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[ruinedbybooksandanime]

soooooo….. my hugh jackman phase has officially begun! he’s so hot i want to lick every inch of him 24/7!!!!!!

[ruinedbybooksandanime]

“I’m just gettin’ started bub. ⭐️”

Haven’t posted in a while! BUT I SAW DEADPOOL AND WOLVERINE YIPPE!! ⭐️

[ruinedbybooksandanime]

Jk about my last post. I completely forgot that I had chapter 3 done already and was working on chapter four 💀

Here’s the 3rd chapter! Hope y’all enjoy 😊

Summary: Ravaen seeks to protect the one family member who has always protected her, her brother. It’s a risk she has to take but it’s one she will. The results might not be the desired ones.

Warnings: Foul language, alcohol usage, talk of violence

Word Count: 4580

The Raven’s Claws

Chapter Three

Azriel’s eyes are terrifyingly cold as he burns a hole in the wall at hearing the information I just finished telling him. I don’t speak, taking a long drink of hard liquor. When he’d gotten here, I was already pretty deep into my bottle. It helped with the pain, both physical and mental, and I had barely given him a greeting before slouching into the chair. Even though my back is screaming in agony at how I’m sitting, I don’t move an inch.

“Have you figured out what poison they plan to use?” Are his first words after at least ten minutes of sullen silence.

I scoff, tipping the bottle toward him. “Do you know how many grown poisons aren’t in season right now? It’s winter. Everything is dead.”

“What would your father use?”

“Belladonna, hemlock, nightshade. The list goes on and on,” I roll my eyes, not caring if I sound hateful.

Azriel’s gaze turns to me and he looks me over. Those hazel eyes are piercing. It feels like he’s looking into my soul. “Humor me then. If you were going to poison the most powerful High Lord in history, what would you use?”

“That’s easy,” I mumble. “Jimsonweed. It’s a powerful hallucinogenic. I would only use enough to disorient Rhysand, make him see things that aren’t there, before striking with my blade. It would be enough to disarm him and make him unable to wield his power.”

“I see,” he looks contemplative as he takes in my words. “Is it rare?”

“Rare?” I tilt my head a bit but then it hits me. No one wanted to sell the poison they were trying to buy. “At this time of year it doesn’t grow and the plants are hard to come by unless you live near the border of the Spring and Summer courts. So yes, it is rare.”

“So what is a similar plant that does the same?”

“There are many, many plants,” I sigh softly. “The only way to know would be to get the information from Landras. Any chance you could get one of your spies in?”

“It’d be too risky this close to the ball,” Azriel watches as I move to sit up straight and he no doubt sees the wince on my face. “You are hurt.”

Yesterday he had asked if I was hurt after seeing the bruise on my thigh and today, I actually am. I debate on telling him about the fifteen welts across my back but I just ignore his words.

“If you can’t get someone in, then I’ll have to go myself.”

“You’re hurt,” he repeats, those hazel eyes narrowed in concern. “Did they do something to you?” I hesitate just long enough for him to understand. Rage ripples across his face before it’s gone in a heartbeat, replaced with a cool mask. But those eyes, they burn with a cold fury. “What did they do?”

His words are growled and I can’t find the words I need to lie to him. I look away, unable to hold his stare. In my drunken state, I can’t hide my emotions and I know shame is written all across my features.

“My father’s preferred form of punishment is beatings,” I mutter, feeling the lashes on my back burn in response to my words. “I pissed him off this morning and his response was fifteen lashes. The bruise you saw yesterday was from something else at the beginning of this week.”

That anger is back on his face and this time he doesn’t try to conceal it. This time it’s pure murderous hatred. He grits his teeth and the next time he speaks I can hear the tremor that he tries to hide.

“He will not harm you any further,” Azriel speaks with a stern sincerity.

“Why do you even care?” I can’t help myself as the words just tumble from my lips. “It’s not like we’re friends. I’m just working for you and Rhysand to get the hell out of the Hewn City.”

He stares at me in silence for a long time. For a moment, we just look at each other and it’s almost as if a flicker of understanding haunts his eyes. I clear my throat just as he looks like he’s going to say something, halting his lips before they even move. The last thing I want is sympathy from anyone about my situation.

“What are you going to do about these allies in the other courts?” A distraction to pull him away from my home life.

Azriel sighs and crosses his arms over his chest, his muscles rippling under the shirt he’s wearing. I only notice then that he’s not wearing his Illyrian leathers and can’t help but wonder if that is a strategic move to show they trust me or if he ended up rushing here from wherever they stay when they’re not in the Court of Nightmares.

“I suppose I will need to start a deep dive into the connections Thaes has. You’re sure you don’t know who he is talking about?”

I shake my head, noting the way his eyes narrow. I had conveniently left out the fact that it was my brother meeting with these allies. “My father has many connections all across Prynthian and the continent. There are too many to even know where to begin. Is there anyone in particular who has it out with Rhysand at this time?”

“There are too many,” Azriel frowns. “I need to pinpoint which Court before wasting resources and time chasing blindly.”

It would be a wild goose chase for him to start at random and I know that it could be easily solved if he tracked down Brys. My stomach churns uncomfortably as I debate between telling him or protecting the only person in my family who matters. Eventually my mind settles and I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and focus sternly on him.

“I can help,” his brow raises, his hand waving for me to continue. “What I’m going to tell you stays in this room. You don’t mention this person to anyone. Not even Rhysand. You do not allow him to see this meeting, you can tell him everything else except for this part. Do I make myself clear? Because if this person ends up hurt or worse…” My face darkens and even his shadows cower at the power I tease. “I will wipe out this entire court.”

He stiffens at the threat, his hand resting closer to the dagger strapped to his thigh, but I don’t break his gaze. I will not back down just because of who he is. After a heart beat, Azriel nods his head and forces himself to relax even though it’s clear every part of his being is saying to attack.

“Good.” I let that little bit of power slip away, watching as his shadows slip back around him like they’re ready to protect. “My brother, Brys, is currently working with whoever these allies are. Don’t give me that look,” I snap at him at the annoyance on his face from me not telling him this earlier. “My father has blackmailed him into doing this. He would never, never, do this otherwise. He’s never had anything against you all and with it putting my family at risk, putting me at risk, he would have to be forced.”

“How can you be sure?” Azriel questions.

“Because my father blackmailed me,” I growl and let myself sink back into the chair even as it hurts my back. “He is threatening to kill Brys if I help you or fail at the ball. He knows how important we are to each other. Brys is the only member of my family who actually cares about people. He raised me.”

Azriel stays silent, just watches me carefully. He’s relaxed more now, seeming to understand where I’m coming from. I can’t help but wonder how similar his story might be to mine if the look on his face means what I think it does.

“Father didn’t tell me where he was to make sure I don’t get word out to him about anything. What he doesn’t know is that Brys and I have a way to find each other whenever we’re out in the field,” I reach into the pocket in my dress and fish out a small round sigil. I offer it to Azriel and he flips it over to examine the symbol. “Take it to the filthiest tavern you can find in any of the cities in Prythian, show it to the bartender and ask for the cheapest ale on tap. If they ask how you got that sigil, tell them you found it in the shadows. Any word they have on my brother, they will tell you.”

He looks up from the sigil, a look of subtle awe on his face. “This is…very intricate. And useful.”

“We’ve never trusted my father to not send us to our deaths. It’s a precaution,” I pull a piece of paper from my pocket and give it to him as well. “Give this to Brys when you find him. Hopefully it will keep him from trying to kill you.”

Azriel nods and slips both items into his pocket. He stands up, seeming to be satisfied with the information he’s received. “I will send word once I make contact with him. Are you going to start your task?”

“No,” his brow furrows. “I’m hurt, remember?” The smile on my face doesn’t reach my eyes no matter how much I try to convey it. “I’ll take the next few days to let myself heal while I work out what sort of poison they plan to use. Talk to Rhysand about how he wants to deal with the four lords my father met with tonight.”

