings were drooping on the floor and his shadows curled around him, just like Azriel’s always did.

He could barely sleep the night before, too excited about training with his father and spending time with him. At dawn, he had woken you up just to gush about how cool his father was- how tall, how strong.

You had smiled, glad that Azriel had been a good father since getting to know Amias. But still, you remained cautious. The irregular visits were starting to wear on you.

Where is he?

He could have at least sent a letter?!

A knock echoed at the door.

“Come in,” you said, hoping, for your son’s sake, that it was news of his father.

Instead, a servant stepped inside, bowing slightly. 

“My lady, the Autumn Court heir has arrived and requests an audience. He says it is of utmost importance.”

You exhaled sharply. 

What now?

Nodding, you rose to your feet, silently praying this had nothing to do with Azriel’s disappearance.

“Nara, take care of Amias,” you instructed.

But before you could take a step, Amias stood up, his small frame trembling. Tears spilled down his red cheeks as he ran to you, clinging tightly to your leg.

“Mommy,” he whimpered.

“Baby, it’s okay. I promise I’m coming back,” you whispered, running a gentle hand through his dark curls.

But he only sobbed harder, his little hands gripping your blue dress with all the strength he had.

“D-Dont… please. Daddy is already gone… please don’t leave too,” he hiccuped, his voice breaking, as he sobbed louder.

Your heart burned. Kneeling down, you cupped his tear-streaked face.

“Amias, listen to me. Mommy is just going to talk to Uncle Eris and see if he knows something about Daddy, okay? I won’t gone long.”

He kept crying, though and guilt sank deep into your chest. This was your fault. You should have been more attentive, should have reassured him more, should have…

You swallowed hard. Now he thinks you’ll disappear too and that also because you were busy with work.

Something tugged at you, an uneasy feeling.

“Nara, please take care of him,” you said, forcing yourself to step back.

She gently tried prying him from your arms, but he would not let go. 

“No, mommy p-please d-don’t”

His hand stretched out to you as he tried getting out of her arms.

You were sick seeing your son like this. Anger burned beneath your skin, you were angry at your self, at Azriel, at life and your duties.

You turned on your heel with a heavy heart, storming toward the room where Eris was waiting, your patience long gone.

⋆ ♡ ⋆

Stepping into the room, you froze, stunned by what you saw.

What in the abomination is this?

Your jaw clenched, eyes narrowing as you glared at Eris.

“I left my son alone for this?” you bit out, tilting your head toward the older Archeron sister standing beside him. Her head was ducked down and you could only see the mop of light brown hair she shared with her younger sister. It fell in a messy low bun. The resemblance between them was striking.

“Let me explain,” Eris said quickly, positioning himself between the both of you.

“You have five minutes. Do you understand?” Your voice was sharp, edged with barely restrained fury.

Turning you glared at Nesta Archeron, adding, “And you’d better not cause trouble in my court, like your sister”

Without waiting for a response, you turned. Eris followed you to your office, a space where no one could overhear or interrupt.

The moment the door shut behind you, you crossed your arms.

 “Talk.”

“She needs to stay here, she can’t stay anywhere else,” Eris said, his tone clipped.

You arched a brow, then let out a sharp laugh, slow-clapping your hands. 

“Are you serious, Eris?” you scoffed, crossing your arms. 

“Having an Archeron in Spring started this whole mess in the first place.”

“It’s different this time,” he said, but you only laughed bitterly.

Walking toward him, you raised your voice, pointing your finger sharply at his chest, pushing him back. His jaw clenched, a muscle in his cheek twitching, he hated when you did that.

“She’s mated to the Night Court’s general, for gods’ sake. Have you lost your mind. Hiding her here, kidnapping her, will bring war to both our doorsteps. I have Amias to think about for Gods sake.”

“I know but I swear, it’s not the same,” Eris insisted.

“It is.” Your voice sharpened. 

“Have you forgotten what happened the last time? When the night court whore, her sister might I add, was here?”

Eris hesitated. “That’s… different.”

“How the fuck is this different?” Your brow furrowed.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his disheveled red hair.

“Because Rhysand wants her dead.”

Your confusion deepened. “What? What do you mean he wants her dead? She’s his mates sister?”

“I know. It’s just things have been happening,” Eris muttered, his frustration evident. He licked his lips before sinking into a chair. For the first time, you truly looked at him, his usually pristine clothes were wrinkled, his hair an unkempt mess.

“What the hell is going on?” you demanded.

He sighed. “We’ve been exchanging letters for a while. And that brute she’s mated to-let’s just say he hasn’t been kind to her.”

Your stomach twisted. “Be specific, Eris. I’m going to live with her, I need to know how I’m gonna take care of her.”

You meant your words, your mother had been through abuse in her first marriage, before she met your father.

His amber eyes met yours, filled with something between anger and sadness. 

“They’ve kept her locked in that house, forced her to work with him, train against her will, to endure his verbal abuse.”

You exhaled sharply. “Eris, if your feelings are involved he could challenge you to a blood duel, and what if she changes her mind and wants to go back?”

“She doesn’t want to go back, he’s been cruel, they’ve been cruel. He wants children, he tried impregnating her, guilting her into not drinking the potion. She was miserable there.

She left them a goodbye letter saying she fled to the Continent and found a man while working. No one knows she’s here. No one knows I’m involved. She covered her tracks. Lucien is taking care of the rest.”

You leaned against your desk, rubbing your temples. 

“She won’t be safe in Spring if they find out.”

“Then hide her in your manor, just until I figure something out.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “You mean until you figure out how to deal with your father which, might I add, Night is supposed to be helping you with.”

Your voice dropped into a harsh whisper.

“Eris, you need them as your ally. I’ve been talking to Helion, but he hasn’t been responding well to this plan of ours. He’s worried about your mother’s life and now with Nesta in the game,” you said, your voice firm, as you crossed your arms.

“He is not supposed to be involved, he’s at fault for her misery in the first place. I have everything under control,” Eris snapped, frustration evident in his tone.

You laughed bitterly.

“You just showed me how much control you have. Helion needs to be involved because your mother is his mate, just like Nesta is Cassian’s mate. Do you see how many problems this might cause?”

His glare was sharp, his jaw clenched in anger. “And what about your mate?” he seethed.

Your powers flared to life, vines curling slowly behind your back, twisting with an almost dangerous grace. 

“That’s a new low, Eris,” you said coldly. “Mind your tongue.”

The room pulsed with the intensity of your anger, your gaze locked with his as the vines continued to unravel.

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have.”

Eris clenched his jaw and he didn’t argue further.

You exhaled. “ She can stay, under the condition that she follows my rules.”

“She will,” Eris said.

 “She won’t be harmed. She’ll be treated with dignity and respect. I promise”

Eris stood up, stepping closer. His expression softened as he placed his hands gently around you.

Then, with a quiet exhale, he hugged you. It was hesitant at first, as if he was afraid you might still push him away. But when you didn’t, he tightened his grip, pulling you tighter.

 He needed the reassurance and to be honest you needed it too. You were touch starved. 

The last time this had happened, you were both sixteen, young, reckless and untouched by the burdens that now were weighing on you. 

That night, in the quiet of the woods, you had made a bargain to always protect eachother and be loyal to one another.

Now, years later, everything was different. And yet, for the briefest moment, as you stood in his arms, it felt like nothing had changed at all, like it was before the duties and the wars that had hardened you both.

But for just a second, you let yourself rest in the warmth of his embrace.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“You know I still owe you Amias’ life and mine,” you murmured.

Eris nodded, understanding in his gaze.

“Tell him I love him,” he added softly, “and that I’m sorry I brought no presents this time.”

“I will.”

You exhaled, stepping back. “Now go, before I kick you out.”

Eris smirked. “Fine. I’ll come back later tonight.”

With that, you turned and walked out, making your way back to Amias.

⋆ ♡ ⋆

As you entered the room, your heart clenched. He had fallen asleep on the floor beside his toys, his small frame curled up, his wings enveloping his body as if he was hiding. His eyes fluttered open as he sensed your presence, his shadows slithered toward you, wrapping around your wrists as they tugged you closer to him.

“Has his father arrived?” you asked Nara quietly.

She shook her head. “Not even a letter, my lady.”

You swallowed the frustration rising in your throat.

Kneeling beside Amias, you gently brushed a curl from his damp cheek.

 “Amias,” you whispered.

He stirred, slowly sitting up, his puffy, red-rimmed eyes locking onto yours. He must have cried himself to sleep.

Guilt twisted in your chest. You cupped his cheek. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Mommy had to talk with Uncle Eris.”

He blinked up at you. “Uncle Eris?”

You smiled faintly. “He’s sorry he couldn’t stay and he loves you very much.”

Amias nodded, rubbing at his tired eyes. Then, hesitantly, he asked, “Where is Daddy?”

You winced.

“Your father is coming later tonight,” you assured him.

“But he’ll make it up to you. He loves you very much, angel.”

Another small nod. But this time, there was hesitation in his expression, doubt creeping in.

“Will he come back?”

“Of course,” you said gently. “It’s just work.”

He nodded again, but sadness lingered in his gaze.

You pulled him close, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I love you, my sweet boy.”

He curled into your arms and as you held him. The thought of leaving him again, even just to deal with your new guest made your chest tighten.

But there was no choice.

You had a mess to clean up.

⋆ ♡ ⋆

Before you even reached the room, you could hear the shouting.

Multiple voices clashed over one another, servants hurriedly rushing away and power crackled in the air like a brewing storm.

Azriel was back.

