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small-z24 · 1 year ago

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One-Shot: Bargain in the Shadows Pt. 1

Summary:

Y/N, a prisoner, strikes a bargain with Azriel to share information about a dark prophecy. Navigating mistrust and hostility, she hides a critical secret about her role in the prophecy, determined to find a way to save Prythian without sacrificing herself.

Word Count: 2328

Warnings: This one-shot contains themes of imprisonment, tension, and deception. It features complex relationships, flirtation, and manipulation. Reader discretion is advised.

Y/N paced the small, dimly lit cell in the Night Court’s prison. The stone walls were cold and unyielding, but she refused to let her discomfort show. She knew they wanted information from her—information about a prophecy she had stumbled upon. And she had every intention of using that information to her advantage.

The door to her cell creaked open, and she turned to see a tall, dark figure standing in the doorway. Azriel, the spymaster of the Night Court, entered with an air of quiet authority. His shadows whispered around him, as if alive and sensing the tension in the room.

“Y/N,” he greeted, his voice calm but firm. “I’m here to ask you some questions.”

She crossed her arms, leaning against the wall with a smirk. “I figured as much. And what makes you think I’ll just spill my secrets?”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he maintained his composure. “Because it’s in your best interest. The information you have could help prevent a catastrophe.”

Y/N chuckled, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, I’m sure it could. But what’s in it for me?”

He took a step closer, his shadows curling around him protectively. “You’re currently a prisoner in the Night Court. Cooperate, and we can make your stay more... comfortable.”

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued but not willing to show it. “Comfortable, how?”

Azriel met her gaze, his expression unreadable. “You’ll be moved to the House of Wind. You’ll have freedom within its walls, access to the city, and a chance to prove yourself.”

Y/N considered his offer, her mind racing. The House of Wind was a far cry from this dank cell. It would give her a chance to gather more information, to plan her next move. But she needed to maintain the upper hand.

“Fine,” she said finally, her voice laced with defiance. “I’ll tell you what I know. But I want guarantees.”

Azriel inclined his head slightly. “Name your terms.”

She straightened, her eyes locking onto his. “I want your word that I won’t be harmed. And if I help you, I want a full pardon and safe passage out of the Night Court once this is over.”

He studied her for a moment, then nodded. “You have my word. Now, tell me about the prophecy.”

Y/N sighed, running a hand through her hair. “The prophecy speaks of a great darkness that will spread across Prythian. It mentions a power that can stop it, hidden in the heart of the Night Court. But the details are vague.”

Azriel listened intently, his expression focused. “Go on.”

“There’s a key,” she continued. “A relic that can unlock this power. Without it, the darkness cannot be stopped. The prophecy says the key is hidden in a place of shadows and secrets.”

Azriel’s eyes flickered with recognition. “The Court of Nightmares.”

She nodded. “Precisely. But it’s not just about finding the key. The prophecy also mentions a chosen one who can wield this power. Someone with a connection to the shadows.”

He frowned, his mind racing. “A connection to the shadows...”

Y/N watched him carefully, sensing his unease. “Do you know who it might be?”

Azriel shook his head slowly. “I have some ideas, but nothing concrete. We need to find this key and the chosen one quickly.”

She smirked, her confidence returning. “Looks like you need me more than I need you, then.”

He met her gaze, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “For now. But remember, Y/N, this is a delicate alliance. Betray us, and the consequences will be severe.”

She pushed off the wall, stepping closer to him. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Now, get me out of this cell and into that House of Wind you promised.”

Azriel nodded and turned to leave, gesturing for her to follow. As they walked through the winding corridors of the prison, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a sense of exhilaration. She had struck a bargain with the Night Court’s spymaster, and now she had a chance to prove her worth.

They arrived at the House of Wind, its grandeur and beauty a stark contrast to the prison she had just left. Azriel led her to a comfortable room, complete with a large bed and a view of the city below.

“This will be your room,” he said, his tone still businesslike. “You’ll have freedom within the House and the city, but you’ll be accompanied by guards at all times.”