Azriel nods his head and turns to leave the room. He stops by the door, hand hovering by the handle. I watch as he tilts his head as if debating on something. Azriel looks over his shoulder and a shocked expression comes over my face. There’s sadness in his eyes, so much sadness that it’s almost akin to despair.

“You’re not a pawn in this you know,” his voice is quiet, soft. “Rhys was being serious when he said you were like us, a dreamer in the Court of Nightmares.” Azriel’s eyes shift away as he glances toward the ground. “We might be working together now but I’d like to think that we could be friends in the future. Once this mess is all over.”

My heart pounds in my chest at his words as I try to think of something, anything, to say in response. He doesn’t give me the chance before he’s gone out of the room, shadows trailing behind him.

Yes, I think to myself as I stare at the door. A tear slips down my cheek and I hadn’t even realized I’d begun crying. I think we could be friends too.

-

I don’t hear from Azriel for a week other than a note delivered from Ylla that told me to wait on taking out the four lords. Since then, I’ve kept my head low to not irk my father even more. It took five days for my back to heal enough that I could start looking into the poison Landras had acquired and I had spent almost all of last night digging through his home for anything useful. With the ball only being in four days, I was starting to become a bit worried about the shadowsinger and his lack of appearance.

Today was no different, not a single word from the High Lord or his inner court. I found what I needed to know but with no other way to reach Rhysand other than through Azriel, all I could do was wait. I find myself walking through the Hewn City after training this morning, the black stone rising up far above and the silver faelights making the space above look like the night sky. Fae mingle around me, lords and ladies whispering secrets and scandals to one another.

I stop in front of a huge fountain, the water flowing from the naked female statue from the many streams that run through this mountain. I take a seat on the edge of the fountain, closing my eyes as I listen to the water running. It’s relaxing and my thoughts finally settle as the noise drowns them out. I feel a presence walking toward me and my body stiffens as they sit right next to me.

“Don’t look,” the female voice whispers as the scent of citrus and cinnamon fills my nose. That scent and voice are all too familiar to me.

I keep my eyes closed as I sigh softly. “What are you doing here?”

The shuffling of fabric catches my attention but it’s too high up for it to be her dress. She must be wearing a cloak or something similar to cover her features.

“Rhys sent me,” her voice is so small that I have to strain my ears to hear her.

“Oh?” I replied. “What happened to the other one?”

I don’t dare say Azriel’s name for fear of anyone listening in to us. Even her whispering Rhysand’s name is dangerous.

“He’s fine. Things just got…difficult,” she shifts and I know she’s getting ready to leave. I feel something press against my thigh but I keep my eyes shut. “I have to go.”

I hear her rise to her feet but I don’t respond to her. Whatever she’s just put against my leg will answer any questions I have. My hand falls from my lap to cover the item and insure it doesn’t get taken while I wait for her to leave. The item is small wooden box just from the feel of it and after a handful of minutes pass, one look down confirms.

I don’t dare open the box until I’ve returned back to the safety of my bedroom after strolling around for a while longer to keep up appearances. Sitting in front of my vanity, I stare down at the box like I could see through it. It seems to be made of mahogany and to just be a trinket box. My fingers slide over the smooth wood and down to the brass latch. I flip it open and lift the lid, my eyebrows raising.

Inside is a piece of parchment and underneath that is the sigil I had given Azriel. Confusion muddles my mind as I pick up the sigil. Why hadn’t he just waited to give it to me later? My eyes drift to the parchment and I unfold it.

Tonight. Midnight. The same place we brought you into our fold.

“Short and sweet, huh?” I mumble to myself.

The ornate clock that sits on the wall tells me that there is plenty of time before this meeting. Enough time to get myself prepared for whatever it is they’re going to throw at me. My attention drifts toward my reflection in the mirror and I wince at the female who looks back at me.

I’d always been told I’m pretty by whatever standard of beauty that the fae hold. Unblemished pale skin, jewel like eyes that sparkle in the right light with long black lashes, full pink lips. With my white golden hair, I resembled a porcelain doll almost. Except underneath that beauty, that viper that my father created lives below.

I can see her when I sleep, the cold and emotionless murderer disguised as the perfect princess. There’s been many times that ploy has come into play. A shiver runs through me as I remember the lives I’ve ended. Good fae and bad and all those in between.

I squeeze my eyes shut, digging my fingernails into my palms. Time and time again I have to remind myself that I shouldn’t think like this. I am not her and she is not me. My hands sting but I manage to calm down, even if little crescent cuts now dot both of them. A deep breath leaves me and I focus on myself in the mirror again.

I won’t let this break me.

-

“Where are you going?” I curse under my breath at the sneering plummy voice of my sister.

I glance over my shoulder at where she stands at the top of the landing, her eyes shining with evil. She looks over my clothing, basic fighting leathers covered in a soft black cotton cloak with a hood. The gleam of my knives are visible as I turn to her and cross my arms over my chest.

“I’m meeting with a client,” I reply tightly. “It’s none of your business princess.”

“Father didn’t say you had a client at dinner today,” she ignores the name I call her as she takes a single step onto the stairs. “You’re lying.”

“Father doesn’t have to know about all of my clients,” I know she’s pissed off at me for humiliating her last week and she’s trying to weasel any information she can use against me. “He gave me free reign to accept my own personal clients months ago. A privilege you’ll never have.”

She snarls, baring her teeth at me. “I’ll be sure to let father know you’re sneaking off in the night. Maybe he’ll beat you to death this time.”

I flash her wicked smile. “Go right ahead but make sure you keep one eye open tonight.”

Even from this distance, I can see the chill that runs down her spine at my words. I turn on my heel and leave before she responds, starting my short journey to the High Lord’s palace. I keep to the shadows, slipping down dark alleys with my hood up to avoid anyone recognizing me. Luckily, it seems that Rhysand had the vicinity of the palace cleared out because I don’t run into anyone as I move toward the entrance. I feel the magic of the wards as I walk through it. Waiting for me on the other side of the door is a face that actually brings a smile to my lips.

“Morrigan,” I walk toward her as she beams. I pull my hood back, letting her see my face without the shadows it created. “You surprised me earlier.”

She laughs softly and pulls me into a hug. “I’ve been taking lessons in subterfuge.” It’s like she’s glowing, like she’s turned into a completely different person since the last time I saw her. She was so broken from that bastard Eris and her family. “I’ve missed you Rae.”

“I missed you too Mor,” I hug her tightly. “It’s good to see you again. Even with these circumstances.”

Mor nods her head, brown eyes curving up in the corners from her smile. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to your party. It’s been…hard for me to come back here.”

“You don’t have to explain,” I squeeze her arm. “If anyone understands, it’s me. I’m just glad to see you so…springy.”

That pulls a bright laugh from her red lips. “Springy? My you have a way with words.” I can’t help but roll my eyes as I scoff. “It’s not wrong though. I’m doing so much better now…but we’ll have to catch up later. Rhys will scold me if I keep you here when there’s business to attend to.”

I let her guide me down the dark hall and into the room where the High Lord awaits. Seated next to him this time are both Cassian and Azriel. All three of them look sullen but Rhysand plasters a smile to his face as he sees us enter.

“Ravaen. Good to see you again,” I instantly note that his voice isn’t that steady cadence he usually has.

I give him a shallow nod, my eyes trailing from him, to Cassian, to Azriel. Mor slides into a chair next to Cassian, who minutely tenses at her presence. I file that thought away for later. I take a seat at the end of the table, leaving some space between myself and them. Just in case.

“Have you figured out their plans?” The High Lord begins, skipping over any other pleasantries.

I reach into my leathers, not missing the way they all track the movement, and pull out a small pouch. I slide it down the table and it stops in front of Cassian. He picks it up and dumps out three small vials filled with clear liquid. They clatter onto the ebony table, clinking together as the four of them stare at it.