Eris didn’t know about your bargain. You scolded yourself for the oversight, for not anticipating this. 

Heart pounding, you pushed forward, stepping into the chaos.

The scene before you was nothing short of a battlefield. The eldest Archeron sister stood behind Eris, half-hidden. Meanwhile, Lucien and Azriel were locked in a furious shouting match, their magic glowing.

Without hesitation, you slammed the heavy door shut.

Silence.

All heads snapped toward you, the tension thick enough to suffocate. The only sound left in the room was the sharp clack of your heels against the marble floor as you strode forward.

Azriel was a mess. His leathers were torn, his face bruised and bloodied, his normally pristine hair disheveled. He looked like he’d been in a fight, a bad one. But none of the others bore a single scratch. Whatever had happened, it had been before he came here.

You came to a stop in front of him, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. His massive wings were flared wide, casting a dark shadow over you. His golden-hazel eyes, now looking like liquid gold were locked onto Eris, his shadows writhing around him like vipers, ready to strike.

“Azriel,” you whispered.

He didn’t move. Didn’t look at you. His gaze stayed fixed on Eris, his fingers twitching at his sides.

Turning away from him, you addressed the others. 

“How the fuck can he enter?” Lucien demanded, his voice sharp.

“I will explain it later,” you promised, exhaling through your nose. 

“That was an oversight on my part.”

Eris stood firm, Nesta’s hand clasped tightly in his. She pressed herself further behind him, looking fragile, she was too thin, to small. Your gaze flicked back to Eris, searching his face for the anger you knew was brewing beneath his carefully controlled expression.

“I will take care of it,” you said, voice steady.

 “I promise you, nothing is as it seems right now. She is safe and welcome here.”

The bargain between you pulsed, a reminder to Eris of the vow you had made. 

Eris’s jaw tensed, his features hardening for a moment before something in him relented. He believed you. Even if his body remained coiled tight with tension, his grip on Nesta’s hand loosened just slightly.

“Lex will see that you are accommodated, undisturbed and left in peace,” you said evenly. Your voice left no room for argument. “No one will harm you in my home.”

The three walked out and Azriel moved to follow, but you grabbed his wrist gently.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice firm yet soft.

His jaw clenched in frustration. He didn’t pull away, but his posture stiffened, as if he were ready to break.

When the door clicked shut behind them, Azriel’s eyes focused solely on you. His wings were still spread wide, his golden eyes locked onto yours, intense and piercing.

You felt small in front of him, towering over you like a giant, but you felt no fear. His presence was overwhelming, yet strangely comforting. His shadows reached out, enveloping your body in a cool, almost soothing embrace. They were like a second skin.

“Sit,” you said, motioning toward the chair opposite you.

He hesitated for a moment before lowering himself into the seat, his body still tense as if every muscle was on alert.

Your gaze scanned his body as you took in the damage. His knuckles were swollen, the deep bruises darkening his skin. His body was covered in cuts and bruises.

Kneeling infront of him you softly took his hand, gently healing it with your magic. You moved slowly, deliberately, feeling the power flow through you, soothing the pain in his injured hand.

“Where were you?” you asked quietly, focusing on his hand, avoiding looking into his eyes for a moment.

His voice was rough as he answered, his gaze never leaving you. 

“Searching.”

“For the eldest, I presume?” you asked, your fingers intertwined with his.

He nodded, his gaze never leaving yours as you worked, your touch soft but deliberate.

You bent his hand gently to assess the damage.

Azriel liked the quiet, how quiet his head was with you right now. His heart began to pound, a realisation dawning on him. He liked the way you touched him, how soft and careful you were, just like you used to be.

Bending his hand back, you asked, “Does it hurt?”

He shook his head, though the faint wince in his expression suggested otherwise.

Your face softened, but your words were anything but gentle. 

“The next time you come like this into my house, I will skin you and string you up for everyone to see.”

Azriel’s breath caught at the sharpness of your tone, his chest tightening. Before he could respond, you interrupted him, your voice cutting through the moment.

“Let me heal your face,” you said quietly, your voice softer again.

You reached up to touch his face, your magic cold against his burning wounds. As your fingers grazed his skin, he closed his eyes, the sensation both soothing and unsettling. He shouldn’t feel good about this, about the way your touch calmed him, about the way it made something stir deep inside him. He had thought of you as someone who had wronged him, someone he should stay away from. But now, something about your presence made him feel a pull that he couldn’t explain, like he had to tell you everything.

“Cassian,” he said, his voice rough, barely a whisper as his mind swirled with confusion.

“What?” you asked softly, focusing on his face as your magic worked.

“It was Cassian,” he said again, this time his voice strained. 

“He’s the one who did this to me.”

“Why would he…?” you asked, still working on his face, your fingers lingering near his lips.

Blood was dripping down his chin, he must have bit it open again.

Azriel’s breath was shallow as he struggled to make sense of his emotions.

“He’s going mad,” he murmured, his voice tight.

“Because of Nesta?” you asked.

“Yes,” Azriel confirmed, his tone bitter, almost defeated.

Your fingers lingered a moment longer, pressing gently to his lips, trying to heal the blood that still trickled from the cut. His heartbeat quickened, every nerve responding to your touch. His eyes met yours and for a split second, the world seemed to fall away. Desire stirred deep inside him he just hoped you wouldn’t notice. He wanted to kiss you, feel your lips against his once again, to stop pretending everything had been fine. But that would complicate everything. You would kill him if he tried.

He had been dreaming of you since the moment he saw you again, after four long years. And now, as your touch lingered on his skin, it felt like he had been pulled back in time

Before everything went wrong.

His thoughts were interrupted by your words, cutting through his thought. 

“That your High Lord said he would execute her?” you asked, your voice bringing him back to the present.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice barely audible, breathless.

“Azriel,” your voice was soft, a gentle whisper that seemed to draw him in, your words wrapping around him like a siren’s call. He shut his eyes, groaning quietly, hoping you wouldn’t notice how his body reacted to your closeness.

“It was Rhys, not Cassian,” he responded, his voice hoarse.

“I don’t think a mate would leave another if they felt safe, right?” you pressed, your gaze steady, a challenge in your voice.

Azriel’s eyes met yours again, his breath hitching. He noticed the way your fingers glided over his skin, tenderly healing the cuts Cassian had left. His face was swollen, bruised, luckily, his jaw wasn’t broken and it seemed most of the wounds would heal fairly easily.

“He’s been kind of an asshole to her,” Azriel muttered, his voice rough as he tried to explain. “He’s been working and stressed a—”

“Would you have treated your mate like this?” you interrupted, the question almost too soft, too easy for him to answer.

You cradled his face gently, the light from your magic casting a soft blue glow around the room, healing his injuries as you continued to hold him. His eyes stayed locked with yours as you worked, his breath steadying despite the chaos inside. He felt lightheaded with how close you were to him.

“Never,” Azriel whispered, his voice tight. He licked his dry lips, his gaze never wavering from yours.

“Then why would it be okay for him to?”

Azriel swallowed hard, his thoughts racing. You weren’t wrong. Everything inside him wanted to defend Cassian, to defend the bond between mates, but the truth was hard to deny. He had failed to protect Nesta.

“I know your brother is in pain, but so is she,” you said softly, you almost had him.

Azriel’s jaw tightened beneath your touch, his breath quickening. His scarred hands moved to gently hold your wrists, as if to remove them from his face, but he winced at the pain.

Gently, you moved your hand over his chest, your fingers tracing his worn leathers. With delicate care, you unbuttoned his jacket, exposing the bruised skin underneath. His broken ribs made it difficult to breathe, you could see his discomfort. You began to heal him, the cool light of your magic glowing softly against his injured skin.

As the adrenaline slowly left his body, the pain seemed to hit him all at once. His eyes closed briefly, but when they opened again, they locked onto yours. 

“You won’t tell them where she is,” you whispered, your voice unwavering.

His breath caught as your hands continued to work, moving to the buttons of his clothes, carefully unfastening his belt and unbuttoning his pants.

“Our son needs to be safe in his home,” you said meeting his lidded eyes.

“And you’ll make sure that nesta location wont be revealed either, just like you promised, right?”

Azriel let out a soft whimper.

“Yeah,” he whispered, his voice barely audible as your hands continued their work.

Your hands moved carefully across his skin, over his chest to his throat. You stood up, now almost taller than him, tracing the handprint left on his throat.

“You’ll keep Nesta and us safe, right?” 

Azriel nodded, his eyes meeting yours with a promise in them.

“It’s a bargain then,” you said softly.

“Yes” He said without hesitation, you felt a small burn behind your ear, you would check it out later.

You continued to heal him, your fingers gently brushing across the scarred surface of his hand. Something inside you stirred, something small, but it was there. You would deal with it later.

“Good,” you said, your voice returning to its usual firmness.

Standing straight, you broke the moment, your voice sharp and composed once more. 

“Button up your pants. I’ll send another healer to take over.”

“I have to talk to the others,” you added, your words cold once again, as if nothing had changed.

Azriel looked up at you in confusion he wa so confuse about . “What?”

Azriel felt like the air had been knocked from his lungs.

His fingers twitched where they rested on his thighs, his mind still catching up to what had just happened. The warmth of your hands still lingered on his skin, but it had been a lie. You had just guided him exactly where you wanted, let him believe he was safe with you, that he could be vulnerable, just for a moment.

But you had never meant for it to be anything more than a transaction.

A bargain.

His stomach twisted, he felt sick. He should have known better. He should have seen it coming. 