Y/N nodded, taking in her new surroundings. “Fair enough. Now, let’s get to work.”

Azriel’s gaze softened slightly, and he extended his hand. “Welcome to the Night Court, Y/N.”

She shook his hand, a spark of understanding passing between them. “Thank you, Azriel. Let’s hope this alliance is a fruitful one.”

As they began their work, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement. The stakes were high, but she thrived in situations like this. And with Azriel by her side, she knew they had a fighting chance to unravel the prophecy and stop the impending darkness.

In the shadows of the Night Court, an unlikely partnership had been forged. And together, they would face whatever challenges lay ahead.

Y/N settled into the House of Wind with surprising ease. The grandeur of the place was impressive, and the freedom to move around—albeit with guards—was a far cry from the dank cell she had previously occupied. However, the real challenge was about to begin: meeting the rest of the Night Court.

Azriel led her into the grand dining room where Rhysand, Feyre, Cassian, Mor, and Amren were gathered. Their conversations halted as she entered, and six pairs of eyes turned to scrutinize her. Y/N held her head high, meeting their gazes with an unwavering confidence.

“This is Y/N,” Azriel introduced her, his voice even. “She’ll be staying with us for the time being and assisting with some... delicate matters.”

Rhysand stood, his presence commanding. “Welcome, Y/N. I trust Azriel has explained the terms of your stay.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a sly smile. “He has. And I must say, it’s quite the upgrade from my previous accommodations.”

Feyre, standing beside Rhysand, eyed Y/N warily. “We’ll see if you can be trusted,” she said, her tone cool.

Y/N’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “I suppose that’s fair. Trust is earned, after all.”

Cassian’s gaze was hard, his muscles tensed. Mor and Amren looked equally unimpressed. Y/N reveled in their hostility, knowing that it only made her more determined to find a way out of her predicament.

Rhysand gestured to an empty seat beside him. “Join us for dinner, Y/N. We have much to discuss.”

She glided to the chair, her movements graceful and deliberate. “Thank you, Rhysand,” she purred, sitting down and crossing her legs. She made sure her tone was a touch too familiar, a touch too flirty, just to see Feyre’s reaction.

Feyre’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing, her fingers tightening around her fork.

Throughout the meal, Y/N engaged in light conversation, her charm and wit on full display. She caught Rhysand’s eye several times, her flirtatious remarks growing bolder. “You know, Rhysand, you’re quite different from the stories I’ve heard about the High Lord of the Night Court,” she said, her voice playful.

Rhysand raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Oh? And what stories are those?”

Y/N leaned in slightly, her voice lowering. “Stories of a ruthless, cunning ruler. But you seem rather... hospitable.”

Feyre’s jaw tightened, and Y/N could feel the tension in the air. She reveled in it, her eyes flickering to Azriel, who watched her with an unreadable expression.

“And you, Azriel,” Y/N said, turning her attention to him. “You’ve been such a gracious host. I’m almost starting to like it here.”

Azriel’s eyes darkened, and his shadows curled around him protectively. “Don’t get too comfortable,” he replied, his voice a warning.

Y/N’s smile widened. “Oh, I won’t. But I must say, your shadows seem to have taken quite a liking to me.” She reached out, her fingers dancing through the shadows that lingered around her.

The shadows responded, swirling around her hand in a playful manner. Azriel’s jaw clenched, and he looked away, clearly uncomfortable.

Cassian couldn’t hold back any longer. “What exactly do you know about this prophecy?” he demanded, his tone accusatory.

Y/N leaned back in her chair, her eyes gleaming. “All in good time, Cassian. I’m here to help, remember?”

Mor scoffed, her eyes filled with disdain. “You’re here because we need information. Don’t think for a second that we trust you.”

Y/N met her gaze, unflinching. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

After dinner, Rhysand suggested they move to the sitting room to continue their discussions. Y/N followed, still playing with Azriel’s shadows as they moved. The shadows seemed to enjoy her presence, much to Azriel’s dismay.