“I only brought three,” I give an apologetic look toward Mor, not knowing she was going to be here. “It’s the antidote to poison hemlock. I doubt you all are going to enjoy the food and drink at the ball but just in case, keep it on your person.”

Rhysand picks up a vial, turning it in his hands. “How can we be sure this isn’t a ploy from you to trick us into trusting you?”

“Rhys-” Mor tries but he shoots her a stern look.

“It’s fine Mor,” I shrug at her. I’m used to these kinds of questions. I let a lazy smile cross my lips as I lean back into my chair, tapping my sharp nails on the stone armrest. “Well, you can either believe that what’s in that vial is actually hemlock and I’m just trying to trick you into drinking it or you can give it back and risk the toast my father is going to offer you. If that’s the case, I won’t mind being the one bringing you the poisoned wine if you’re going to be that ignorant.”

“I was just teasing you, Ravaen,” Rhysand nods to the two Illyrians and all three of them stow away the glass vial.

I let my gaze move around the room again, starting with Mor and working my way around the table to Azriel. The shadowsinger hasn’t looked my way once since I entered the room. It strikes me as a bit odd but the expressions the others wear sets me on edge. I can't tell if he’s been ordered not to speak to me or if he’s just avoiding me.

“Have you decided what to do with the four males I told you about?”

“Unfortunately all four of them hold particularly difficult positions to fill in my court,” Rhysand sighs and crosses his arms over his chest, brow furrowing as he thinks. “I’d only really be willing to get rid of Vyllen but if one dies, the others won’t be so willing to cooperate.”

“So we leave them alive then? I thought my job was to kill them?” I scoff. “You don’t even need me anymore.”

“Not for that, no,” Rhysand shrugs his shoulders. “But the offer still stands. If you help us finish this, we’ll take you from the Hewn City to a better place.”

“Why? My part of this deal is null and void now.”

“Without you, we wouldn’t have gotten this far,” Mor says as she leans her elbows on the table. “Az is good at what he does but you made this so much easier since your father is involved.”

My eyes flick toward the shadowsinger who has still chosen to remain silent. “Well I’d be a fool to refuse to see this out. All I want is to be free of this hell hole.” I look back at Rhysand who is staring at Azriel. “What do you need me to do?”

“Show up at the ball like planned. Listen to whatever your father says to do, we already have a plan in place,” he leans forward, that black hair falling into his face. “Essentially, we need you to be the distraction that you were meant to be originally.”

“Luckily I seem to be good at doing just that,” I sigh, leaning back into my chair.

“There is…one more thing,” Rhysand’s voice is strained, hesitant. “Azriel?”

His back straightens at the call of his name, shadows curling around his throat and up into his hair. He looks at me for the first time since I’ve walked in and my throat tightens at the dark circles under his eyes. Azriel opens his mouth to speak then closes it, clearing his throat softly.

“What is it?” I ask him but deep down, I already know the answer.

“It’s about your brother,” Mor begins for her friend, his eyes turning to her.

Azriel’s eyes soften as she reaches across the table and squeezes his hand, reassuring him. Azriel looks back toward me, there’s hesitation on his face.

“What is it?” I say through gritted teeth, my heart pounding in my chest. “Tell me. Where is he?”

“He’s dead.”

As soon as those words leave his lips, my power explodes. Darkness ripples across the entire room, bouncing off the shield that Rhysand threw up around the Inner Circle. Cassian is on his feet, sword drawn as his eyes narrow into slits, siphons blazing bright. They all watch as that darkness seems to pull the light from the room, my green eyes glowing as it swirls around me. But that darkness isn’t pulling the light, it’s absorbing it, like a void.

“What are you?” Rhysand hisses, his eyes bright with wonder.

“Where. Is. He?” I demand, my voice twisting into pure rage. The light in the room goes out as I rise to my feet. “Where is he?”

“Ravaen,” Azriel is on his feet as well, stepping closer to the barrier that protects him. His shadows swirl violently around him now almost like they’re being drawn away from him and toward me. “I’m sorry.” There’s a sadness on his face that he doesn’t let the others see as he stares directly at me. “I found him in the Day Court. He’s been dead for weeks. Your father lied to you.”

It’s like the world returns back to normal as my power vanishes instantly, the light flicking back on as I sink into the stone chair again. My chest heaves as hot tears stream down my face, the salty taste of them staining my lips. Mor comes to the edge of the barrier, her head snapping toward Rhysand as he keeps it raised.

“Rhys!”

“No.”

There’s an emptiness in my chest, a hollow void as black as my power. My skin has gone cold and clammy, my mouth dry. I raise my head up from its lowered position, my dull eyes looking right toward Azriel.

“How long…” My voice is raw. “How long have you known?”

He tenses as mouth settles into a straight line. “I found him three days after our last meeting.”

“Three days?” I hiss, anger starting to boil inside of me again. “You told me you would contact me once you found him! It’s been that long and you’ve stayed silent?”

“I was-“

“I told him not to say anything,” Rhysand cuts in, his jaw clenching as my rage focuses on him.

I can’t help the bitter laugh that leaves me and my fingers dig into the stone chair. “And you want me to trust you? To believe that you have this holy motive of making our world better? You’re full of shit, Rhysand.” I slowly stand up, a flicker of power rumbling through the room again. “You’re all full of shit. And you…” I point a finger at Azriel. “Can forget about ever being my friend.”

[ruinedbybooksandanime]

Just a quick update! I promise I’m working on the next chapter of Raven’s Claws but as we all know FF7 Rebirth is out and my brain has been focused on that 😂 slowly but surely I’ll get back to writing

[ruinedbybooksandanime]

Hello again! Here is chapter two of my ACOTAR OC based story. If it isn’t obvious, Azriel is the future love interest. I hope you all enjoy! As always, I take any and all feedback! Thanks for reading 💕 (Also I’d like to say that I haven’t read TOG yet, I’m on Assassin’s Blade, and already changed a few things so it’s not copy paste, but if there are any similarities between Ravaen and Aelin they are unintentional.)

Summary: Knowledge is power and Ravaen seeks to get it. Luckily for her, she’s in a better position than she thought she would be.

Warnings: Abuse, a little drop of alcohol, subtle flirting (literally less flirting than alcohol)

Words: 4164

Part One

The Raven’s Claws

Chapter 2:

My fingers pluck the strings of the crystal lyre, the norse swirling around in my hand and the room. My voice meets the notes as I sing the tale I decided on today. I move in time with the music, my eyes shut as years of memory guides me, my hands, to create this melody. Nobody in Penrith moves or speaks, all of them focused on me. Even Ylla the bartender has stopped making drinks and I can feel her pitch black eyes on my back.

The song comes to an end, the final note echoing against the walls. It’s like the room was in a daze and once the last sound of that note ends, applause erupts through the bar. A small smile tugs at my lips and I open my eyes, take a deep breath, and stand. I turn around to bow slightly to the crowd of High Fae, all males of high standing or officials of the court. My eyes flicker to the bar, my gaze landing on the one thing that stands out.

An Illyrian warrior clad in black leathers leans against the bartop, his hazel eyes meeting mine. I see a flicker of surprise in his eyes but it’s gone in half a second. A blank look is on his face now like he’s bored and disinterested. I make my way off the stage, stopping to talk to a few males as they praise my playing and offer not so subtle flirtations. When I finally get to the bar, Azriel has disappeared but I know exactly where he’s gone.

Ylla smiles at me, her sharp teeth gleaming in the faelight. “Beautiful! You did good.” She turns to make some drinks, her hands moving quickly. Her speaking is guttural, her race of fae not used to using words but noises made from their throats. “Male fae went to room. He is cute. Very large. Wings are…interesting.”

I laugh softly, the sound filled with fondness. She’s a beautiful fae with her pitch black hair that’s so dark it draws in the light and her almost translucent pale skin. She turns and sits two drinks on the counter.