His jaw tightened as he watched you pull away, as if nothing had happened. The warmth in your voice was gone, replaced by that same cold, detached authority you always wielded so well.

He had been played.

And the worst part?

It wasn’t just anger that was coiling in his chest. It was something else, something darker, more dangerous.

Because for the first time in years, he had felt something real with you again. And he had no idea if he hated you for it… or if he wanted more.

“Amias has been waiting and crying all day,” you said, your eyes narrowing slightly. 

“He’s been missing you. We’ll also need to have a conversation about that.”

Azriel’s face softened, guilt flashing in his eyes.

“Rest,” you said firmly. “You need it.”

He hesitated for a moment before standing up. His face, though no longer bruised visibly, still held the exhaustion and pain of the day. 

“Let me see him first,” he requested quietly.

“You’re still hurt,” you said, pointing at him. “He’ll notice.”

His jaw clenched. 

“Let me see him. Do I always have to beg you?” His voice was a mixture of frustration and hurt.

You didn’t flinch, your eyes locking onto his with a coldness that was never this vicious.

 “Careful,” you said, your voice icy. It was a warning, a sharp reminder of the boundaries you’d set.

Azriel gulped, his posture stiffening before he slowly sank back into the chair, visibly deflated.

“You’ll see him when the healer allows it,” you added, your words leaving no room for argument.

With one final glance, you turned on your heel and walked out, the door closing behind you with a soft click, leaving Azriel to wrestle with his frustration and the worst day he might have had in a long century.

⋆ ♡ ⋆

Walking past the open window, you reached out and grabbed the white cat by the scruff of its neck. It let out a terrible, loud meow, its green eyes glaring at you with all the rage it could muster.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been up to, you little shit,” you muttered, holding it up to eye level.

The cat hissed, its tail lashing in irritation, but you didn’t let go. You simply kept walking, its tiny body dangling from your grip as it continued to yowl at you.

Taglist for Found you is closed!

Please leave some comments 💜

Also Anon I’ve thought about Eris and Nesta and this is for you✨ I hope you like it 😘

Still working on their story

[addieslibrary]

Ludos Imperiales 7

Summary: A long awaited discussion is interrupted by a dark visitor.

Content Warnings: Attempted Assassination, Character Death (Unnamed), Mentions of Body Mutilation/Horror.

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

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

“You know?” I blurt, head spinning. How long have they known?! I’ve spent all this time agonizing on whether or not that’s a benefit or a hindrance and all the while they’ve said nothing?

Rhysand reaches out to brush a tendril of damp hair off my cheek, while Azriel still keeps his grip on my chin. Both of their touch at the same time makes my knees wobble.

“Of course we do,” Azriel chuckles, tilting his head down an inch so I can look him directly in the eyes. “It is my job to know things.”

The shadow still sitting on my ear makes a sound like a cat purring as it rubs itself against my temple.

“You don’t…” the affection is making my head spin. This all feels like a dream. “Hate me for… this?” I gingerly run a finger along his forearm, careful not to touch the still blistered skin where I’d branded him. 

“Or this?” I motion to the collar around his throat. Stealing the key from the guard when he’d given it to me to unchain Cassian earlier had been futile. They’d made sure to search all four of us before leaving the Palace. 

“No-” Azriel starts as Rhysand catches my hand before it falls and brings it gingerly to his lips.

My heartbeat is once again very loud in my ears, a blush working its way across my cheeks. I’m suddenly very grateful that the candlelight doesn’t reach far beyond the bathing chambers. 

“The brand was me, Darling, don’t keep blaming yourself for that.”

As much as I want this with the two of them, there is a notable absence in the room. “Cassian doesn’t seem to share the sentiment.”

“He’ll come around,” Azriel assures. “He’s just processing.”

“You think he can process that Hybern is my father?” I return. “Most people can’t.”

Azriel lets go of my chin, scarred fingers sliding across my jaw to cup my cheek. I find myself leaning into his touch like a moth to flame, unable to stop myself from indulging in the warmth the floods through my body. For the first time in days the bond doesn’t feel raw or frayed or broken. It’s warm, glowing like the candles in the bathroom. 

“You don’t choose the family you’re born into,” Rhysand starts. 

“We’re pretty familiar with shitty fathers,” Azriel finishes.

This doesn’t feel real. I swear I’m dreaming!

“And, if we’re going to stop yours, we need to set some ground rules,” Rhysand says, bringing the conversation back to the moment at hand. “You don’t put yourself in harm’s way for us.”

“We will have to find middle ground, Rhysand-”

“Rhys, we’re not having a dinner party, you don’t have to be formal about it.”

“We will have to find middle ground, Rhys, because I’m not ok with putting you in harm's way either. I already have to sit here and watch you fight in the Arena; there is only so much I can take.”

The way Azriel’s eyes suddenly glaze over tells me they’re having a mental sidebar about what to do, since we seem to be at an impasse here.

I’d take the moment to appreciate our new understanding of each other if the creak of one of the floor tiles in the hall didn’t catch my attention instead. Strange, there shouldn’t be any guards patrolling inside… 

I incline my head, listening for it again. There are three loose tiles in the hall; I know this because I memorized their placement in order to sneak out into the gardens on the nights both my parents were in the house. One at the end, one under the windows, and one right outside the door. If someone were just checking the hall, I would only hear one. Any more than that, then someone who should not be awake at this hour is coming towards the door.

The second creak sounds just as my mates finish their silent discussion, Rhys’s mouth parting to announce a decision and I fling myself forward and clamp my hand over his mouth. “Someone is coming!”

The words are barely out when the third and final tile makes a noise, right outside my door.

Azriel’s shadow over my ear slithers down to rest on my shoulder with a hiss, writhing in agitation like a snake as it appraises the darkness. Azriel himself is a flurry of shadows as he launches into the corner, where he can grab anything that tries to step into the room.

Someone tests the doorknob to see if it's locked, and Rhys loops an arm around my waist and pulls me behind him with one hand, while the other reaches out and emits a small blast of glittering starlight that blows out all the candles in the bathroom.

He can do that around the gorsian stone?! I know that he’s powerful, but just how much? These chains have stolen the powers of some powerful beings over the years, reduced them to basically human, but he’s still functioning?

The door opens slowly, inch by inch, as if someone is testing to see if it makes any noise. Definitely not Anise then, she would know that it doesn’t. 

Rhys backs up until my back is flush against the wall and there’s several feet between himself and the door. 

“Smells like death.” I flinch, because that’s not Rhys in my head, but the shadow still perched on my shoulder, whispering in my ear. It can speak?!

One of the staff had closed the hall curtains, leaving nothing but a vague shape in the darkness as something slips silently into my room and shuts the door behind it. In the stillness, there is no mistaking the sound of a blade sliding out of its sheath, but whatever the creature is, it obviously can’t see in the dark. It has no idea Azriel is behind it until one of his shadows lashes out and knocks the blade from its grip.

The creature makes a strange gurgling noise as Azriel pounces, and though I can’t fully see around Rhys, I hear Azriel’s fist make contact with flesh, followed by several heavy thuds.

“It is subdued,” the shadow whispers. 

Rhys can either see in the dark, or is telepathically still communicating with Azriel, because he waves his hand and the candles in the bathing chamber light themselves again. There’s just enough light for us to see Azriel kneeling on a male’s chest in the center of my bedchamber. The figure is clothed from head to toe in black, a hood slipping off his temples to reveal a bald head covered in swirling tattoos that converge into a half moon right between his eyebrows. The tattoo is enough to tell me what and who this male is, but so would the stitching across his face that keeps his mouth sewn shut.

I shudder as I step around Rhys, or try to, he keeps an arm out to stop me from approaching, as if he thinks the male might just explode.

“He’s a Raven,” I say softly.

The male’s eyes are so dark they’re almost black, just like Amarantha’s, and they narrow in my direction. He’s either Fae or Elf, but the pointed tips of his ears have been shaved off, the rounded tips held in place with the same gruesome stitches that seal his mouth. Once indicted as a Raven, race and gender are removed from the equation, everyone in the brotherhood is mutilated to fit the same, rigid and ambiguous uniform their Order demands. 

“Fill us in, Princess,” Rhys prompts.

“They’re an order of assassins. Usually kids they pick off the street. They undergo rigorous training and body mutilation until the Order shapes them into ambiguous monsters that only know how to kill. The Order was started by my great grandfather, the thought was that they should be able to blend in anywhere, that they would have no defining features, until…” I know the history of them like everyone in the Capitol because it’s part of the school curriculum, but as I recite the information something clicks into place.

Rhys turns just enough to look at me. 

“Until my Father became Emperor and the modifications became… gruesome so that they could be identified. He wanted people to know that it was him who set them against their targets.” 

“Hybern tried to kill you.” Rhys says flatly. It’s not a question. 

Azriel’s teeth flash in a snarl as his knee moves from the assassin’s chest to his throat, but no sound gets past his stitched lips. Only a slight jerk of his bald head indicates that he’s choking against the pressure.

My Father tried to have me killed. Not executed like my Mother, he doesn’t have evidence of that, but murdered. 

I liked it better when my knees shook because my mates’ had their hands on me, not because of the icy terror that fills my veins. My Father tried to have me killed. 

I must look shaken because Rhys slides his arm around my waist and leads me to the edge of the bed to sit.

“We’re not going to get anything out of him,” Azriel snarls. “So unless you have any last minute requests, I’m killing him and dumping the body in the river.”

“Do not anger the nymphs, they’ll eat you whole,” I say distantly. Today has been the longest day of my life. 

