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Chapter Text

Rhysand flew steadily over Valeris along the Sidra with Elain cradled in his arms. Elain avoided his gaze and seethed in silence, tears welling up in her dark doe eyes. They descended, dispersing the clouds to reveal the river house where Elain now lived with Feyre and Rhysand. He gently landed and placed Elain down on the dirt path leading to her beloved garden. Once steady, she brushed the wrinkles from her dress, determined to rein in her tears.

“Thank you,” she uttered with her back to him, then strode towards the house. Rhys stood silently in the garden, his violet eyes boring into her back until she was inside. She knew he read her every thought on their flight home and was analyzing the words Nesta had just spat at her up at the House of Wind. 

You tell yourself there's nothing that could have been done because it's unbearable to think that you could have saved Father if you'd only deigned to show up a few minutes earlier. Nesta’s venomous words rang in Elain's mind. Go back to Feyre and your little garden.

Once inside and out of view, Elain ran to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. The lavender bedding and gold accents were bathed in sunlight streaming through the large windows. Crossing the room to her vanity, she gazed at her reflection in the oval gilded mirror. Her eyes were pink and puffy, with tears streaming silently down her face. 

Feyre had discouraged the meeting, but Elain had overheard Cassian share that Nesta’s attitude had been improving. Nesta had finally agreed to train with him and even wanted the priestesses she worked alongside in the library to join them. Elain recalled her human days just before the war when they had miraculously come into money and moved into a new estate. It had been a period without fear or want. Nesta put aside her anger and became patient and maternal. She watched over Elain like a hawk but encouraged her to be more independent. That led to attending balls, meeting a handsome young duke, and getting engaged. She gave everything to her fiance, even her innocence, yet it all was for not once she became the enemy. Once she became high fae. 

Nesta’s hopes for the priestesses reminded Elain of that rare version of her sister. It’s been months since they spent time together and over a year since they’ve had a pleasant interaction with one another. She was hurt when Nesta moved into that dingy apartment in the city rather than live alongside her in one of Feyre’s homes. Elain thought it was Nesta’s attempt to grant Elain independence, but as the months passed without visits or inquiries regarding her well-being, Elain saw it for what it was. Nesta needed independence from Elain, not the other way around. 

Elain washed her face in her private bathroom. The entire bathroom was covered in pink and white marble. Splashing cold water on her face and drying it with her pink towel, she began looking like herself again, though her eyes were still a bit pink. She smiled at her reflection, determined to stop Nesta’s cold words from ruining her day. Why should she care if Nesta wasn’t trying to improve her attitude? Needing a distraction, Elain decided to head to the kitchen. 

In the kitchen, Nuala and Cerridwen, Rhysand's trusted spies and housekeepers, greeted Elain with warm smiles. Elain headed straight for her hanging apron, skillfully tying and securing it with a messy bow at her back. "What's on the menu today, ladies?" she asked cheerfully.

They exchanged knowing glances at one another. No doubt they heard Elain running to her room an hour ago. “Miss Elain, we didn’t expect you today”, Cerridwen cooed.  

Elain didn’t meet their curious eyes and simply agreed with a hum. She noticed molasses among the baking ingredients. “Are you making gingerbread cookies?”. 

Ceridewen shook her head and said, “Yes, Master Azriel is expected tonight to speak with Master Rhys.” 

“Azriel has a terrible sweet tooth. Gingerbread cookies are his favorite,” Nuala interjected. The women often spied for Rhys but assisted Azriel on occasion. 

“Oh,” Elain said blankly as she stored away the information. Perhaps she could include gingerbread cookies in her gift to Azriel next Winter Solstice. She wasn’t convinced he appreciated the headache tonic she gifted him this year. 

Elain smiled while mixing the batter, remembering Azriel’s enormous laugh when he received her gift. She would have been mortified if the sound hadn’t been so pure and carefree. So beautiful. The recipe was simple, and the cookies were done within the hour. The housekeepers assured Elain that dinner was ready and kitchen duties were wrapped up for the day. With the cookies in tow, Elain made her way to the dining room, where she found Feyre seated alone.