“He’s an Illyrian,” I say as I drag the drinks toward me. “They make fierce warriors and even fiercer lovers, if the rumors are to be true.” Ylla’s black eyes widen before they narrow on me, a smirk growing on her pink lips. “No, we’re meeting on business. Though I can’t say I won’t entertain the idea.”

“Naughty High Fae,” she giggles and waves her hand. “Drink on me. Have fun.”

I give her a wink as I pick up the two drinks and walking toward my private room. A few more fae males stop me on my trek but as they see the dual drinks in my hands, they only offer a few words before slipping out of my path. I carefully open the door to the room and see the spymaster sitting in one of the arm chairs. He stands as I enter, wariness written across his face even as he sees that it’s me. As I walk toward him, I use my power to throw up a ward around the room to keep any listeners from hearing our conversation. He tenses as he feels my magic.

“Relax, it’s just a silencing ward,” I say as I set both drinks on the small amethyst table between the two arm chairs. “There’s too many ears in the Hewn City.”

The shadows around his face curl through his hair before he nods. His eyes trail over me, that calculating look once again in his gaze. For tonight, I had chosen a black gown with jewels of all shades of purple decorating my skin. My hair is in a half up, half down style and gentle curls frame my face. I clear my throat softly which causes him to startle, seeming to have been lost in taking in my appearance. I come around and sit down in the other armchair and watch as he takes a seat once more.

“What is this place?” Azriel asks as he gestures around the room.

“This is my private hosting room,” the purple room, as I had told him to request when he needed to meet with me. “Many High Fae with big mouths like to have private concertos while they have meetings. It’s a good way to hear the latest who’s who.”

He doesn’t respond as he takes in the room, at the convenient location of the stage to the seating. He almost seems impressed at the room. I cross my legs, the slit in my dress exposing my thigh.

“What did you need me for, spymaster?”

“Rhysand wanted me to give you this,” Azriel pulls a folded piece of paper from a pocket in his leathers. “And ask why you haven’t made a move yet.”

I open the note and read it, a brow raising. “There are certain fae on that list that aren’t in the court right now. I’m debating whether to hit them first or those that are here while I find out more information. My father is having a meeting tomorrow with some of the targets and I’ll be able to glean who is the key players in this.”

Again, he’s quiet and when I shift my gaze from the letter to him, there’s an expression of confusion on his face. I follow where he’s looking and a shocked gasp comes from my lips. I quickly pull my dress over my thigh, over the huge purple and brown bruise that covers the backside of it. I want to smack myself for the stupidity of forgetting about it as he fixes those hazel eyes on me.

“Are you recovering from an injury? Is that why you’ve been taking so long?” Azriel doesn’t seem inclined to inquire any further than those two questions.

“No. I’m not injured and I’m not lying about my reasons for waiting,” my voice is completely flat, a muscle in my jaw tensing in annoyance. I sit Rhysand’s note down in my lap. “I don’t know if the High Lord realizes just how many targets he has given me. He wants this done before the next ball? That only gives me two weeks.”

Azriel’s gaze drops back down to my now covered thigh. “Rhysand wants this mess finished and cleaned up as quickly as possible. If you need aid, I can have one of my spys-.”

“No,” I cut him off with a wave of my hand. “Any extra hands will just make things more complicated.” I press two fingers into my temple, rubbing the growing headache away. “Are you staying in the Hewn City tonight and tomorrow?”

“Yes. I’ll be here for the rest of this week before making my way elsewhere. I have…business to attend to. Why?”

Business. I know what that means. A trip to the dungeons would confirm just who this business is with.

“I’ll gather the information I can from my father’s meetings tomorrow and meet you back here at the same time,” he nods his head, agreeing to my words. “If what I think is going to happen is correct, I can give the High Lord a list of those fae who are helping my father the most. He can decide if he wants them all taken out or just those pillars.”

“Alright,” Azriel crosses his arms. “Taking out the pillars of this revolt would be a good move to start with. But if someone comes along to take their place?”

“Then I’ll deal with them,” I stand to my feet, brushing the skirt of my gown. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As I turn to leave the purple room, I hear him also rise. He clears his throat as I get to the door and I pause, turning to look at him.

“You sing and play beautifully,” he nods his head toward the stage. “It caught me by surprise.”

A bashful smile crosses my lips at his compliment and the heat on my cheeks isn’t faked. “Thank you. Classically trained since I was a young girl. With knives and music…”

His own lips curve up into a smile, his head dipping down as farewell. It doesn’t surprise me when the shadows twist around him and he winnows away. I take my time returning back to the family estate, the cool air of the underground city chilling my bones. It’s late but there’s still many fae milling about. I keep to myself as I finally get home, the entire house oddly still. There aren’t even any servants in the foyer which I find strange but I don’t go seeking anyone out either.

I get to my room and begin to undress for a bath. I let my gown fall to the floor as I take the many pieces of jewelry off of my body. I know that come tomorrow night, I’ll have to put on that cold and deadly mask I was trained to wear from my childhood. A shiver runs down my spine and disgust swells in my stomach. I rub my face with my hand as I try to push those feelings aside.

Tomorrow is going to be a long day.

-

When I wake in the morning, the estate is still quiet. I glance toward the clock on the wall and see that it’s just after dawn. I reluctantly climb out of bed before I prepare for the day. I pick a simple sage colored dress and braid my hair into one long rope. It’s a bland look for me but simplicity is best with the work I’ll have to do today.

There’s a moment where I wonder if it’s worth it, if getting out of the Hewn City is really worth covering myself in the blood of others. But I remember that promise, that glimspe of the world outside that Rhysand had shown me. I close my eyes as I see those beautiful streets of colored buildings, the starry night above the sea. It’s not that I’ve never been outside of the Hewn City but the freedom from my family that he promises. I sigh heavily and make my way from my room to the dining room.

My family is already there, minus my older brother, so I take my seat after greeting my mother with a kiss to her cheek. My father is too absorbed in a report he’s reading to have even noticed my presence. I take it for a blessing from the Cauldron. I start to eat but keep the meal light so I’m not weighed down from food.

“Ravaen,” my father says from the head of the table, still reading his report. “With your brother out of the house, I expect you to sit in on the meetings I’ll be having today.” He looks up for just a moment, a sneer on his lips. “And I expect you to be on your best behavior. The fae coming today have sons that are of good standing. Sons you could marry down the line, since you failed at catching the High Lord’s eye.”

It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes. If only he knew just how well I did catch Rhysand’s attention. I offer him a small smile as I drink from my cup of tea. “Of course father, as you wish.” My mother cuts me a look at the sarcasm in my words but I ignore it. “What are these meetings about?”

“Does it matter?” my younger sister, Zoe, cuts in. She twirls a strand of her brown hair around her finger. “You get to meet the fathers of the males you might marry. That should be your focus sister.” She drags her green eyes up and down my body and frowns. “You should go change. That dress makes you look insipid.”

“This dress makes it easier for me to move in. In case someone decides to test father today,” I shoot her a wicked grin to which she rolls her eyes. “Dear sister, don’t let the idea of being bred off to some lord’s son is what everyone wants.”

“It’d be better than remaining a club whore who sells herself for information,” she snarls and anger flares in my chest.

“You-!”

“Silence,” father’s voice raises just enough to cover mine. His temper is written all over his features. I swallow against the knot in my throat as his rage focuses on me. “Ravaen. You’re still going to that damned music bar? I’ve told you before that you’re not to go there any longer.”

I glare at Zoe before looking back at him. “I hardly frequent anymore, only when it’s to investigate for work. And I don’t ‘sell myself’ by performing music.”

“Maybe not but you damage the family’s reputation by making yourself a item to be gawked at,” he growls. “Flirting around with all those males will ruin our chances of finding you a husband. Now that you’re of age, it’s time for you to settle down.”

“Father’s right sister,” Zoe sticks her nose right back into our business. “But no one is going to want a used female like you. Especially after you were messing around with that lesser fae at your coming of age party.”