Azriel’s shadow brushes gently over my cheek as if to comfort me, but it has stopped speaking for the moment. I’m so tired, I wonder if maybe I imagined it.

“If we kill him, Hybern knows that we’re on to him,” Rhys returns. 

This is enough, at least for the moment, for Azriel to remove his knee from the male’s throat, but he doesn’t move off his chest. His shadows bring him the dagger they knocked from the Raven’s hand, the blade jagged and curved in a crescent shape, reaching nearly eight inches. He would have had a hard time driving that directly into my chest, but it would have carved me up like a turkey with little resistance. A shiver runs up my spine; if my mates hadn’t come looking for me… if I had still been in the tub…

“What do you purpose we do with him?” Azriel snarls. “He can’t walk out of here.”

The Raven makes a noise that sounds like a chuckle, as if amused by the situation. 

We’re once again caught between a rock and a hard place. If Azriel kills him, then Father will know they were here in the room with me. If they let him go, Father knows they were here with me. We can’t make his death look like an accident either; that will look suspicious, Father will send others to see what kind of security measures I’ve suddenly added to the house. 

I take my lower lip between my teeth. What are we supposed to do?

Rhys starts to pace along the length of the bed, trying to plan, agitation evident down the bond. “We’ve clearly hit a sore spot if he’s already trying to kill you.”

Me. Not them. I hit a sore spot. I bet against him and won. I defied him. This isn’t about them at all, this is purely because I threatened his ego.

I glance up at Azriel. If this is about me, then I have to be the one to get us out. “I have to kill him.”

Azriel’s shadow hums approvingly as it nuzzles against my throat, even as its master’s eyes narrow. 

“He’s here for me. The only way we get out of this is if I’m the one who beats him.” Father will not see it coming, he has underestimated me my whole life. He thinks I’m an easy target who got lucky. 

“This is a game to my Father. One he thinks he can easily win-”

“You have to play the game,” Rhys finishes with a frown. “He’s testing you, trying to gauge where your threat level is.”

“I don’t like it,” Azriel huffs, even as he hauls the male to his feet. The Raven flails, using his elbows and fists to try to free himself, but Azriel holds tight. “It puts you directly in the line of fire.”

Rhys turns to look at me, violet eyes heavy. His shoulders sag, like he’s resigning himself to what he’s about to say. 

“No more chances to get on that boat from here,” I quip.

He reaches out to cup my cheek. “I wish things were different. I wish… that it wasn’t impossible choice after impossible choice…”

“But it’s my choice.” That’s why they were in the room in the first place, wasn’t it? “I choose you, all of you, and this. I will do what is necessary. I can live with this choice.”

He leans in, the heat of him enveloping me and I want more than anything to curl into his chest and stay wrapped up in his arms forever. I wish we hadn’t had to meet like this. I wish there wasn’t so much bloodshed and pain leading up to this. But I cannot change it. All I can do is hope that there is a light at the end of the tunnel and moving in this direction will get us all out of here alive. I can play this game for them.

He places a gentle kiss on my forehead. “Then I will find a way to live with it.”

I smirk, just a little as I turn to face the Raven. For the first time in months, I actively reach for my power, letting it pulse steadily through my veins until it can unfurl like a whip from my palm. Azriel’s shadow slithers down my arm to inspect it.

“You’ll have to leave before I do,” I say.

“Not a chance!” Azriel growls.

I draw a breath, making sure my grip is secure, just as I’ve trained to do. The exhaustion of the day and the months of solitude make my grip a little shaky, but I can manage. 

“I will have to call for the guards,” I return as I flick the ether of power out and wrap it around the Raven’s waist. 

His beady eyes narrow on the tendril of power before jumping to me with a look of pure venom. We were lucky Father hadn’t sent one of the more powerful wielders, this one can’t be more than an acolyte. The thought stings a little; he thinks so little of my powers he sent a student after me.

I suppose I should be grateful, this will probably be the easiest thing he’ll throw at us from this moment forward. 

“You can’t be here when they come, and there’s only one way out of this room.”

I get a firm grip on my power, making sure the tether around the Raven’s waist is secure before tugging on it, yanking the male from Azriel’s grip. I’m ashamed to admit that it’s a tremendous effort to fling him against the wall and hold him there. My head pounds under the strain. Goddess am I out of practice! First thing tomorrow, after the Senate meeting, Mother willing we all survive it, I’m getting back into the training field.

The Raven thrashes under my grip like he knows I’m the weak link here.

Azriel’s shadows drift around him like snakes writhing in agitation as he studies my grip. 

“My Father has alchemists and mages at his disposal, they will be able to ascertain the time from when I killed him and when the guards took the body away. If there are any gaps, if it looks at all like I waited to call the guards, they will find it.” 

He looks torn, bandaged wings sagging behind him. I know they don’t like the idea, there are things that could go wrong, but none of this will work if we don’t start trusting each other to handle our respective duties. Truth be told, I’d rather they be here. I’d rather they know what I’m capable of, but I won’t risk them just for a chance to show off.

“Go, I’ll be alright. We can talk about everything later.”

Rhys nods solemnly. 

Azriel’s jaw ticks as he clenches his teeth. 

“Believe it or not, I have survived my Father without any interference from you before,” I point out. “I’m not some damsel in distress.”

“Didn’t say you were,” he growls out.

“Then have some faith in me.”

Holding the Raven up this long is really starting to hurt, my muscles cramping from keeping my hand outstretched so long. They need to leave and they need to leave now!

Azriel finally steps close enough to press the Raven’s dagger into my palm, scarred hands wrapping around mine to make sure my grip on it is secure. The move is more intimate than it should be, my heart rate picking up.

“A shadow will stay with you.” The ether rubs against my wrist as it continues to study my grip on my power. 

“I’ll be fine,” I promise. 

They’re gone quickly, maybe because they know if they linger they will talk themselves out of leaving. 

I turn to face the Raven. It’s dagger is cold and heavy in my off hand, but it helps to remind me what my fate could have been tonight. I step closer, hand still splayed out in front of me so my power slams him back hard enough for the plaster to crack. Good, it looks like I’d been in bed and tossed him this direction. 

I glance down at the shadowy pet that Azriel left behind. “I don’t suppose you could go ruffle my sheets so it looks like I was sleeping?”

The shadow, much to my delight, moves in a way that looks like a nod before it flies over to my bed and starts yanking the pillows off the top covers. It even goes into the bathroom to start knocking out the candles so there’s no evidence that I wasn’t sleeping during this attack. I’m starting to get attached to the little guy. 

I turn my attention back to the Raven, who’s beady eyes narrow in challenge. I can do this. If I don’t, who knows what will happen to my mates.

I break my power into sections, one holding the male in place, a second sharpening it into a giant spike. My hand starts to shake under the strain and I grit my teeth. I can hold it. I can do this. I am not the weak little girl my Father thinks I am. I will not let him win.

The last candle winks out in the bathroom as I pull the spike back and ram it forward so hard the house shutters. And then I start screaming for the guards.

----

Hours later, there’s nothing left of the Raven but my cracked wall and a splatter of blood a couple of the staff are still trying to clean. I’m so exhausted I would have left it for the morning, but Anise had heard the commotion and taken charge of the situation before I could even get a word in. 

She still hovers. At some point she’d thrown a blanket over my shoulders like she expected me to start shaking over the ordeal. Honestly, after everything these last couple of days, this feels like it’s pretty low on the list of traumatic experiences. 

Maybe I will feel the weight of it in the morning. Right now, I just feel exhausted. 

“You should stay in another room tonight.” I’m pretty sure she hasn’t stopped speaking since she came running in to check on me, but I honestly didn’t hear half of it. “Guards should be posted.”

“No.”

She stops pacing long enough to look at me like she thinks I’ve grown a second head. “Don’t you no me! You were attacked-”

“By a Raven,” I retort.

She knows the history of them as well as I do, and there have only been a handful of other times in my life that I’ve seen her be shocked into silence as she is now.

“There will be no more attacks tonight.” There are few things I know for certain about my Father, but I know for a fact he never strikes the same way twice. Tonight was a test. The next will be worse.

Anise reaches out for my hands. “Is this because of those males-”

“Not tonight, Anise.” I don’t have the energy to fight her tonight. I just want to get some sleep. “Ladies, please return to your rooms. The rest of the cleanup can be dealt with in the morning.”

The staff sends me sympathetic looks as they pack up their things, but Anise doesn’t budge.

“You are scaring me, child,” she whispers.

Her disapproval is sharp as a knife, but I can’t cave now. “I am fine, Anise.”

“That’s what your mother used to say!” She hisses.

I flinch despite myself. Azriel’s shadow is back to its perch at my ear and it hisses softly beneath my hair. 

“This will blow over,” I insist, even though I know it's a lie. Tomorrow I will have to consider putting her on that boat I was looking at and getting her out of here before Father realizes she can be used against me. But it is a problem for tomorrow. There is nothing else left in me tonight.

“If you so insist on playing games with your life, fine! But don’t say I didn’t warn you that this is a mistake!” She shouts as she storms out.

It couldn’t have been easy for her, caring for me after we lost my Mother. I actively refused her help then too. But this is different. I am different. Eventually I will find a way to show her.

My bed looks as inviting as a prison cell. I’d sooner sleep on the floor than try to sleep here tonight, despite my exhaustion. My body moves on its own accord, following an instinct that feels like it grows more and more every day. Before I realize what I’m doing, I find myself standing in the kitchen cellar, hand on the lock of the secret door.

Azriel’s shadow hisses approvingly. 