Feyre rested easy in her dining chair. Her hair was half up and pinned into place by a metal headband that could almost be considered a tiara. She wore a long royal blue dress with silver sparkling stars embroidered along the shoulders. She was looking down at her stomach, but her eyes shot up, meeting Elain’s as she entered the room. Feyre’s grey-blue eyes were light and glowing with happiness.  

“You two are happy today,” Elain giggled. Feyre shot her an amused, shushing expression. Elain knew no one was close enough to hear. Feyre had told her she was expecting when she caught her sitting on the bathroom floor clinging to the toilet for the third morning in a row. She couldn't wait to hold her niece or nephew. She fantasized about dressing them, reading storybooks to them, and watching them roll around the dirt while she tended to the garden. Feyre smiled lovingly at her sister as if she was picturing the same sight.  

Cerridwen and Nuala entered, placing dinner before them, and faded away to wherever they disappear to. “Rhys isn't joining us today,” Elain asked as she noticed the table was only set for two. 

“No, he’s looking into a couple of things before Azriel arrives.” Feyre’s eyes darkened as she began eating her dinner. “Elain, I wanted to ask you something. Something that is not fair of me to ask of you”.

Elain froze, her mouth full of potatoes. She gave Feyre an annoyed sideways glance as she drank her goblet, clearing her mouth. “You’re not going to ask me about Nesta, are you?”.

Feyre laughed, “ No. Unless you want to talk about that.”

“No thanks,” Elain said firmly as she took another mouthful of potatoes.

“Good,” Feyre chuckled. “No, what I want to ask you is more serious.” Elain furrowed her brows and studied Feyre. “Rhys is aware of some of the news Azriel brings tonight. There are dark items that we must locate in order to keep the Cauldron hidden. If anyone else finds these items before us, it could mean the end of Prythian as we know it. Azriel suspects that those who have been Made can learn to call to them. We want Nesta to attempt to locate it, but if she continues to be…unpleasant, would you be willing to assist us?”

Elain stared at her sister, resting in her chair, noticing the weakening of her body. She knew Feyre would handle this task on her own if she weren't with child. Elain pictured her sister growing larger, slower, and more fragile in the upcoming months. A stark contrast from her invincible human sister, hunting in the woods to return home covered in the blood of the kill she’d haul home alone. Meanwhile, she and her family sat idly in the cottage, hungrily awaiting their meal. Elain looked down at her plate full of beef and potatoes. Though life as fae was not her wish, she knew both her human and fae life were indebted to her sister. 

“Yes. I will help you.” Elain said with unwavering conviction.

“You don’t have -” Feyre started, but Elain held her palm up, stopping her.

“I will help you. I will assist you in whatever way I can, Feyre.” 

Feyre gave her a proud smile. “I’m inviting the family over for a meeting tomorrow, including Nesta. Azriel will provide the details then.”

_____

Elain was awoken from her slumber by the resonance of deep male voices in the house. She’d been struggling to stay asleep with the anticipation of tapping into her powers once again. She hadn’t attempted her powers since the war with Hybern, but she knew they still resided in her. She felt them sizzle deep within her mind. At times, she would see flashes but ignored them, pushing the visions away. However, she couldn't prevent her dreams at night, which often came to fruition the following day. Simple visions like receiving white rose seeds from Rhys or finding Azriel sprawled on her garden bench reading reports. Elain was unsure if she was capable of wielding her powers without slipping into madness as had happened when she was new fae. Elain finally gave up on sleep and headed to the kitchen to find something to tidy or eat.  

The voices, she realized, belonged to Rhys and Azriel meeting in the business wing. She wasn't sure what time it was, but it was the dead of the night. Elain stayed clear of the wing and headed to the kitchen. A breath of frustration escaped as she found the space immaculately clean. The only thing out of place was the cookies displayed at the center of the large granite prep island. Leaning against the island, Elain rested her cheek on her hand and picked up a cookie with her other. Poised to take her first bite, a deep voice sounded from a dark corner of the room.

“Nuala said those cookies are mine and mine alone,” Azriel gruffed in playful anger.