I don’t know why her words piss me off in the way that they do but pure and utter fury explodes from my chest. Darkness fills the room, my eyes glowing bright green as my power snakes across the room and throws her against the wall. Shadows and blackness seem to pull the light from the air as I rise to my feet. Zoe is trembling where she’s pinned, her own green eyes wide with fear.

“You need to learn your place Zoe,” I growl as I stalk around the table. “That lesser fae is twice the fae you’ll ever be. Lest you forget, he’s the High Lord’s spymaster and having his ear is a valuable asset.” I grab her face in my hand, my sharp fingernails digging into her cheeks. I can smell the acrid stench of piss as she wets herself. “Don’t forget who I am and what I can do.”

“That’s enough!” Father has risen from his seat and his own burst of power wipes away mine, but only because I let it. He’s behind me in a flash and he grabs my hair, shoving me to the ground. Zoe scrambles away and into our mother’s arms. “If anyone in this home needs to learn their place it’s you.”

Before I can even do anything, he’s winnowed us out of the dining room and into the training room. He shoves me again and turns to walk toward a cabinet. I don’t let fear come into my body as I see him pull a whip out of it. Defiance swirls in my eyes as he comes back over and grabs my hair again. He drags me to a wooden beam and throws me over it.

“Expose your back.”

“For what?” I hiss at him, glaring over my shoulder. “She needs to be shut up. Am I wrong? Is having Azriel’s ear not a blessing in disguise?”

“Not when you disobey,” his voice is flat with cold rage. “Expose your back. I won’t ask again.”

I bite my tongue, not wanting to infuriate his wrath even more. I turn away and carefully untie the laces of my dress, pulling it down to my hips before leaning on the beam. I don’t get the chance to prepare myself as he swings the whip and a cry leaves my lips. I can feel the welt burning as the whip comes down again. I don’t make a noise this time, my teeth sinking into my lip as I hold my wails back. 15 painful lashes later and he steps away. I pull the front of my dress back up to cover my chest, my cheeks wet from the tears of pain.

“Leave. I will call you when it’s time for the meetings.”

I hear his footsteps as he leaves the room and I finally allow myself to sag into the floor. I can feel the warmth of blood trickling down from those welts, my skin split in some places. No one comes to help me. Not my sister or my mother. Not a single servant. Alone yet again. I slowly climb to my feet, gritting my teeth as agony ripples down my spine. I stumble from the training room, dragging myself back into my bedroom.

It takes a long time for me to get back to my room, every shift of my muscles torture. It takes even longer for me to clean and dress my own wounds. Even with my fae healing, I know just from how wrecked my back is that it’s going to take days for me to properly heal. The dress I was wearing is stained with my blood so I change into a similar one that will cover the bandages wrapping my body.

I fall into my bed and wait for my father to call for me, exhaustion pulling at me. I receive a message from a servant around noon and drag myself from the bed, walking stiffly to one of the drawing rooms. Four men are waiting inside, excluding my father, and I fight to keep the scowl off my face as I see who it is. Every step is met with crippling pain but I can’t let them see any hint of weakness.

“Well, well, well,” Vyllen sneers from where he sits in a plush chair. “I’m surprised to see you here. Tired of fucking lesser males?”

I give him a ferocious grin, narrowing my eyes to a threatening glare. “How could I?” I look him up and down as I stroll past. “They fuck so much better than High Fae. Bigger too.”

He growls, his nostrils flaring. The other three males in the room are clearly stifling their laughter. “What do you know? It’s not like you ever let me get a taste.”

I laugh brightly as I stop next to my father’s desk. “I’d never bend over for trash like you.”

“You-“

He doesn’t get to finish as the door opens again and my father steps into the room. The four males rise to their feet, bowing their heads as he stalks toward the huge chair that makes his would be throne. My father sits down in the chair, his eyes not even looking toward me.

“Lord Thaes,” Kaen, a black haired lord, greets him.

“My friends,” my father addresses them as they sit back down. “How goes our efforts?”

“Well,” Neir, Kaen’s twin brother, says from where he leans back into the cushions of the couch. “Our associates are in a good place. The course we have for the ball is well on its way.”

“Excellent. What about your people, Landras? Last we spoke, you were having issues finding the…additive we spoke of.”

Landras’s eyes dart toward me but I make a show of acting bored and uninterested as I pick at my nails. “We’ll have to use a…alternative method. Unfortunately it’s just the wrong time of the year and those who have it aren’t willing to part with it.”

Each word is a piece of the puzzle that I am to solve. I let each sentence from the lords bounce around in my head. Additive definitely means some sort of poison since it’s season specific. There are quite a few poisons that don’t grow during this time of year so I need to narrow it down to what Landras would have access to. They seem to have plans for the ball and they seem to know the High Lord is going to be there, even though he’s never officially announced it.

“Lord Thaes,” Vyllen sits up, nodding his head toward me. “Not to question your decisions, but why is the lovely Ravaen here and not Brys? I thought he was working with us.”

My blood runs cold at the mention of my older brother and it takes everything in me not to look horrified. Just what has he gotten himself into? Brys is the only person in my family who ever had any sort of compassion for fae. My eyes dart toward my father at the same time his meet mine. A challenge. A threat.

“Brys is currently dealing with our allies in the other courts. He won’t be back in time for the ball. However,” his slithering gaze moves toward Vyllen. “Ravaen has found herself in the good graces of the High Lord and his…friends.” I keep my face still as he hisses the word. “She will be the distraction we need.”

“My Lord,” Vyllen scoffs at his words, looking at me with disgust. “Can we trust your her? After all, just last night my brother spotted her at Penrith with the shadowsinger.”

Shit.

“I don’t think you should trust her with our business. No matter how skilled she may be.”

My father’s stare doesn’t falter, his face as solid as stone even though I feel that cold rage emanating from his body. He didn’t know that I met with Azriel last night and I was hoping to keep it that way. I know I need to cover my ass and do it now before my loyalty comes into question. I let out a tinkling laugh, batting my lashes at him as innocently as I can.

“Come now, Vyllen,” I purposely leave off his title just to get further under his skin. “You asked when I arrived if I was done fucking lesser fae and yet you act surprised when I’m caught doing just that.” He bristles, teeth gritting together. “Pathetic. If you’re going to try and sever my father’s faith in me, think of something more clever next time.”

“Don’t worry about Ravaen, Lord Vyllen,” father intertwines his fingers together, leaning casually back into his seat. “Should she fail us or tell the shadowsinger and the High Lord about our plans, there will be retribution. Someone very dear to her will be punished for it. With their life.”

He doesn’t need to say his name for me to know exactly who he’s talking about. My brother has always been the only one in this family to have any sort of compassion for others and I owe him much and more for the way he took care of me when no one else did. If he’s threatening Brys, that means he’s not working for him like I thought. He must have blackmailed him just like he is me. My blood boils with anger but my gut rolls with nausea. I have to keep myself cool even as bile rises in the back of my throat.

I close my eyes for just a moment, shifting on my feet even though it causes the welts on my back to burn. When I open them, I look directly at Vyllen with an over playful smile. “Don’t worry, Vyllen. Azriel tells me all sorts of sultry little secrets when we meet.” I see all four of the visiting lords visibly cringe as I use his name so fondly. “I’m sure some of them will come in handy.”

“I’m sure,” Vyllen’s words drip with venom as he crosses his arms over his chest.

I turn to my father who is watching our interaction very carefully. “If I may ask, what is this plan exactly? Clearly you’re using some type of poison to harm the High Lord and his two lackys. Is it to kill them or weaken them?”

“That information shall remain within the few who know it,” he nods toward Landras who returns the motion. “You are to distract and give the High Lord’s Inner Circle the laced wine we will have prepared.”

“Kier doesn’t want his daughter harmed. He thinks he can still use her even after she debased herself,” Nier sneers as he glances at me. He clearly thinks the same about me.