I have thought about enough today; jumped through enough hoops. My brain feels heavy in my skull. I will weigh the consequences of this tomorrow, as with everything else. I turn the lock and slip through the tunnel without bringing a light. 

I wouldn’t have needed one anyway. Azriel left the door on his end open, soft light spilling down the tunnel. He sits on top of the altar, sharpening what looked like a knife he’d swiped from the kitchen. 

Rhys paces behind him until I’m close enough for them to hear me coming, by the time I reach the doorway, they’re on me. A new shadow roves over my skin, searching for injuries. One of their hands brushes my hair out of my face, checking for injuries. The other asks if I’m ok and all I can do is yawn. 

Sleep pulls at the edges of my vision. My body suddenly very heavy. “Can I sleep here tonight? I don’t want to be alone.” The words come out without conscious thought. They could leave me on the floor and I’d take it, as long as I don’t have to keep fighting to keep my eyes open. 

Everything shifts and spins as Rhys easily, and quickly, sweeps me up into his arms, holding me tight against his chest. He’s warm and the jasmine and citrus scent of him is soothing. My head falls onto his shoulder like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Azriel shuts the trap door behind us as he follows us into the adjoining room. There are enough rooms in the Guest Wing for them to sleep separately, but someone managed to shove three beds into one. Not sure if that was the guard’s or them. 

I have enough presence of mind to note that Cassian is awake in his bed, bandaged thigh propped up on some pillows before Rhys sets me down in the center of what I can only assume is his bed, because the sheets smell faintly of him. 

“Rest-” he moves like he might leave me and it’s the first real rush of panic I feel all night as I grab for his hand before he can pull away.

“Please stay.” The bed isn’t big by any means but it feels like I’m swimming in nothing but open water, with nothing to shield me from whatever dangers might come if I fall asleep now. It’s all coming in in a rush and if I have to lay here and think about it, it’ll consume me.

His features soften as he gives my hand a squeeze and slides in under the covers next to me. I don’t have to try and find Azriel, because he squeezes in behind me. He can’t be comfortable, this bed is barely big enough for two, and his wings are still healing. Yet he gives no complaint, just tentatively slides his arm around my waist.

“Is this ok?” His breath is warm against my neck, the caress not unlike the ones his shadows have been giving me. 

Exhaustion threatens to pull me under as the panic begins to ebb. This is much better. 

“You’re safe,” Rhys whispers.

I intertwine my fingers with the ones Azriel has resting over my stomach. There are so many things I want to say, so many things we still need to talk about. I have questions and concerns and tomorrow is a promise of threats we need to be prepared to deal with. But it can wait until morning.

“Thank you,” I murmur to both of them, voice thick as sleep begins to overtake me.

Azriel places a very gentle kiss on the back of my head. 

It takes moments for me to start drifting, even if I wasn’t exhausted, their combined presence is enough to make the bond and my body relax more than I ever have. Just as I start to go under, in a very hesitant voice, I hear Cassian ask, “Is she ok?”

The bond between us, broken as it is, swells just a little. Just enough to make me hope the others were right and he might eventually come around, but that too, will be something to deal with tomorrow.

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

Author's Note: Sorry for the slight delay, I've been a little under the weather! Hoping to be back on schedule now. :) As always, let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

Tag List: @sirenpearldust, @saltedcoffeescotch, @littlemissfix-itfic, @waka-babe, @raisam,

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@byteme05 , @art1012 , @the-tummo , @kiwi-mothball, @onthewaytotimbuktu

[addieslibrary]

Are We Still Friends? — Part Five

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: A chance encounter offers a break from your tangled thoughts about Azriel. Meanwhile, Az reaches a pivotal realization.

Warnings: training, sparring and weapon use, severe overthinking, longing, brief use of recreational drugs (lovely 'mirthroot')

Word Count: 7.1k

Part Four | Series Masterlist |

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Even in the early hours, the heat was suffocating. 

You’d been half-tempted to cancel on Mor, to crawl back under the covers and enjoy the blissful cool of your room. But you knew better. Mor would’ve winnowed straight into your bedroom, dragged you out of bed, and reminded you that you’d made a promise. 

So now, here you were, on the training grounds, sweat already collecting at your brow, watching Azriel and Cassian spar on the far side.

Both of the males were dressed in their usual head-to-toe leathers, though Cassian seemed just as bothered by the weather as you. You’d noticed he’d trained shirtless more often lately, something you attributed to the presence of his mate, but today he was fully covered. It probably had something to do with the steady, focused gaze Az held. Something to be cautious of. Wary. 

Unlike his brother, Azriel’s expression was detached, as if the sun didn’t touch him at all— like he was completely unbothered by the sweltering heat. His wings shifted slightly against the back of his leathers, but that was the extent of his discomfort, if any. 

You’d never visited Illyria in the summer months, never experienced the full brutality of its heat. Perhaps it was there, under that oppressive sun, that Azriel had learned to manage heat in such attire. But, then again, Az was entirely too skilled at masking what he actually felt.

Something about him, now before you, made you want to continue staring—his wings, the way his body moved with the smoothness of a predator, the effortless strength in the curve of his form. Lately, everything about Azriel had been doing that— distracting you. Overwhelming you. Calling to you like a siren song. His voice, his smile, the way he moved.

A laugh from Mor pulled you from your thoughts.

"It’s a shame the healing balm worked so well," Her voice teased from behind you. You turned at the sound, watching as she tossed a sword from one hand to the other with an ease that was almost poetic. "Seeing you turned me into a softie, you know.  All those bruises and that pouty face— I had to go easy because I felt bad for you.”

You snorted, catching the blade she tossed your way. "Oh, so that’s the only reason I beat you last week? Because you were going easy on me?"

Her grin widened. “Yeah. But Runa got too many hits on you. You’re rusty. So maybe I’m not doing you any favors by going easy." She raised an eyebrow. "Maybe Cassian’s been going too easy on you, too."

“Or maybe,” you shot back, stepping into the ring, “I was just going easy on a citizen.”

Mor’s laugh was loud and unapologetic as she followed you. "You’re saying that like you didn’t know exactly who she was when you threw the first punch."

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head as you squared up to her. “Okay, can we maybe stop reminiscing over my recent regrettable actions? Please?”

“Never.” She slid into a stance with ease. “But if you beat me, I’ll stop laughing about it for a week.”

“Only a week?”

“That’s all you’ll get, babe.”

You rolled your eyes, lips still curved in a grin. “Fine. Deal.”

And then, without hesitation, Mor lunged. Your blades collided with a sharp ring, the sound vibrating up your arms. You let the adrenaline of the fight pull you out of your thoughts, focusing on the female in front of you.

It was easy to forget, sometimes, that before anything else, Morrigan was a warrior. Graceful, clever, and impossibly skilled. The kind of fighter who didn’t rely on brute strength but on speed, precision, and an uncanny ability to read her opponent. Skills she’d learnt to outmaneuver and beat males that may have been twice her size, twice her age. And if you looked hard enough, past her glittering makeup and the plethora of gold jewelry she adorned, you’d notice the scars scattered across her body, small slices from knives and swords that didn’t have enough time to heal during the first war. 

Mor didn’t hold back, her strikes coming faster, sharper, until your muscles burned from the effort of keeping up.

From across the ring, Cassian’s booming laugh carried over, followed by what sounded like a gruff remark from Azriel. You glanced over almost instinctively, your eyes following the movement of Az’s shadows. They twisted around him, stretching into the shaded spaces between Cassian’s body and the ground, curling around the general’s feet in an attempt to constrict his movements.

Mor’s grin widened as she caught your sword mid-swing. “You’re distracted,” she said.

You twisted to break free, stubbornly meeting her gaze. “Am not.”

You tried to return to the rhythm of the fight, but Mor was right. You were distracted. Every glance in Azriel’s direction made your heart race, your mind spiral. Even from across the yard, you could feel the heat of his presence. It threw you off balance. And before you knew it, Mor disarmed you, sending you crashing to the ground with a grunt.

“Like I said,” she hummed, smirking as she extended a hand to help you up. “Distracted.”

“Maybe a bit.” You winced, rolling your shoulders as you stood straight. “I have too much on my mind. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

Mor tilted her head. “Wanna talk about it?”

You shook your head, wiping at the sweat on your brow. “That’s the last thing I want to do, actually.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, assessing you before she nodded. “Well, we just got some new weapons last week—I’ve been dying to test them out.”

You raised a brow. “What kind of weapons?”

Mor shrugged. “Not sure. Rhys says they’re lighter. I think you’ll like them.” She grabbed your discarded sword, tossing both it and hers onto the rack with ease. “You’re too cautious for a regular sword anyway. You don’t like getting hit.”

“No one likes getting hit.”

“True,” she said, laughing slightly as she bumped your shoulder. “But you’re smart about it. Always letting them exhaust themselves first.”

“Go get them,” you nodded to her. “I want to try them out.”

Mor grinned. “Good. Then I can start kicking your ass with them, too.”

She turned to leave, and you watched her go, ready to grab some water. But then, just as you were about to turn, you felt it—a presence behind you. You knew it in your bones, from the soft breeze you swore his shadows danced in, that it was Azriel. Still, when you turned and saw him standing there, you felt unprepared, like something in your chest tightened, hot and sharp, like heartburn. You shoved it down, burying it deeper, just like you had been doing all week.

He raised an eyebrow at you.  “You’re really gonna let her beat you like that?”

You ran a hand over your face, trying to settle your racing pulse. “What can I say, it’s been an off couple of weeks.”