Startled, Elain jumped, releasing a childish shriek. Azriel strode toward her, his shadows trailing behind him. He would be the villain of one's nightmares if his smile and light eyes weren’t as kind as they were. Azriel stopped across the island from Elain and bowed his head to her. “I’m sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. I heard someone spying on us, but may I remind you that I am the spymaster of this court.” He leaned on the island, mirroring Elain’s prior posture, and gave her a small smile. “Please,” he gestured for her to return. 

Elain blushed, returning to her casual posture, though she now rested her head on both hands framing her face. “Well, what if I told you I assisted in making these cookies.”

“Well then,” Azriel‘s face was stone as he cautiously reached for the cookie in her hand. Elain’s brown eyes widened as the firm, scarred hand neared her face. He took the cookie from her and tore a small portion off it, placing it in front of her. “That grants you a small commission.” With that, he quickly put the larger portion in his mouth. Elain gaped at him, making him laugh. His laughter was rare, still a foreign sound to her. It reminded her how little she had seen of the shadow singer in the past month. 

“You’ve been very busy helping Feyre and Rhys lately," she said wistfully. Sadness clouded her eyes, making it plain to him that she had missed him. 

Azriel shifted guiltily and reached for the display of cookies. “Yes,” he dragged them to the center between them, “so I mustn't spoil our reunion with my greediness.”

Elain began eating a cookie, sadness still floating in her eyes. “I told Feyre I would use my powers to help find the dread trove,” she stumbled, “if needed.” 

“Yes, I’ve been told”. Azriel’s eyes darkened and he looked away from Elain. Elain had the urge to reach out to turn his face to hers, but she didn't move. “Do you think that’s a bad idea?” she blurted, “Do you think I can’t help?” 

Azriel saw that she had misunderstood. He breathed, pushing away the shadows that floated around him, and willed his face to an expression of ease. “Your powers would give us a great advantage. I just hope to resolve the situation before requiring that of you.”

Elain didn’t know whether he was being honest or polite. She studied him, without response. She was all too aware of being coddled by everyone around her, thinking she was too fragile for the truths of war. Elain remembered that Azriel had entrusted her with his prized blade, Truthteller, during the war. Because of this, she took his words for what they were.

Azriel’s eyes trailed down her nightgown. “You look well, Elain.” She wore a cream satin pajama set that flowed comfortably along her body. The top had an oval neckline, exposing the skin of her collarbone. Her hair hung to the side in a messy fishtail braid.

“You look tired,” she said, concern flooding her eyes. Azriel wore his fighting leathers. His hair, typically brushed back, fell over his forehead, and his under-eyes were purple.

“I am tired. We should head to bed. May I escort you to your room?”. Azriel always asked to escort her from place to place, even within the house. With heavy eyes, she nodded, and they walked silently to her bedroom door.

Azriel turned to her, towering over her. He bowed low enough to meet her eye to eye. Elain's heart started, but she clenched her mouth to silence her gasp. Azriel's hazel eyes were mesmerizing under his strong, dark brows. “Good night Elain.” He stared at her, unhurried to look away as if fascinated by her eyes. 

“See you tomorrow,” she said with a bashful smile. Azriel nodded in a silent promise and strode away. 

Chapter Text

Elain woke up late and in a foul mood. She decided to skip breakfast and go straight to tending her garden. Kneeling in the mud, she aggressively beheaded her daisies with quick, sloppy snips from her garden shears. The Sidra flowed parallel to the garden, allowing the river's mist to trickle in. She braved the chill overcast morning in her homely green gardening dress, which had faded from the constant removal of soil and mud. The garden was divided into several sections by plant breed and enclosed by a low iron gate. A colorful sea glass path wove a trail throughout. Flowers of all colors bloomed, along with unique leafing plants, oversized produce, and vines that crawled up intricate lattices. A shaggy willow tree sat in the center, shading a long garden bench below.

Haunted by yesterday's encounter with Nesta, Elain's mind swirled like the soil beneath her small, determined shovel. Snip, stab, toss, snip, stab, toss.

“...stupid Nesta…deranged woman...” she grumbled to herself as she filled her basket with daisies.