“Kier is a part of this?” My brow raises in question.

“No. The spineless prick refuses to help us overthrow Rhysand due to his position as steward and his leadership over the Darkbringers,” Kaen shakes his head. “And yet he still wants us to deliver his daughter safely.”

“Enough,” my father waves his hand and silences the room. “Ravaen, you are dismissed.”

My jaw clenches as he tells me to leave just when I was getting some good information. There is no fighting the order though so I bow stiffly and leave the room. I hear Vyllen make a snide remark as the door closes but the blood is rushing so loudly in my ears that I can’t make out his words.

Time is running out; the thought of the ball being less than two weeks away is weighing down on my soul.

I need to get word to Azriel and my brother. And I need to do it fast.

[ruinedbybooksandanime]

Azriel the entire time Truth-Teller was away

[ruinedbybooksandanime]

Trying out my first post on here for a story OC I’m writing for ACOTAR. It’s been a long time since I’ve written so any feedback is welcome!!! Thank you for reading :)

Summary: A coming of age party for High Fae is typical for those of good standing. This particular party is going to throw Ravaen into a whirlwind of events that will forever shape her future, should she decide to play along.

Warnings: Swearing, slight lusty comments, alcohol consumption. Pretty tame tbh

Words: 5026

Part Two

The Raven’s Claws

Chapter One

Parties. I hate parties. At least ones like these where I have to pretend to be everything I’m not. The scowl on my face only deepens as I watch my father flit around the Court of Nightmares talking to anyone who will listen. It’s my coming of age party and I’m officially an adult in the eyes of the High Fae.

My dress is beautiful. A tightly fighting gown of the best fabrics and gems. It’s a beautiful shade of midnight blue with silver jewels and gems decorating all over me. I look like a young night goddess with the dress and my long white gold hair that’s curled neatly around my ears. A beautiful moonstone crown rests in my hair and jewels decorate my ears and neck. Fitting for the High Lord enjoyment.

Because this party isn’t for me at all. It’s for my father to present me to the High Lord. For greed and breeding. I lean against one of the onyx columns as I watch my father with disgust rising in my mouth. Sons of dozens of court officials continually look toward me, their eyes filled with desire. I, however, fight the desire to flip them off.

“The High Lord has arrived!”

In an instant, the entire room falls silent. Even the musicians stop playing. We can all feel the dark power that radiates from the High Lord as he walks through the door and a tremor tickles my stomach. My eyes glance toward the Rhysand as he strides into the room with a smirk on his lips. Two Illyrian warriors follow behind him, the tall and strong men dressed in black leathers with their seven red and blue Siphons placed inside.

The High Lord stalks to the dias before he sits upon the throne. The two Illyrians stand next to him, both of them looking down at everyone. His eyes trail over the room, that smirk still firm on his lips. My father steps forward to the dias before he bows deeply.

“My Lord,” my father says and I can’t help the smug look on my face as I hear his voice tremble, “Thank you for allowing me to host my daughter’s coming of age party in your home.”

The High Lord raises his hand in easy dismissal, “Of course. You and yours have always aided my family for millennia. It’s an honor to host you.” His eyes trail over the room again and I feel like sinking into the shadows as I know what his next words will be. “Where is the lovely lady? Has she already fled?”

My father’s lips twitch up into a smile only for the High Lord’s benefit before he turns and spots me hidden away, “Ravaen! Come greet your High Lord.”

I take a deep breath to steady my nerves before I step around the column. I walk slowly toward the dias, my head held high as I meet the High Lord’s dark gaze. His violet eyes flicker with amusement at my boldness but I don’t back down. The crowd parts for me, not a single peep coming from anyone as they’re too scared of the High Lord. I stop in front of the dias and give the most proper courtesy I’ve ever given.

“My Lord,” my voice is the pinnacle of innocence even as fire burns inside of me, “Thank you for hosting me in your lovely home here in the Hewn City.” I raise my head, my own eyes that shine like polished emeralds meeting his again. Even more amusement sits on his face and it takes everything in me not to look annoyed. “I hope to be able to serve the Night Court to my best ability from here on.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” his voice makes my skin crawl but for some reason it feels like this is all an act for him. A game. “Congratulations, Ravaen. Enjoy your night in my court.”

“Thank you my Lord,” I bow again. My father preens beside me, clearly pleased with our interaction. I glance back up at the Rhysand. “If you’ll excuse me, my Lord. I hope you have a wonderful night as well.”

His eyes twinkle like the stars of the night sky and I give one last bow of my head before stepping away. I can feel three sets of eyes on my back, the High Lord and his warriors. The music starts up again and the rest of the court returns to dancing, eating, and drinking. I swipe a glass of wine from the table and go back to leaning against the onyx column. My eyes watch over the room, never once lingering on someone for too long. I sip at my wine as I stand there, pretending to be enjoying the party. I don’t dare show my distaste with the High Lord here lest he thinks it’s toward him.

My gaze eventually trails back to where the Rhysand sits and a jolt runs through my body as I realize he’s still staring at me. Even as he talks to one of the other court officials, Keir, his eyes are locked on mine. That’s when I feel it, the softest caress on the wall of obsidian that protects my mind. My eyes dart around the room, trying to figure out who dares to mess with my mind, but it doesn’t take longer than a second to realize it’s the High Lord himself.

“Let him in,” a dark but smooth voice from behind me whispers through the shadows. I glance back and see one of the Illyrian warriors standing in the shadows, almost one with them. The blue Siphons on his armor catch my gaze.

“Why?” I ask, raising my brow. I refuse to let this little game of theirs intimidate me. The warrior’s lips turn down, clearly not expecting my question. I slide a bit further around the column, falling into the shadows beside him. “Why?”

He pauses for a second, studying me to see if I deserve an answer. “He wishes to speak with you. To…make you useful.”

I scowl at him and I feel anger burning in my core, “I’m not interested.”

Once again, I feel that soft caress but this time it comes with a hint of talons. I look at the Illyrian in front of me and my eyes narrow. A soft chuckle leaves my lips as I realize what is happening. I step closer to him, poking a sharpened fingernail against his leather clad chest.

“High Lord. Daemati. Whatever. I’m not interested in being your plaything,” I say to the warrior who is currently letting said High Lord watch through his eyes. I feel a rumble of power, laughter, trickle from behind me where the dias is.

“Do not mistake the High Lord’s intentions,” the Illyrian says, he doesn’t even glance at the finger poking his chest. The shadows curl around my hand and up my arm and the icy touch of them is startling. How odd. “He’s not seeking you out for…pleasure.”

I look at him before I pull my finger away. His hazel eyes meet mine and we stare each other down for a few seconds. His gaze, while cold, seemed to hold something deeper in them. I bite my lip, thinking for a brief moment that this man is extremely attractive. Our staredown ends when I sigh softly and lean back against the column.

“Fine.” I say, allowing just a sliver of my wall of obsidian to crack. Just as quickly as it opens, I feel those dark talons slipping through.

You, my dear, are one tough lady to convince. The High Lord’s voice is full of humor as he speaks. I could use someone like you on my side.

I have to stop myself from biting harsh words at him and the rumble of laughter is in my head this time.

What is it that you want of me, High Lord? I hiss the title at him in response to his laughter.

I wish to speak to you. After your little party. The Illyrian in front of me shifts on his feet, not with unease but with something else. Rhysand must’ve said something to him before his voice slips back to me. Azriel will remain by your side so you don’t steal away into the night. Play nice won’t you.

And with that, his presence leaves and I slam my wall shut. I glance at the warrior, Azriel, and frown deeply. Great, just what I need. An escort.

I flash him my best smile, my eyelashes lowered in a flirty way, “So, Azriel is it?” His features flash with annoyance before that mask is back in place. “If you’re going to watch me for the rest of the night, then at least let me talk to you.”