Once they were seated, Rhysand leaned forward. “We need to understand the specifics of the prophecy and the key. The Court of Nightmares is a dangerous place, and we can’t afford any mistakes.”

Y/N nodded, her expression turning serious. “The prophecy is vague, but it’s clear about one thing: the key is hidden in a place of shadows and secrets. The Court of Nightmares fits that description perfectly.”

“And the chosen one?” Feyre asked, her voice soft but firm.

Y/N glanced at Azriel, a knowing smile on her lips. “The chosen one is someone with a deep connection to the shadows. Someone who can wield them as easily as breathing.”

All eyes turned to Azriel, who stiffened under their scrutiny. “I’ll do whatever it takes to find this key and stop the impending darkness,” he said, his voice resolute.

Y/N’s gaze softened slightly, masking the turmoil inside her. She knew the truth—that she was the chosen one. The prophecy demanded a great sacrifice, one she wasn’t ready to make. She needed time to find another way, to avoid the fate that awaited her.

As the meeting continued, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this prophecy than she had let on. She needed to find a crack in the Night Court’s unity, a way to secure her freedom once and for all.

But for now, she would play along, enjoying the game of cat and mouse she had started. And with every flirtatious remark, every playful touch of Azriel’s shadows, she felt herself inching closer to her goal.

The Night Court members didn’t trust her, and she didn’t care. She had a plan, and she would see it through to the end. Even if it meant breaking a few hearts along the way.

The days turned into weeks, and Y/N found herself growing more accustomed to life in the House of Wind. The Night Court members remained wary of her, and she relished their discomfort. Her interactions with Azriel became a constant dance of tension and curiosity.

One evening, as Y/N was practicing with Azriel’s shadows in the courtyard, Rhysand approached her. His demeanor was relaxed, but Y/N knew better than to let her guard down.

“Enjoying yourself?” Rhysand asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Y/N looked up, her fingers still playing with the shadows. “They seem to like me. Unlike the rest of your court.”

Rhysand chuckled. “You’re not making it easy for them to trust you.”

She shrugged, her expression indifferent. “Trust is earned, remember?”

He studied her for a moment, his eyes piercing. “What are you really after, Y/N? You’re hiding something.”

Her heart skipped a beat, but she kept her face neutral. “I’ve told you everything I know about the prophecy.”

Rhysand’s gaze didn’t waver. “Have you? Or are you keeping something back?”

Y/N felt a chill run down her spine. He was getting too close to the truth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Rhysand’s expression softened slightly, but his eyes remained sharp. “We need you, Y/N. If there’s something you’re not telling us, it could mean the difference between victory and defeat.”

She met his gaze, her resolve hardening. “I’ve given you everything you need. Now it’s up to you to use it.”

As Rhysand walked away, Y/N felt the weight of her secret pressing down on her. She had to find another way, a way to fulfill the prophecy without sacrificing herself.

Later that night, as she wandered the halls, she encountered Azriel. He was standing by a window, his gaze distant. The moonlight cast a soft glow over his features, highlighting the shadows that seemed to cling to him.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked, approaching him.

Azriel turned to face her, his expression guarded. “Just thinking.”

She leaned against the window frame, her eyes searching his. “About the prophecy?”

He nodded, his eyes darkening. “It’s weighing on all of us. The idea that one of us might have to make a great sacrifice... it’s not easy to accept.”

Y/N’s heart ached at his words. She wanted to tell him the truth, to share the burden she carried. But she couldn’t—she wasn’t ready to face the consequences.

Instead, she reached out, her fingers brushing against his arm. “We’ll find a way, Azriel. Together.”

He looked down at her, his gaze softening. “I hope you’re right.”

As they stood there, the silence between them filled with unspoken words, Y/N felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, they could find a way to change the prophecy’s outcome.

But for now, she would continue to play her part, biding her time and searching for a way to save herself—and everyone else.