Elain's spontaneous visit had caused her sister to reveal her cards. Nesta has not accepted their father's death and attacked Elain to conceal the vulnerability. She felt the pull of her nurturing nature urging her to comfort her sister, but she couldn't overlook Nesta's selfishness. Nesta wasn’t the only one who lost her father, who lost her human life and the future she’d hoped for, who was snatched and thrown into a Cauldron that brewed with power she couldn’t imagine. Snip, stab, toss, snip, stab, toss.

I am no longer the scared younger sister. They both are fae now. They both are immortal with access to ancient power. They are sisters to the high lady of the most powerful court in Prythian. Elain was Nesta’s equal, and it was about time she behaved as such. I will not spend eternity under Nesta’s thumb. Never again.

Elain continued to scrape at the soil when Feyre’s feet crunched up the path. She was barefoot and wore a dusty rose day dress. She sat on the bench near Elain, her hand resting on her small belly.

“Good morning,” she said.

“Morning.”

“Rhys asks that we give Nesta space and refrain from visiting the House of Wind for a while,” she said cautiously, noting her sister’s tone.

“I wouldn’t visit if she begged,” Elain sneered.

“Elain, Nesta is just -“

“I know Feyre,” Elain snapped. “It doesn’t mean she gets to behave like a monster.”

“You’re right, Elain,” Feyre said firmly. She took a breath, willing the voice of a High Lady, “Nesta must hear the details of the trove and agree to assist us. Tensions are high, and we need her calm. Try to keep your distance, just for today.” Unspoken yet clear, Elain understood that Feyre was asking for her to sit out the meeting. 

Offended, Elain pouted as she took in the scene. Cool shame washed over her as she realized she was with Feyre in her little garden, just as Nesta commanded.  

“Fine,” Elain whispered. She didn’t want to see her sister anyway.

Satisfied, Feyre rose and pulled a small bag from her pocket. “You missed this at breakfast,” Feyre said, handing her sister the bag and heading back to the house.

Turning the bag in her hand, Elain flushed, finding two gingerbread cookies and a handwritten note tucked inside.

For my favorite Archeron sister. – Azriel

____

Elain transformed her bathroom into a lavender-scented sauna. She submerged herself into her tub and washed away the soil that clung to her body. The warm water relaxed her and eased her muscles.  Once clean, she gracefully moved to her dresser to change into a beautiful baby blue dress. She glanced at the clock on her nightstand next to the bouquet of daisies she brought inside. The meeting had started. Her family sought Nesta’s powers, not hers. Whether she missed the meeting was no concern to her.

A faint knock echoed on the door.

"Come in," Elain called.

Cerridwen poked her head through the door, tapping her watch on her wrist. "Miss Elain, you are late."

Elain responded with a coy smile, "What?"

Gracefully advancing, Cerridwen seized Elain's hair and grabbed the hairbrush from the vanity. "Elain, you will be missed, and I will not answer to any wrath due to your absence," she remarked, gently brushing through Elain's wavy brown locks. 

Elain didn’t inform Cerridwen of Feyre's preference for her to keep away. Cerridwen quickly wove her hair into a single braid along her back. She hauled Elain from her chair and out of the room. Elain glared at the housekeeper as she pushed her through the house. Several voices flooded the halls of the business wing. Cassian’s the loudest, as usual. 

Cerridwen left Elain in the small room outside of the study where the meeting was underway. Elain overhead the objects that made up the Dread Trove: a crown, a mask, and a harp.

“So we track down the Dread Trove - how?” Cassian asked. 

Elain felt ridiculous listening to the meeting through the crack of the door. Unable to stop herself, Elain strode into the study and announced, “Using me.”

She took in the room. Feyre, face white in disbelief, sat with Rhysand on the couch by the window. Azriel leaned on the mantel, stoic and staring. Amren, seated in the adjacent armchair, glared at Nesta. Nesta sat on the loveseat beside Cassian, fuming.

Nesta rose from her seat and immediately dismissed Elain’s offer. When Elain held her ground, Nesta struck harder, “Look who decided to grow claws after all. Maybe you’ll be interesting at last, Elain.”

Shadow flooded the corners of the room, prepared to swoop in if Nesta continued to unleash her venom. The tensions from the past day boiled over, and Elain would not surrender to her sister.