He crosses his arms, those shadows clinging to every corner of his body. I realize that the darkness that lingers here isn’t just because of the Night Court, but because of him. I track a swirl of those shadows as they brush against his ear, wondering if he controls them or if they work together. He doesn’t say anything the whole time, just stares right back at me.

“What’s the name of the other Illyrian? The one with the red Siphons,” I ask him.

“Cassian.” One word answer but at least its an answer.

I hum softly, filing that information away. “Azriel and Cassian. Rhysand’s two Illyrian warriors.” He flinches as I speak the High Lord’s name and a smirk tugs at my lips. I take another sip of my wine, still concealed in the shadows with Azriel. “How do you work with those shadows? Do you control them?”

“Yes.”

“Are you ever going to speak more than one word to me?”

“No.”

I sneer at him and finish off my glass. “I’m going to get another. Would you like one?”

He looks at me, those calculating eyes peeling me apart from head to toe. “...yes.”

My eyebrows raise in surprise at his agreement to a drink. I give a little grin and nod my head before going toward the tables of drink and food. I feel the High Lord’s eyes on me once more now that I’m not behind the column. I look over at him and give another smile as I pluck two glasses of wine off the table. Surprise crosses his face before a smirk grows on his lips. He leans over to whisper something to the other Illyrian, Cassian, who glances toward me and grins widely. I offer them both a cheeky wink before twirling away back to my column.

“Here, I hope you like wine,” I offer him the glass.

Azriel nods once and takes the glass. He sniffs it cautiously, head tilting, before taking a small drink. His eyes meet mine again as I also drink from my glass.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Oh!” my eyes twinkle with excitement, “A two word response!”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips and I feel my heart beat pick up a little. That smile is so unfairly attractive even if it is minute. I lean against the column again and let my gaze trail over him, wondering just what is hiding underneath those dark leathers of his. Azriel clears his throat and those ever creeping shadows seem to curl further around him.

I think for a second about what I can say to him that he might deign to answer. An idea pops into my head and I give a teasing grin over the rim of my glass, “I heard rumor that Illyrian wings are sensitive. That true?”

His eyes widen and I could swear I see a faint blush on his cheeks but it’s hard to see through the darkness. “Why do you ask?”

“We’re up to four words now,” I giggle and shrug my shoulders. “It’s just something I’ve heard. Are they sensitive to the touch or is more of a temperature sensitivity?”

Azriel’s eyes move over me again and I could swear he’s peeling the dress off my body. He shifts slightly, his wings untucking just a bit from behind him. “Both. They’re more sensitive to the touch though.”

“They’re beautiful,” I say softly, the words surprising the both of us but I mean it. “Is it fun? Being able to fly?”

Azriel’s expression cools for a moment and I can’t help but wonder what that’s about. He looks away and then when he looks back, there’s a lightness in his face that I haven’t seen yet. “It’s freeing…I’d be glad to take you sometime.”

I can feel excitement burn through me at that and my jaw drops. “Really?” I imagine soaring through the skies as a giggle leaves me. “You’re not just pulling my leg?”

Azriel shakes his head, that small smile on his lips again. “I’ll take you flying someday.”

My heart is racing in my chest from the promise of getting to experience it someday. Azriel crosses his arms over his chest again and my thoughts suddenly flip to the fact that he’d have to carry me. My eyes trail over his arms and even beneath the leathers, I can tell he’s incredibly strong. I feel heat flush my cheeks and I look away, back toward the party.

“I can’t wait.” That excitement is still there but I can’t bring myself to look at him. Too much wine. My thoughts had definitely started going south.

We stand in silence for a long time, both of us watching the party goers as they dance to the fast music. At some point, Azriel actually steps out to go refill our drinks and I watch him walk across the room. My father finally notices me sulking away from everyone and he walks over with a frown on his lips.

“Father,” my voice is full of disdain but I straighten up and try to look presentable.

“Ravaen, when I decided to ask the High Lord for his hall, I expected you to be out here mingling with these officials and their sons. One of them might be your future husband,” it takes everything in me not to scoff at him as he continues on. “The High Lord himself has graced us with his presence and yet here you stand hiding in the shadows. It’s unbecoming of you. Do not disgrace me.”

My eyes narrow ever so slightly but I force a smile onto my face. “Yes father. I apologize but…”

“She’s been talking with me.” my father’s back stiffens and he almost comically turns to look at Azriel. Here is one of the High Lord’s strongest warriors holding two glasses of wine in his hand, clearly one meant for me. My father’s face pales and he takes a tentative step back, glancing between the two of us.

“I-I see…” he swallows hard. I can see the discomfort on his face and that brings a wicked grin to my own.

“Is that a problem?” Azriel asks, handing me the glass around my father. I take it with a thankful look on my face.

“Not at all,” it brings me joy to hear my father’s voice tremble for the second time tonight. “It’s an honor for my daughter to have captured the High Lord’s shadowsinger’s attention.”

Even as he says it, I can tell he doesn’t really mean it. Azriel seems to sense it too but he doesn’t say anything. I’ve long since known my father’s distaste for anyone who isn’t a High Fae and I’ve even heard him cursing the High Lord about his Illyrian blood. I clear my throat and step out of those comforting shadows, back into the faelight. I feel eyes falling on us, the intense stare from the High Lord included.

“If you’ll excuse us father,” I slink my arm through his, pasting the most brilliant smile on my lips that I can. Any chance I can piss him off I’ll take, even at the expense of the shadow singer. “Azriel and I were going to dance once he returned with our drinks.”

His eyes go wide as he looks at our intertwined arms but he can’t say anything about it given Azriel’s status, “R-Right.”

Azriel offers my father a short nod before he guides me onto the dance floor. His hand slides across my exposed lower back, holding me at a reasonable distance as we sway to the music. I avoid his gaze as I feel his hand resting right above my ass. His fingers are rough and as he takes a drink, I notice that the one hand is covered in burn scars. The other must be as well. My free hand rests on his shoulder and I’m half tempted to ask about the scars but I know better. He had already seemed hesitant to answer me about flying and I have no doubt that the man before me went through hell to get where he is today. Instead, I meet his gaze again, the one that hasn’t left me since he brought me the wine.

“Thank you,” I say quietly, hoping that the music and alcohol will drown out my voice from the listening ears of the fae around us. “For interrupting my father.”

“It was nothing. He…” Azriel hesitates but I give him an encouraging nod. “He doesn’t seem to like Illyrian’s much.”

A frown now sits on my face and I cut my eyes to where my father stands with a group of officials, his eyes occasionally darting toward me. “No. He doesn’t like any fae who aren’t High Fae. Stupid prick thinks he’s better than anyone else just because of the sway he has in the Night Court. I’ve known other fae who are ten times the person he is.”

Azriel looks at me for a long time without saying a word. When he speaks, his words are clearly picked carefully. “Other fae.” He mumbles. “Not lesser fae but other.”

“Like I said, I’ve known other fae who are better than High Fae. Calling them lesser is just demeaning to them.” I glance toward his wings, wanting to touch them suddenly now that they’re in the light. A swirl of shadow curls around the sharp tip of the right one. “I wish there was a better word. I hate that I’m a ‘High Fae’ when I’m no better than anyone else.”

Azriel studies my face like he’s looking for any sign of depict but my words are true and said from the bottom of my heart, “You mean that…you really mean that.”

“Of course I do.” I offer a small smile, feeling a bit shy. “I might be young, might still be a child in the eyes of many, but I’m not blind to the injustices in our kind. I dream of the day all fae can live in comfort and not feel like they’re lesser just because they aren’t High Fae.”

He blinks at me, clearly astonished by my words. “You…you are incredible.”

“What…?” My cheeks color furiously and he seems to realize what he just said as his own face turns red. Shadows begin to curl around him once more. A defense mechanism, I realize, to hide himself away from the world.

“I…” he stumbles over his words as he looks at me with wide eyes. “I just mean that, um, you’ve got an incredible way of thinking. Not many fae think that way…nor would they admit it in a place with as many ears as the Night Court.”