It was hard not to notice how close he stood, the way his presence seemed to fill the space, pushing the air around you in a way that made it harder to breathe.

“Yeah,” Azriel glanced at you, and his expression softened just a fraction. “Are you okay? I mean, now?”

You nodded too fast. “Yeah. Just hot. Overwhelmed.”

He studied you, his brow slightly furrowed, but there was something else behind it. Something he wasn’t saying.

“You can’t possibly be comfortable,” you said, gesturing at his leathers. “Aren’t you boiling alive?”

Azriel tilted his head as if considering your question, then replied evenly, “I’m alright.”

“You’re lying,” you replied, narrowing your eyes at him. “You have to be.”

That earned you a faint smile, a quick twitch of his lips that you might have missed if you weren’t already watching him too closely.

“You’re welcome to try them on,” he said smoothly. “See how they feel.”

You blinked, a small flutter echoing in your chest at the teasing edge in his voice. You frowned and said to him, “I’m wearing the exact same thing as you.”

“Mine are different.” His smile tugged again. “They’re cooling leathers.”

“Really? That's a thing?”

The look he gave you— a mix of amusement and something else— told you everything you needed to know. You scowled at him, but there was no real heat behind it. “You’re messing with me.”

When your eyes met his again, they were practically glowing in amusement. He shrugged, and his shadows seemed to dance with the motion— still clinging close to him, hiding from the sun, but seemingly content despite it. He gave you a quick, warm smile— as if he were afraid for the rest of the public to see.

“I am,” he replied, leaning closer. “My leathers are, sadly, just as basic as yours.”

The sunlight caught in his hair when he stood like this, painting it with faint golden streaks. Along with your growing frustration at the heat, your stomach twisted uncomfortably at the sight of him. You fanned your face with one hand, trying to ignore the ache building in your chest. You blamed the sun for making it tight. 

You suddenly became aware of your presentation—of the disheveled way you must have looked. Your hair had fallen loose during the sparring with Mor, strands clinging to the sweat at your neck, a messy halo around your face. You reached back, gathering it in both hands, attempting to tighten the hold of your hair tie. As you twisted it around, the elastic snapped, the sharp sting of it flicking against your skin.

“Shit.”

A quiet sigh left you as the broken tie dangled uselessly from your fingers. Of course. As if you didn’t already feel like disaster enough. You pushed your hair back again, fingers combing through the tangled strands, debating whether to leave it down or try to secure it with something else.

You realized, quickly, that perhaps this small inconvenience was a blessing in disguise— a reason to walk away from the conversation, to regain control of your scattered thoughts. You opened your mouth to excuse yourself, to say you needed to go put your hair up, but before you could, Azriel spoke.

“Wait.”

You paused, turning back toward him as he reached into one of the hidden pockets of his leathers. When he pulled out a hair tie, your eyebrows shot up.

“What—”

Azriel’s expression was uncharacteristically sheepish as he handed it over. “You always wear the same one. I noticed the band was wearing out. It was only a matter of time before it broke.”

“You… noticed that?”

His shadows shifted around him, curling between you two, and he subtly gestured toward them with his chin. “They did.”

Your fingers closed around the band as you stared at him. “So you’ve been carrying this around just in case?”

He nodded and you blinked at him, unsure if you should laugh or melt into the floor. “That… is very considerate of you.”

Az glanced at you, quiet for a moment, before he replied. “Well, I wouldn’t want you to snap and pick a fight with someone because you're overstimulated with your hair clinging to your skin. I’m just trying to protect the public.”

You rolled your eyes at that, though the thought of your family endlessly reminding you of your actions over the past few weeks made the corners of your mouth twitch. The infamous calm you’d prided yourself on—gone. You’d be hearing about your fight with a citizen for at least the next century.

“Shut up,” you said, but your heart still stuttered painfully. “But, also, thank you,” you added, focusing on twisting your hair into a knot to avoid meeting his eyes.

“Better?”

Your throat felt tight as you looked up once more, meeting his molten gaze. “Yeah,” you said. “Better.”

Azriel nodded, stepping back to give you space again. But you caught the faint curve of his lips, the small, quiet smile that made your chest ache.

You felt some relief as the wind ruffled your now-updo, but your thoughts circled.

Azriel had proven to be a male of his word. He’d spent the past two weeks showing you, in every way he could, that he was sorry. It wasn’t loud or showy—Azriel never was—but his apology seeped into the small, thoughtful things he did. Helping with reports, lighting your room’s fireplace when it got too cold. Nothing demanding, but everything that proved he was trying.

It almost felt normal again, like you and Azriel had fallen back into your usual rhythm. Your routine. 

Almost.

“Good luck,” Azriel said, nodding toward where Mor was returning with the new weapons. He leaned in slowly, his shadows drifting between your shoulders, curling in the pocket of shadow created by your closeness. “And, if you want… we can go flying afterward. To celebrate you beating Mor.”

The idea of being so close to him, of having him hold you to his chest, feeling his heartbeat against yours as he carried you, made your stomach churn, made you feel nauseous. Nervous. But you nodded anyway, smiled like it was just another plan, like old times. It felt tight. Diplomatic. 

“Okay,” you managed to say.

Azriel smiled, and you heard Mor’s voice asking what you were conspiratorially talking about. You didn’t answer, didn’t bother to pay attention if Azriel answered, either. The new, sleek steel weapons she’d returned with felt different in your hands. Lighter, faster. Mor had been right—these suited you better. But it didn’t matter. You were too lost in your head, too tangled in your thoughts.

Even if Mor had kept her eyes closed, she still would’ve won the next fight. You weren’t focused enough to stand a chance. There was a brief, confused look in her eyes when she realized how easily she’d taken you down once again.  But she didn’t press, not even as you yielded for the day and ran home, slipping into a cool bath with the hope that it would clear your mind of everything that tainted it.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You stacked the last of the reports on the living room table, smoothing your palm over the top page before grabbing a scrap of parchment.

Rhys—went through the latest proposals and highlighted the ones most viable. Let me know if you need anything else.

You stuck the note on the pile and stepped back, scanning the work you’d spent the past few weeks compiling.

Rhysand would be by later to go over them with Azriel—discussions about Hewn City’s reformation efforts, the best way to bridge the centuries-old divide between the Court of Nightmares and the Court of Dreams. You’d done your best to outline a path forward, to present the grievances of its citizens in a way Rhysand could use to negotiate.

Your fingers drummed idly against the edge of the table before you caught sight of your wrist. The small hair tie sat there, snug against your skin. And although it was nothing, just a simple band, it felt as if it were burning. You weren’t sure why you were still wearing it—why it wasn’t in a pocket or left in your room, ready to be summoned when needed. You ran your fingers over it, jaw clenching as frustration rose in you, sudden and sharp.

At what, exactly? You didn’t know.

You did know, however, that it was likely related to Azriel.

You’d been avoiding him since the other day at training. Since he’d given you the small elastic now circling your wrist.

It wasn’t intentional, not really, but you’d been thinking too much. Feeling too much. Uncomfortable in your own skin, hyperaware of yourself and Azriel in ways that made your stomach twist. Like pressing against a tender bruise.

The anger you’d been holding onto—the indignation that had burned hot and bright in the aftermath of your fight—faded much faster than you’d expected. You still wanted to be angry, to hold onto the grudge that felt like armor, but Azriel made it impossible. His kindness had chafed against you, rubbing away at the edges of your resentment till all that was left was an overly aware sense of him. Of his presence, his care. His devotion to something as simple as your forgiveness. 

You’d forgiven him within a week, had taken all of his baked goods with open arms, had expressed appreciation for the times his shadows brought you snacks during your late nights with Rhys and Feyre, going over negotiation plans for the reformation efforts. 

But Azriel was being too nice now. Too thoughtful. Too much. And it was starting to wear you down.

You were noticing him in ways that felt deeper, heavier, and far more dangerous. It was overwhelming, this shift in perspective—like seeing him in a new light that illuminated details you’d never thought to look at before. The slope of his shoulders, the way he always seemed to be aware of you, even when he wasn’t looking at you. You felt blinded, too rushed to adjust to this new, backlit version of Azriel.

It stressed you out— made you want to sit down and create a list, sort through the pros and cons like some sort of strategy meeting. Analyze the feelings bubbling in your chest until you could pin them down and find the most equitable, profitable, and logical path forward. The right direction to take.

Realistically, you should wait it out. Let the feelings settle and fade before they could complicate the beautiful, solid friendship you’d built over centuries. You weren’t even sure what you were feeling. You couldn’t risk something so vital over emotions you didn’t fully understand.

The front door clicked open.

You turned at the sound of footsteps, eyes falling on Azriel’s figure as he stepped inside. His hair was a little mussed, dark strands sticking to his forehead like he’d flown through the midday heat. A faint flush tinted his cheeks, and for a moment, you wondered if the sun was still blazing in the midsky—if the warmth on his face was from exertion or simply the sun pressing down on him.

He took two large strides before his hazel eyes landed on you. His expression shifted, then, brightened, as if he hadn’t expected to find you here. The soft tug at the corners of his mouth, almost a smile but not quite, was enough to send your pulse into a sharp, erratic rhythm.

“Hey,” he said, lightly. “You’re home.”

“That I am.” You smiled and met his eyes. “Hi.”

He hesitated for a moment, then stepped farther into the room, something small and wrapped in plain paper in his hand.

“I’m glad I caught you. I have something for you,” he said, holding it out to you.

You blinked, glancing between him and the package. “What is it?”