 “You do not decide what I can and cannot do, Nesta.” Elain commanded, “I went into the Cauldron too, and yet all you think of is what my trauma did to you .”

Elain's words cut through Nesta, finding their mark. Stepping back, Nesta stood speechless and embarrassed. The room stilled with an uneasy silence. Feyre caught Elain’s eye and pointed her glance to the door. A silent command that Elain had said enough and needed to make her exit.

“Find me when you wish to begin,” Elain declared as she confidently strode out of the room. 

______

Elain planned to escape to the city for the evening. She gathered her purse, donned her coat, and returned to the front hall. Relieved to find the meeting was still underway, Elain slipped out of the house unnoticed. Walking leisurely to the city, she approached the bridge connecting the river house to the eastern quarter of Velaris. It was twilight, the time of day when the city lights began to sparkle on the water. 

Walking across the bridge, Elain took in the enchanting scene. The distant sounds of boat horns echoed, and the city hummed with the activity of fae enjoying the evening. Back at the house, the side door slammed. Elain looked back, but her view was obscured by the leaves of the willow tree. A moment later, Azriel ducked past the canopy and walked towards her. 

He looked much better today, his hair brushed back and his hazel eyes bright from a restful night's sleep. He wore his fighting leathers, which housed two siphons atop his hands and one at his chest. The beautiful blue stones reflected like the river. He met her at the center of the bridge, his expression cold as he scanned her face. He searched and searched without saying a word. The roar of the river amplified the silence, which stretched too long before Elain gave in. 

“I’m alright,” she said softly.

Azriel cleared his throat, “You should have been included in the meeting. It was unfair to keep you away.” Elain looked down, avoiding his gaze. “And you are interesting, Elain.” 

Elain met Azriel’s gaze, which blazed with raw honesty. Sweat formed on the back of her neck.

“How else could you be my favorite?” he concluded. 

“Thank you, Azriel, but I do live a simple life," she confessed. "I am not fierce and powerful like Feyre and Nesta. Nesta will agree to locate the trove to stop me from using my powers. It’s fine, I’ll stand down. You all need her, not me.”

Her defeated tone enraged him, causing his siphon to cast a blue glow between them. Elain took his hand, angling his wrist to face the full view of the stone. He froze at her touch and watched as she beheld the siphon.

"Goodnight, Azriel," she said, dropping his hand and turning swiftly toward the city. Before she could step away, Azriel grabbed her hand, holding her in place.

“Elain, stop,” he commanded.

Elain halted. He had never spoken to her so firmly. Returning towards him, she found him staring down at her, his eyes still ablaze with anger.

“Nesta assisting us with her power does not stop you from accessing your own,” he stated.

The realization of his words made Elain’s legs wobble. “But how?”

Looking down at her hand in his, he released it and said, “I know someone who can teach you.”

Chapter Text

Night descended upon Valeris as Azriel and Elain strolled side by side down the cobbled city streets. The warm, orange glow emanating from street lamps and shop windows bathed their surroundings in a golden hue. Despite the enchanting city lights, their brilliance dimmed in comparison to the starlight shimmering across the night sky overhead.

Azriel led Elain to the market district of the city, where the shops were closed, leaving the area deserted. Although they were a mile out from the downtown district, the sounds of music and chatter could be heard in the distance. Azriel slowed down, dragging his feet as he led Elain at a snail's pace.

Elain had remained patient and silent as she followed him through the city. Whoever Azriel was informing her of must be fierce to behold to cause him to linger this long. They turned a corner and began walking down a familiar street. 

“We’ve already been here. We walked down this path 5 minutes ago,” Elain said, her patience finally giving out.

“Really?” Azriel said, eyebrows raising in false surprise. 

Elain nudged him playfully with her shoulder.

“I just wanted to make sure no one was around. What I’m about to share with you is knowledge entrusted to a select group of the Night Court.”

"The spies?" Elain questioned.

"Yes," he affirmed, "and Rhysand, of course."

"You can trust me," Elain promised.

“I know,” Azriel said without hesitation. “The issue is, I’m supposed to get his approval in order to release this information .”