My eyes sparkle with amusement and a little laugh tugs out of me. “No offense to you or the High Lord but…fuck the Night Court.”

Azriel’s eyes grow even wider before a chuckle leaves him. I feel floored, never expecting a cold and calculating man like him to have such a sweet laugh. Though if being around him for the last hour has taught me anything, he’s not cold in the slightest. Maybe I’ve had a bit too much wine but I could swear something in me flickers with recognition. Azriel seems to feel it too as he reels away. We’ve connected in some way and that’s when I realize his shadows have moved to curl around me.

“The shadows,” I whisper softly. “My powers are also based in darkness.” I let my fingers play with his shadows. They act like little pets as they swirl around, dancing to the music. “Lovely…”

Azriel swallows before he leads me from the dance floor. We stand near the dias but far enough away that I don’t need to address the High Lord. I can still feel his eyes on me though, or maybe they’re on Azriel. I let myself look at him and both he and Cassian are staring at us with contemplation in their faces. Azriel follows my gaze and I can feel him tense.

“When the party is over,” he mutters just loud enough for me to hear. “Linger by the gates. I’ll come collect you.”

And before I can even say a word, he’s turning and strolling back up the dias and to the throne. The High Lord cocks his head at him but doesn’t scold him for not sticking around me. I meet Cassian’s gaze next and, while he’s still grinning with all of his teeth, his eyes are observing me closely. I turn away again and make my way back through the crowd, picking up another glass of wine, and drinking the whole thing.

The party ends after another three hours of miserable dancing with the males who think they stand a chance. The High Lord and the Illyrians left when Azriel returned to them so I don’t have to prostrate myself again. I say goodbye to a few people as they leave and tell my father I’m going to continue the celebration at a friend’s house. He seems annoyed with me but doesn’t say anything, hopefully because he fears Azriel might pop around the corner and knife him. I make my way out of the castle hall and to the gates, sitting on one of the benches in front of it.

I must’ve had too much wine because my head is starting to pound and my heart is racing. I lean back against the cool stone and let my eyes slip shut while I wait for the spymaster to return. I feel a presence come near me but I don’t feel any danger so I keep my eyes closed.

“You must be quite bold to sit here while drunk,” an unfamiliar voice says and I quickly open my eyes to see who it is. It’s the other Illyrian warrior, Cassian, who stands before me. His arms are crossed and that same smirk is on his face. Where Azriel is cool and collected, Cassian seems the type to be rough and wild. “Anyone could come by and snatch a pretty thing like you away.”

He’s taunting me, I can tell, but I sit up straight and give him a sweet smile. My words, however, come out laced with venom.

“I’d like to see someone try,” I say as threads of darkness begin to spill from my fingertips. A small show of my powers.

Cassian’s eyebrows raise and he chuckles. “I like you…come on. The High Lord wants to speak with you.”

“So I’ve gathered,” I say as I stand up. My head spins but I don’t let him see it as I fall into step beside him. “Azriel get punished or something? The High Lord not like us dancing?”

“Not at all,” Cassian’s grin grows even wider. “Az had some business to take care of. Don’t worry your pretty little heart though. You’re in good hands.”

I give him a once over before tossing my hair back, “I’m not worried about you.” I try to ooze confidence and I do feel like I could hold my own against him. Cassian laughs again but doesn’t comment. “What’s the High Lord want with me anyway? If he’s not trying to get into my panties.”

Cassian snorts and gives me a side glance, “You’ll find out soon enough. Though if your panties are on offer…”

I snarl at him, baring my teeth. He just grins and leads me up a back set of stairs into the castle again. As soon as we step into the threshold, I feel a weird tingle of magic. Gooseflesh erupts over my skin as I realize I’ve just stepped through wards. Cassian doesn’t seem to notice them, or he already knew they were there, so I try to keep my face still. We walk through a few more halls, the only sound is our feet against the floor. Cassian stops in front of a door and glances back at me. He looks like he’s going to say something but stops and instead opens the door. I can feel him before I even walk inside.

“I hope you enjoyed your party, Ravaen.” The High Lord says as I walk through the door. He’s sitting at a table with a glass of some golden liquor in his hand. He looks far too relaxed and I feel a cold sweat begin to stick to my skin.

“I did.” I keep my voice steady as I step closer, not once moving my eyes from his. “Thank you again for allowing me to use your hall.”

“You mean for allowing your father to use it.” He chuckles and swirls the glass. I feel my heart racing, trying to figure out his motive. He nods to a chair as Cassian walks around to lean against the wall. “Sit.”

I look from the chair back to him. “I’d prefer to stand.”

He shrugs, much to my surprise, and sets the glass down. “As you wish. Do you know why I called you here? Have you figured it out?”

My jaw clenches at his arrogant tone and I flip a curl over my shoulder. “Well since you’re not here to try and fuck me, I would assume it has to do with my family. Did my father bruise your ego, High Lord?”

“So feisty…” he laughs, eyes twinkling with amusement. “That mouth of yours will no doubt come in use some day.” I bristle at the dual meaning of those words. His face turns serious after a moment, his eyes now swirling with dark power. “You’d be correct in assuming your father is on my bad side.”

“Then why have you summoned me?” I raise an eyebrow.

I cross my arms over my chest, the movement plumping my breasts and I catch Cassian’s gaze following the motion. I bare my teeth at him again. Before the Rhysand can say anything, I feel the shadows behind me shift and my eyes move to the corner. Azriel steps out of the darkness, those same wisps of shadow curling around his face, and walks over to the table. He sets something down in the center of the table and my blood chills.

“We know who you are, what you are,” the High Lord speaks coolly as he takes in the medallion that holds my family’s crest. “And I just so happen to need an assassin of your caliber.”

I only have a moment to decide on my next action. I could try and lie but with the medallion that lays on the table there’s no point in it. I let my gaze drift between the three of them before I step forward. Azriel tenses, seeing me as a threat, but I sit down in the chair previously offered. I tap my long fingernails on the table, letting the clicking fill the silence.

A smirk grows on my lips as both the warriors seem to move into defensive stances. “Be at ease. I have no intention of harm.”

“Hard to believe coming from an assassin,” Cassian grumbles but his voice is almost tinged with disbelief. Like he was unaware of mine and my family’s profession.

I cut him a wicked grin, my head tilting almost innocently. “Assassin or no, I would be a fool to attempt anything against the High Lord or you two.” My face falls serious and I dig my fingernails into the table. “And don’t think I enjoy the life that was forced onto me. If you want an assassin, try my siblings or my parents.”

“Unfortunately, that’s not an option,” the High Lord sits up straighter, his eyes swirling with that darkness that is his power. “Because your father is a part of this issue that I need taken care of.”

“You want me to kill my father?” My face remains a cool calm, no emotion expressed even as anger rises.

“No. He’s too useful in my court to kill,” he shakes his head, that blue black hair falling into his eyes. “I’m sure you’ve heard of the unease in my court, whispers of the revolt that’s coming.” I don’t say a word, keeping my face schooled. “Your father is the male behind the curtain. He’s leading a revolt.”

“And? If you don’t want me to kill him then what do you want?” I lean forward, my nails tapping gently again.

“I want you to kill the fae he’s working with,” he nods to Azriel who passes me a folded piece of paper. “The list of names. If we choke out the accessories, the leader will fall.”

I don’t touch the paper as I look at Azriel. “And why don’t you do it?”

“Because it would place too much suspicion on the High Lord and his Inner Circle,” those shadows curl around his fingers and up to his ear. “I was the one to get the information you need but I can’t act on it. Which is why we’ve come to you.”

“And here I thought you were flirting with me at the party because you thought I was cute,” his cool facade falters for a split second before he turns away. I glance at the other two and shrug my shoulders. “What’s in it for me?”

Cassian looks like he’s going to say something but the High Lord raises his hand to stop him. Those violet eyes are still on me, piercing and calculating.

“Escape.”