“Some tea,” he said, his gaze flickering to yours before darting away. “For sleep.”

“For sleep?” you repeated, taking the package carefully, his shadows greeting you with a gentle circle around your wrists.

Azriel nodded, his hand falling to his side. “I noticed the other day. When you were sparring with Mor. You were leaning more on your left. You do that when you’re tired.”

Your chest tightened, your fingers curling instinctively around the package. “It was that noticeable?”

“Yeah,” he said. “ To me at least. I thought this might help.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, the simple thoughtfulness of it wrapping around you like a weight you weren’t ready to carry. You opened the package carefully, revealing a small tin filled with pouches of tea. You swallowed, staring down at the item in your hands.

“Thank you. This is…” You trailed off, your voice failing you. “This is really sweet, Az.”

“Let me know if it helps,” he said, shifting his weight slightly, his wings twitching behind him. “If you like it, I’ll get more.” He gave a small, almost tentative, smile. “Or maybe I’ll try it myself.”

You nodded, clutching the package tighter. “Okay. Yeah. I will.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between you. You turned, intending to step away, to put some distance between you and the sudden awkwardness settling in your chest. But as you moved past him, Azriel stepped closer, just enough that the space between you disappeared. For a moment, you were not quite touching, just close enough that you could feel the heat of him, the faint scent of night-chilled air and cedar.

And then his hand caught yours. When you glanced back at him, his expression had softened, a sense of concern flickering in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low, intimate. Like he was sharing a secret despite you both being the only ones in the room. 

Your breath caught. You could see the faint crease in his brow, the way his gaze searched your face like he was trying to find his answer there, in your features. “Yeah,” you said quietly, even though your heart was pounding.

“Are you sure?” he pressed. His thumb brushed over your skin absentmindedly, as it usually did when he soothed you on bad days. Your breath hitched at how intimate it felt now, how aware it made you of his touch. “Are we okay?”

You blinked, frowning at his words. “Yeah, of course. Why would you ask that?”

He hesitated. “I don’t know. I just…I feel like I’ve barely seen you lately.”

“I’ve been busy,” you replied quickly, but the excuse felt hollow even as you said it. 

“Yeah,” he murmured, but something in his tone made you think he didn’t believe you. After a moment, he added, “Are you still mad at me?”

“No,” you said after a pause, and it was the truth. You weren’t angry at Azriel, not anymore. It had completely faded, morphed into something else entirely.

You felt guilty about how you'd been acting, how you'd resorted to avoiding him in an effort to make yourself feel better. Because, despite you telling him otherwise, you knew Azriel was interpreting your distance as proof that you were still mad. 

Azriel nodded, but his expression didn’t quite relax. His hand tightened slightly around yours. “But you’d tell me, right? If something was wrong?”

“Of course.”

His gaze softened further, his eyes almost pleading. “Because I always want to know,” he said quietly. “If something’s wrong. I want to know.”

You couldn’t breathe. His hand was still on yours, his thumb brushing soft, slow circles over your skin like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. You were going to vomit. You were going to be sick. You had to leave. You had to get out of here before you did something reckless, before you said something you couldn’t take back.

“I know, Az. But, I should… I need to go,” you said, stepping back and gently pulling your hand from his. “I have a lot of errands to run.”

Azriel blinked, his brows drawing together in confusion. “Oh. Okay.”

You clutched the package tighter to your chest, avoiding his gaze as you backed toward the door. “Thanks again for this. Really.”

He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but then stopped, nodding instead. “Let me know if it helps.”

You nodded quickly, forcing a tight, polite smile before slipping out of the room.

When you made it upstairs, you grabbed a coat, barely paying attention to which one, and were out of the townhouse before you had the chance to run into Azriel again. You didn’t know where you were going—only that it needed to be away from him.

For a strange, fleeting moment, you found yourself wishing you were angry at him again. Wishing he was being stubborn and unfair instead of sweet and thoughtful. It had been easier then, even when it hurt, because at least you’d known how to deal with it.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Velaris buzzed with midday energy, alive with movement and the sounds of life. The streets teemed with couples strolling hand in hand, children darting between legs, their laughter woven into the hum of conversation. You wove through it all in a haze, your mind spinning like a top. For a brief moment, you scowled at the love surrounding you—wondering if it had always been this prevalent, this visible, this... everywhere.

You hadn’t come up with a plan since leaving the townhouse, still unsure of where you were going—or if you even wanted to go anywhere at all. All you knew was that you needed to keep moving. Moving meant you were occupied. And being occupied meant you could at least try to ignore the noise—both the loud thoughts and the feelings twisting inside you. But no matter how fast you walked, how hard you tried to lose yourself in the busy streets, the fluttering in your chest wouldn't let you forget.

You weren’t stupid. You knew what it meant, even as you fought with everything you had to deny it. But maybe... maybe it wasn’t real. Maybe Selene had gotten into your head and now you were overthinking everything—reading too much into Azriel’s kindness, his care. You’d seen it before, convincing yourself of something that wasn’t true, spiraling until you couldn’t trust your own judgment.

You didn’t see the person you bumped into until it was too late. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, shaking yourself from your thoughts, but when you looked up—

“Oh,” you said, startled. You blinked at the male before you. “Hello.”

The golden light caught his hair—a rich, burnished brown that framed sharp, handsome features. Made them seem almost celestial.

Adrin smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly, two small dimples forming at his cheeks. “Y/n. Hello.”

“Adrin,” you said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“No harm done,” he said easily. His tone was light, but there was a flicker of concern as he studied your face. “Are you…doing all right? I heard about what happened.”

“Yeah,” you said quickly, nodding. “It's a long story. But everything is okay.”

Adrin tilted his head, and although the smile was still there— that warm welcoming smile— his brows drew together slightly. “You seem…bothered. Long day?”

You huffed a small laugh, rubbing absentmindedly at your chest. “Something like that.”

He nodded, thoughtful. “I know the feeling. It’s been one of those days for me, too. I was about to try and make it better—clear my head a little.” He hesitated, then added, “You could join me, if you’d like.”

You blinked at him. “Oh, no, I don’t want to interrupt your plans—”

“You wouldn’t be.” He was quick to shake his head. “Really. I’d like the company.”

You hesitated. Thought through the idea. You liked Adrin. And while you wanted to run—hide away, retreat into the quiet of your own mind—you knew it would only make your thoughts spiral faster. But being around your family, or anyone who might see through you immediately, made you itch with unease.

Maybe this was exactly what you needed. The chance to be with someone who wouldn’t pry, someone who seemed genuine in his invitation.

“Sure, yeah. What are you thinking?”

Adrin’s lips twitched into a small grin. “I might have just the thing we both need.”

An hour later, you found yourself at his apartment, stretched out on his balcony overlooking the city. The air was cooler here, quieter, the noise of the streets below softened into a distant hum. The smell of mirthroot curled in the space between you, something so distinctly warm and earthy.

You breathed it in, already feeling lighter, like you were melting into your chair—but in a good way, not like earlier, when the heat had pressed against you relentlessly.

You took a slow pull from the rolled mirthroot stick Adrin had handed you. For the first time that day, your shoulders eased.

“Feeling any better?” he asked.

You exhaled slowly, watching the plume of smoke dissipate into the air. A soft laugh escaped you.  

“Oh yeah. I kind of forgot how much I like mirthroot. This is dangerous.”

Adrin chuckled, and you glanced over at him, watching as his lips curved into a lopsided smile—only one dimple visible now. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

You tilted your head, studying him further. “I wouldn’t have expected you to be into this,” you said, gesturing to the rolled stick in your hand.

His brows furrowed. “Why's that?”

You shrugged, still smiling, your face warm—not from embarrassment, but from the pleasant haze settling over you. “I don’t know. You’re from the Dawn Court. You’re a healer. You just seem disciplined. Like, above this.”

Adrin let out a full, rich laugh, the sound making your grin widen. “Please. Let’s go through that again. I come from Dawn. I’m a male healer. A pacifist, even.”

You paused, letting his words replay in your mind before it finally clicked.

“So it makes total sense,” you said, correcting yourself.

Adrin nodded sagely, and another small round of laughter followed, easy and unhurried. You realized how much you liked that about him. That his presence wasn’t demanding. That he let things be light. Maybe that was why it was always easy to converse with him whenever you’d stopped by Madjas. 

You inhaled again, letting yourself sink further into the feeling, into the rare quiet of your thoughts. Even now, though, even floating, something tugged at you. Some part of you that refused to be fully untethered. The rational side of your mind begged for a break from the relentless circling of your thoughts, but you shoved the worst of them away, opting instead to focus on the ones that didn’t hurt.

“Hey,” you said suddenly. “Can I ask you a really weird question?”

“Sure.” Adrin straightened slightly, tossing you a quick glance as he brought his mirthroot to his lips.

You hesitated, but the mirth haze had worked through your nerves, made you bolder, more loose lipped. “Do you have a crush on me?”

He choked on his next inhale, coughing before looking at you, eyes wide. “Sorry?”

“Nevermind. That was weird. Sorry,” you said quickly, looking away, waving it off. “Forget I said anything.”

But he shook his head, smiling faintly as he leaned in slightly. “No, it’s okay. I’ve always appreciated how forward you are. Honest. It’s refreshing.”

You blinked at him. “Really?”

He nodded. Then he paused for a moment, contemplating.  “If you’re asking if I find you attractive, the answer is yes. I think you’re beautiful.”

Something in your chest tightened.