Concern flashed in Elain's eyes. She didn't want the inner circle, especially Feyre, to realize how desperately she wished to access her powers. The recent meeting's rejection still stung, and Elain couldn't bear the thought of experiencing it again. With a bitter edge, she resolved that they had Nesta's powers at their disposal, so her abilities would be exclusively her own.

"I won't ask him," Azriel sighed, his gaze fixed on Elain. Though his shadows whispered in protest, her beautiful face comforted him as he prepared to defy his High Lord. "There's a young fae child with Seeing abilities," he continued, "residing in a remote area of the Night Court – in a location I will not disclose to you." An image of a beautiful child flashed in Elain's mind – a tiny figure standing amidst a field of grass and foxtail weeds. The child stared at Elain intensely with round golden eyes as if she could see Elain at that very moment. Her long brown wavy hair whipped in the wind. The child was about to speak when Elain closed her eyes, pushing the child's stare away.

"Her name is Orla. She's nine years old," Azriel shared.

"She looks much younger," Elain interjected fearfully.

Azriel paused, absorbing her words. "You can see her?"

"I think I may have," Elain replied, still in disbelief.

"Fae children age much slower than humans," Azriel explained. "Some possess powerful abilities that stabilize as they mature. In times of war, we utilize their abilities. It's law. Their families must offer them to aid in any conflict if called upon."

"That's horrible," Elain whispered.

"It's been a longstanding practice of the Night Court," Azriel continued, dark memories floating in his eyes. "Past High Lords required them to attend special boarding schools, prisons, essentially. Rhys put an end to the practice when he came into power, but we still keep records and collect them if necessary."

Elain stared up at him, curiosity etched on her face. “When can I meet her?”

“She has a protective mother. I will need some time to warm her to the idea.” Azriel thought for a moment. “A week from today, I will take you to her.”

Elain nodded, her thoughts now drifting homeward. It was getting late. 

“You are neglecting something, Elain,” he said.

She looked at him, puzzled. “And what is that?”

“I do not winnow,” he explained as the pleasantness disappeared from his face. “I travel through the shadows. You will have to face them if I take you.”

Elain realized she had never been winnowed by Azriel; he had flown her from place to place on rare occasions. She’d heard he traveled by shadow but never considered what that truly meant.

“Alternatively, we can let Rhys know and beg his forgiveness. If we survive, he may be kind enough to take you,” Azriel suggested, shadows pooling around his shoulders.

Elain faced him, holding her stance firmly. “I’m not afraid,” she declared, but her eyes disagreed.

Azriel extended his hand to her. She glided to him gracefully and took his hand. He pulled her close as if preparing for a dance. Wrapping his arms around her, her chest and arms rested against him, and she relaxed in the rhythm of his breathing. His scent of amber and mint enveloped her, and she savored it with each breath. Peering up at him, she caught his gaze falling on her lips and trailing down her exposed neck.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said tenderly. “We are going through a realm unlike our own. Shadows travel there, searching for information that is not their own. You will be safe with me, and we will be back at the house momentarily. Do not scream or make a sound. I will not allow anything to harm you.”

She nodded wordlessly, determined not to let her fear surface. He brushed the back of her hair, playing with the delicate waves. “On your call,” he said.

“...now,” Elain called.

Azriel squeezed her slightly, and they lifted and twisted through the darkness. Elain slammed her eyes shut as they faced a bitterly cold air that whipped around them in all directions. The air echoed with thousands of haunted whispers and low screams. She opened her eyes to find a dark eerie realm filled with snakelike shadows. The realm felt as if the lights went out suddenly, and you found yourself in pitch darkness. You immediately panic and steer your mind from envisioning a stranger standing in the nearby corner, watching.

Suddenly, the whispers stopped, and the air cleared. Azriel landed smoothly onto the bridge leading to her garden. He eagerly released Elain, bending to examine her face. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” she said breathlessly.

Azriel turned away angrily. He grabbed the bridge rail and glared down the river. “Perhaps this is a bad idea. Elain, we don’t need to—”

“Azriel, I’m fine,” Elain snapped. “It was a dark, horrible place like you warned me, but I faced it, and I can do it again. I will do it again, and it will be nothing.”