In the shadows of the Night Court, an unlikely partnership had been forged. And together, they would face whatever challenges lay ahead, even if it meant confronting the darkest truths about themselves.

#ACOTAR #A Court of Thorns and Roses #ACOTAR fanfiction #Azriel #Azriel x reader #Night Court #Summer Court #prophecy #mystery #tension #imprisonment #deception #flirtation #complex relationships #hidden secrets #SJM fanfiction #Sarah J Maas #ACOTAR fandom #one-shot

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010mikova · 6 months ago

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Chapter One: The Hollow Brew

DISCLAIMER!!!!!

This is a fictional work and is not intended to represent any real persons, places, or events. All characters, organizations, and locations in this story are purely a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or individuals is entirely coincidental.

Ravenwood was a town steeped in perpetual twilight. The sun never fully committed to rising, leaving the streets bathed in a muted glow that seemed to stretch endlessly between dusk and dawn. The skies above were always a faint purple hue, as though the world itself had forgotten the warmth of midday. Its cobblestone paths, uneven and cracked with age, twisted through the town like veins, leading both locals and travelers alike in endless loops. The town’s peculiar layout was whispered to be the result of some ancient design, though no one could quite agree on its purpose. Some said it was a spell gone wrong, others believed it was the work of a long-forgotten architect who had a penchant for confusion. Whatever the cause, Ravenwood’s streets had a way of pulling you in and never quite letting you go.

The town’s buildings, old and weathered, leaned toward one another, as if they were in constant conversation. They were clustered in odd configurations, their faded paint and cracked stone facades telling stories of a time long past. Most people who came to Ravenwood for the first time found themselves disoriented, unable to remember the way they had come or how to get back. It was as though the town had a mind of its own, one that didn’t particularly care for visitors.

At the corner of Main Street, nestled between a derelict bookshop with windows that had not seen light in years and an abandoned tailor’s whose faded sign still swayed in the wind, stood The Hollow Brew. It was one of Ravenwood’s oldest establishments, its history as murky as the strong black coffee it served. The café’s stone façade was draped in thick ivy, the green tendrils creeping up toward a roof patched with moss. The windows, though perpetually fogged, emitted a golden glow that spilled onto the street like a warm invitation. For those wandering the town’s labyrinthine streets, The Hollow Brew offered a sense of refuge—a place to escape the endless twilight and the feeling that the world outside was just a little too distant.

Clara had been working at the café for three months, though it felt both longer and shorter than that, as if time itself moved differently within its walls. The job was ordinary enough: taking orders, pulling espresso shots, cleaning tables, but there was an odd rhythm to the place that made every day feel like a repeat of the last. The tasks never seemed to change, yet the air felt heavier with each passing moment, as though the café itself was holding its breath, waiting for something. Perhaps it was the unspoken rules of the place—the unhurried pace of life that felt both comforting and suffocating at the same time. In Ravenwood, nothing seemed to hurry, not even the hands of the clock.

From the moment she first stepped through the café’s heavy oak door, Clara had felt a distinct sensation that the place was hiding something, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She didn’t know if it was the quiet murmurs of the regulars, the way they always sat in the same spots, or the constant low hum of the place that made her feel as though she were caught in some kind of loop. It wasn’t that she felt threatened, but there was a certain dissonance in the way time seemed to stretch out here, as though the café existed outside the usual rules of the world.

She’d quickly learned that the café had its own peculiarities. The old clock above the register never seemed to tick in rhythm. Its hands moved in fits and starts, jerking forward or backward at random intervals, as though it had forgotten the passage of time altogether. The storeroom in the back was colder than the rest of the café, even on the hottest days of summer. The chill was so persistent that Clara often wore a sweater, even though the air outside was sweltering. She had tried to rationalize it, attributing it to old pipes or a malfunctioning air conditioner, but deep down, she knew it wasn’t quite that simple.