“But,” he continued, “I wouldn’t say I have a crush on you. That feels… shallow. I don’t know you enough to call it that. It would be liking the idea of you. I don’t like doing that.”

His honesty was just as refreshing as he claimed yours to be. It loosened something in your chest—some small guilt that had settled when Mor first suggested you go out with him. Guilt at the idea that someone you’d grown to enjoy might want something from you that you couldn’t give.

If only everyone was this articulate. If only Az—

You shoved the thought away and exhaled slowly. “That’s… a really nice answer.”

Adrin smiled again, but this time, it was smaller, softer. “Does it bother you?”

“No,” you admitted, shaking your head. “It doesn’t.”

“Good,” he said. “I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable. I have no expectations here. I enjoy the friendship we’ve built—if you’d call it that.”

“Of course I would,” you said softly. A small chuckle escaped your lips as you raised your rolled mirthroot and nodded toward the one between his fingers. “And if I didn’t consider you a friend before, you’re definitely one now.”

Adrin’s laugh rang out, warm and melodic, filling the space between you. It was soothing, like the sound itself carried the calm of his healing touch.

You settled into a comfortable silence, the easy rhythm of conversation lingering between you as you both watched the city below. But then, without warning, your mind wandered once more.

This time, it drifted toward the upcoming event Rhys was hosting—a formal gathering to show appreciation for allies and those who’d supported him. At his own home, too. A gesture of humility. You could already picture the glittering decorations in the River House, the couples dressed to the nines, gliding together in effortless, practiced harmony.

Usually, those scenes didn’t bother you.

You’d never minded attending events alone, enjoying the freedom to slip in and out of conversations as you pleased. But now, the thought of walking into that hall, of watching so many people in love around you… It grated. And you knew exactly why. Azriel’s words, his reasoning for changing while dating Selene—how everyone was falling in love, moving on—echoed in your mind, and you hated how tightly they clung to you.

They’d made you feel like something was wrong with you for not actively seeking out love. For being content with being single. Alone.

You glanced at Adrin.

“Adrin,” you said, clearing your throat. “Are you busy this weekend?”

“I don’t believe so. Why?”

“There’s an event—Rhysand is hosting. It’s an appreciation for those who help him. I was wondering if you’d want to come with me. Considering everything you’ve done to help Madja… and us.”

His brows lifted slightly, surprise flickering in his expression before he smiled. “Really?”

You nodded, waiting and watching him as he thought through his answer.

“The company of a friend is always nice for events,” he said finally.

Your heart stilled at his use of the word "friend.” It felt reassuring. Safe. A reminder that he truly didn’t hold any expectations, just as he’d said only a few minutes prior.

“Yes,” you replied softly, a small smile curling your lips. “It always is.”

“I’d be honored to go. Thank you for the invite, Y/n. I’ve never been to big events like that.”

You laughed lightly. “If you keep letting me smoke your mirthroot, you can come to every event with me forever.”

He grinned, shaking his head, his hair falling across his forehead in an effortlessly charming way. “Is that what I’ve become now? A drug dealer and a friend in one?”

“Yes,” you teased. “A breath of fresh air, really.”

You both fell into another comfortable pause, settling into the easy rhythm of each other’s presence. You wondered what was going on inside Adrin’s mind. His eyes had grown distant, like he was retreating into his thoughts. He had mentioned having a long day too. You hoped he was feeling better now, just as you were, that perhaps your company had offered him what his had offered you—a reprieve.

Adrin reminded you of someone else in your life. Someone with teal eyes and the same easy, friendly humor. You smiled at the fleeting thought that crossed your mind, something quick and bright, like a shooting star.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Azriel’s meeting with Rhysand had taken longer than expected, forcing both males to venture to the Hewn City itself. By the time he returned home, the city of Velaris was already asleep.

Azriel felt conflicted as he passed by your door, his shadows lingering just long enough to confirm that you were safe and asleep in bed. He was relieved, glad that you were finally getting the rest you needed, but a deep, quiet disappointment gnawed at him.

He was planning to catch you one last time today—to talk, even for a moment. To tell you about the meeting with Rhys and how brilliant your plans were, how he was praising them despite you not being there to bask in the compliments. He knew you loved the feedback, knew you loved hearing how your hard work paid off. It always did.

But Azriel knew, even then, the conversation would feel off.

Things had felt off since the night he apologized—and even his shadows had confirmed it wasn’t just in his mind. That he wasn’t simply overthinking.

You’d said you weren’t mad anymore, that you two were okay. But Azriel still felt, still knew, that something was wrong. 

Things weren’t normal. They weren’t hostile, and Azriel was beyond thankful for that, but it wasn’t comfortable like it used to be. You seemed to be hesitating around him. It gutted him to think that he had made you wary, made you overthink how you acted around him. He’d stripped himself of his own comfort.

Azriel stepped into his room slowly, feeling the weight of the day begin to catch up with him the moment he crossed the threshold. The door clicked shut behind him, and for a moment, he just stood there, leaning against the frame as he let the quiet settle around him.

The familiar emptiness of the room greeted him. His dresser was bare, the surface wiped clean once again. Mor had, strangely excitedly, offered to clear it out for him when she first learned about Selene’s betrayal. Despite the anger simmering inside him, Azriel had made her promise not to take any drastic measures—he didn’t want her to engage with Selene at all. Mor had reluctantly agreed.

Azriel took a few more steps into the room, and with each movement, the exhaustion that had been nagging him all day seemed to settle more heavily on his shoulders—his body was sore, his mind buzzing with a thousand half-thoughts.

His shoulders slumped as he sank onto the edge of the bed, his hands moving to rub his face, fingers dragging through the mess of his hair.

Azriel hadn’t placed all the items Selene moved, the minimal decorations he owned, back where they belonged yet. But he opened his bedside table and grabbed the one thing he was thinking about—the strange clay creation of him you’d made.

His mind wandered to the night he cleaned your wounds and apologized.

He’d traced the change back to that moment.

Azriel didn’t know why he felt disappointed, why he had expected something different from that interaction. He’d apologized, finally, as he’d intended to—though too late, he told himself, because you’d gotten hurt. But you had accepted it, had looked at him with that same softness he’d come to admire, and accepted it. You’d cracked a joke. You both laughed. It had felt simple again, natural, like Azriel had finally found his way back to himself. But something in him sank when he’d said that one line—when he said he didn’t know why he’d entertained the idea that you’d ever have feelings for him.

He wasn’t sure why, but it tasted so wrong—sour, like something rotten.

He let himself sink further into his thoughts.

Azriel had never seen himself as lovable. At least, not in the way everyone else was. 

From the moment he was thrown into that dungeon as a boy, he’d believed he deserved every punishment, every scar, every moment of suffering. The people who should have loved him—the people who were supposed to care—had only taught him he was a burden, something broken and unwanted.

When he left that darkness behind, it followed him, reshaping him into something sharp and unrelenting. A weapon. He became what was needed, what a High Lord required, committing acts that would haunt him for the rest of his life. He wore those deeds like armor, each one another layer of the male he thought he had to be.

Love, he assumed, had to be just as hard. How could it not be? He was unworthy of the softness others found so easily. While Rhysand, Cassian, Amren, and Mor managed to find it, to hold onto it despite their own sins, Azriel had only ever known heartbreak.

So he told himself that love—for him—would never be simple. It would require blood, pain, sacrifice, and suffering. He thought love needed to ache in his chest, leaving him hollow and desperate, clawing for scraps of something he couldn’t quite hold. That it had to be fought for with every ounce of strength he had. And maybe even that wouldn’t be enough.

Something had changed, though, regarding how he thought about love. 

His fingers brushed the rough edges of the clay figure in his palm. It was uneven and messy, painted in smudges that bled into each other. The proportions were laughably off—the wings crooked, the body too long—but it fit perfectly in his hand nonetheless.

He held it carefully, turning it over as his chest tightened. You’d made this for him, drunk off your ass and laughing with the others, your hands coated in clay. You’d sculpted a miniature version of him without a second thought.

And though it wasn’t a gift, though you hadn’t even mentioned it after that night, Azriel kept it. Kept it somewhere safe, somewhere he could easily grab it and remind himself that if someone as kind as you could love him, care for him the way you did, then he must not be as awful as his mind often tried to convince him he was.

You’d seen the worst of him—all the jagged edges and dark, unspoken parts. He was the softest with you, a side of himself he never showed anyone else, but somehow also the worst. You’d heard the things he’d done, seen him caked in blood that wasn’t his, and still, you had sculpted him. Still, you thought of him when you were having fun.

Azriel had begun to realize that, in reality, love seemed to be… patient. Gentle.

The love his family had found was hard at times, yes, and needed to be fought for, like everything important. But it was kind. Natural.

And so Azriel thought long and hard, the clay figure resting warm in his hand, his shadows curling and twisting softly around him. They whispered your name, over and over, like a quiet, delicate prayer.

And that was when everything clicked into place.

That deep longing he felt to see you, that comfort he found in your presence, the ability to be open, bare, seen, and unafraid—

That feeling was love.

He was in love with you.

And he suddenly couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note: hey yall.... how we feeling?????

so like im invested. and also i kinda love Adrin like yesss gimme a stoner healer man who respects a persons boundaries and doesnt crush on the idea of them before knowing them!!!

and yesss for azriel being in love!!! hes gonna be struggling with this new realization, fighting the Voices in the corner of his room and being jealous over things he doesn’t need to be jealous over. mmmmmm delicious

i do believe….there may only be one (1) part left 🫢

as always— thank you for reading 🫶🏻

and don’t forget your daily clicks for palestine !

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