He looked at her, surprised by her determination. “You’re right,” he said cautiously, “but if you feel differently anytime this week, we can abandon this plan.”

“I won't,” she whined.

“We’ll see,” he declared.

They parted at the bridge as Elain requested to see herself inside. She went straight to bed and slept with the lights on for the night, unable to face the darkness and lingering shadows of the realm she had just endured. 

____

Four days had passed and Elain had busied herself with her usual routine. She tended her garden, assisted in the kitchen, and ran errands in town. It was midweek and midday when she walked into the study of the river house. The inner circle now knew Feyre was expecting, and Elain could openly baby plan and gush with her sister. She anticipated a leisurely afternoon of reading preparing for baby books, when she walked in on Rhysand hastily searching through a spread of books and papers messily strewn across his long desk.

Elain gasped, caught off guard, and debated whether to turn and retreat. She had successfully avoided him in the past few days and was uncertain about her ability to keep a secret from the High Lord.

Rhysand met her eyes and blanched in embarrassment. Despite his usual black suit, he appeared somewhat disheveled. His eyes were dark and pink from frustrated tears. Straightening up, he brushed his hair with his hand. “Hello, Elain. I’m sorry, but I will need the study this evening.”

“It’s alright, I’ll go,” she said, seizing her chance to escape.

“If you are looking for a place to read this afternoon, may I suggest utilizing the Townhouse?” he said smoothly. “I find it to be the most relaxing home in my possession.”

“That’s a great idea,” Elain rambled. “I’ll go there. I could use the walk. Goodbye!”

She was about to exit when Rhysand called her back. “Elain, one more thing.”

Sweat began to form on her forehead as she faced his searching violet eyes.

“Feyre is at the Townhouse, resting. Can you please give this to her for me?” he said, handing her a leather-bound journal that read The Lineage of the Night Court .

Relieved, Elain nodded and rushed out of the room. Rhys immediately returned to fretting over the spread of scattered materials. 

___

The townhouse was dim and quiet when Elain let herself in. Upstairs, she discovered Feyre napping in one of the bedrooms. She placed Rhys's book on the nightstand and returned to the lower floor. There, she opened the windows inviting in the cool breeze. Delighting in the solitude, she stretched out on the living room couch and began immersing herself in a good book.

An hour of peaceful reading passed when the doorbell rang. Upstairs, the floorboards creaked, signaling that the sound had awakened Feyre. Slowly, Elain made her way to the door, suspecting Rhys or Cassian. Cassian, the more likely, as it was within Nesta’s library hours, and he often seized the opportunity to update Feyre on her progress.

Opening the door, she found neither Rhys nor Cassian. Lucien stood at the door in complete shock. He wore an olive green linen shirt that was casually open, revealing the tan skin of his chest, and brown leather pants accentuated by a darker leather belt at his waist. His fiery red hair hung in neat waves behind his pointed ears. He held a bouquet of purple and white flowers, spawning a frown from Elain.

“These are not for you!” he blurted.

Chapter Text

Elain regrettably found herself seated between Feyre and Lucien. She sat at the center of the loveseat facing the window while the other two occupied the armchairs flanking her on both sides. Her gaze lingered on the bouquet now neatly vased and gracing the center of the coffee table. Lucien had received word of Feyre’s pregnancy and brought them for her.

The two were catching up and relentlessly teasing one another like old friends. Lucien, despite his efforts, couldn't help but steal glances at Elain every other moment. Her focus remained on the lovely arrangement of cascading lilies of the valleys, vibrant dahlias, and lively purple grape hyacinths. Surrounding the larger blooms was a delicate touch of baby’s-breath, along with tiny lavender star-shaped buds with sparkling centers—a species Elain had never seen.

Feyre playfully slapped Elain's knee, shaking her from her floral trance. “Elain!” she exclaimed, nodding her head toward Lucien.

Lucien sat there uncomfortably, his gaze fixed on her, his Mate. When she had emerged from the Cauldron, he had boldly declared her as so, asserting a claim over her. Feyre and Rhysand had explained that this bond was a profound and sacred union, blessed by the Mother—a connection that Elain would eventually need to accept or deny. At the time, she was engaged, and Lucien's bold declaration overwhelmed her. She kept her distance over the past couple of years despite Feyre's efforts to bring them together. Thankfully, Lucien didn't push her. She often wondered how things would have been if they had met without the weight of expectations.