And then there were the whispers. It started slowly, just a faint murmur in the background during the quieter hours of the morning, when the café was nearly empty and the sun hadn’t quite managed to rise. At first, Clara thought it was just the sound of old pipes, or the wind pushing through the cracks in the building. But the more she listened, the more she was convinced that there were voices, low and indistinct, coming from somewhere deep within the walls. She tried to ignore it, telling herself that it was nothing, but the sensation of being watched, of hearing voices that shouldn’t be there, never quite left her.

“Clara, you’re daydreaming again,” Elias’s voice broke through her thoughts, sharp and direct. He stood a few feet away, holding a tray of dirty mugs, his gaze fixed on her with an intensity that made her feel like she had been caught in the act of something.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, grabbing the tray and heading for the sink.

“Don’t apologize,” he said, his tone softer than usual. “Just… stay focused.”

Clara paused for a moment, glancing over her shoulder at him. For a split second, she thought she saw something in his expression—concern, maybe, or a fleeting softness. But as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by his usual impassive stare. He didn’t look at her with kindness or warmth, but there was something in the way his eyes lingered on her, as if he were watching for something—waiting for her to do something, to prove herself. She couldn’t tell if it was frustration or something else entirely.

Elias was another mystery of The Hollow Brew. He was cold, distant, and often dismissive, but there was something about him that intrigued Clara. He had an old-fashioned, almost aristocratic look about him, with his silver-white hair, sharp gray eyes, and angular features. He moved with an eerie grace, as though he was more of a shadow than a man. His silence was often more unsettling than any words he might have spoken. He didn’t speak much, and when he did, his words were often cutting, sharp, like blades that sliced through the air with a precision that left no room for interpretation.

“Your latte art looks like a crime scene,” he remarked one morning, his voice as cold as the fog outside.

Clara scowled, snatching a dishcloth to wipe the counter. “Maybe because I have a manager who just hovers and criticizes instead of teaching,” she shot back, her voice thick with frustration.

Elias smirked, leaning lazily against the counter. “If I did all the work for you, you’d never learn. You’re welcome.”

Clara rolled her eyes and turned back to the espresso machine, muttering under her breath. Despite her irritation, she couldn’t deny there was something about Elias that kept her attention. Beneath his icy exterior, there was something more—a hidden depth that she couldn’t quite understand. She would catch fleeting glimpses of it: the softening of his gaze when he thought no one was looking, the way his shoulders seemed to sag when he thought he was alone. There was a weariness to him, something heavy that seemed to cling to his every movement. She had no idea what it was, but it was always there, lingering just beneath the surface.

The Hollow Brew, for all its charm, seemed to echo Elias’s aura. There was something about the place that felt both timeless and trapped in time, as if it existed in a state of suspended animation. The same regulars came in each day, ordering the same drinks, sitting in the same seats. They never strayed from their routines, never deviated from the script. Clara had tried to strike up casual conversations with them, but their responses were always polite, brief, and superficial. There was a rhythm to their lives, a rhythm that seemed to pulse through the very walls of The Hollow Brew.

Clara didn’t know what it was about this place that unsettled her. She wasn’t sure if it was the constant sense of repetition, the way everything seemed to stay the same no matter how much time passed, or if it was something more. It wasn’t just the customers, or Elias, or the strange way time seemed to bend in the café. It was the feeling that she was part of something bigger, something that she didn’t quite understand. She had come to Ravenwood to escape the chaos of her past, but now, in The Hollow Brew, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the town—and the café—were becoming a part of her in ways she didn’t want.

The longer she stayed, the more she felt herself being drawn into its orbit, the more she felt the pull of Ravenwood’s strange rhythm. She didn’t know if it was the town, the café, or Elias himself, but something about Ravenwood was slowly changing her. And though she couldn’t yet say how or why, she knew that she was no longer the same person who had walked into The Hollow Brew three months ago. Something was shifting inside her, and she couldn’t help but wonder what it meant for her future.

#hidden secrets #OCS #book #book lovers #secrets #oooo I can write again #I’m going insane #i’m just rambling #i wish it was me #meow meow

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