Forcing herself to turn to Lucien, she apologized, “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

“Too mesmerized by the bouquet, I see,” he said with a weak smile. “I was just saying I picked these myself this morning from the Spring Court. They have the largest variety of flowers in Prythian.”

“The arrangement is beautiful,” she said sincerely.

Feyre giggled, “I’ve been wanting to take you. You’d absolutely love the gardens of the Spring Court. I wouldn't be surprised if you chose to live there”.

Elain didn’t laugh as she cautiously glanced at Lucien, who responded with a sly smile. “Not with me, of course,” he added. Elain tried to suppress it, but she couldn't help tilting her head back and laughing. Lucien’s ease in making fun of himself and their Mate situation diffused the tension. He smiled proudly, finally chipping a small piece of the wall Elain had built between them.

Lucien resided predominantly in the mortal lands, dwelling at an estate alongside Jurian and Vassa. Together, they dubbed themselves the Band of Exiles because they felt displaced from their former homes. Lucien frequently visited the Spring Court to keep an eye on Tamlin. This was the main reason Rhysand informed Lucien of the baby, to handle Tamlin once the news reached him.

When Feyre turned the Spring Court against itself, Tamlin lost his mind and became feral. He now roams the lands solely in his beast form, a sight Elain was happy to avoid.

___

The trio made their way back to the river house for dinner. Feyre persuaded them to explore the city together, only to conveniently remember a painting she needed to collect. They had only walked a mile before she left Elain and Lucien to endure the remainder of the journey together. Both cursed her name silently for the obvious betrayal.

With arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed, Elain led the way, her mind consumed with fiery curses she planned to unleash on Feyre the next time they were alone. Meanwhile, Lucien's golden eye whirled with anxiety as he determined how to break the awkward silence between them.

Suddenly, Elain turned to him, her frustration boiling over. "I'd like to be alone. You can take the scenic route," she snapped, gesturing pointedly behind him.

Lucien scoffed incredulously. "You mean the long route? No thanks," he retorted, brushing past her and continuing on their current path.

Flushed with anger, Elain trailed behind him, attempting to match his pace. "I don't need an escort," she muttered through clenched teeth.

"And I don’t need a sidekick. Please stop following me," Lucien chuckled, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "You're embarrassing me."

Elain let out a frustrated roar just as thunder cracked in the sky above them. Lucien glanced back over his shoulder and up into the sky. "Now you’ve done it”.

Heavy rain began to cascade down over the city. Elain halted, gazing up into the sky as heavy droplets patter against her skin. Lucien watched her guiltily, wondering if he had pushed her too far. She glanced down at her soaked dress, her hair clinging to her face and neck like a wet mop. He, too, was equally drenched, his hair plastered to his forehead, his clothes clinging uncomfortably to his frame. Elain stared at Lucien through the downpour and couldn't help but chuckle at how ridiculous they both looked.

With a sigh, she reached out and grabbed his wrist. "Come on!" she exclaimed, tugging him along as they ran in tandem towards the river house.

Together, they darted through the street, dodging puddles and slipping slightly on the sleek sidewalks, their laughter mingling with the sound of the pouring rain. Despite the chill in the air, a fiery warmth radiated at the spot where Elain's hand met Lucien's wrist.

They were both thoroughly drenched and shivering from the cold when they reached the house. As they stood in the front room of the house, rainwater dripping from their clothes and forming puddles at their feet, Lucien and Elain exchanged exhausted glances. "Remind me never to upset you," Lucien huffed, attempting to shake off the chill.

Elain blushed, realizing how unfair she had been, "Sorry for being crabby. Feyre-- it’s just frustrating when things are constantly decided for you," she admitted, her voice soft.

Lucien nodded silently. As the youngest brother of seven, he knew firsthand the pain inflicted by sibling rivalries. 

Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted as Rhysand winnowed before them, carrying a dry Feyre in his arms. His hair was slightly damp, but Feyre looked utterly untouched by the rain. She greeted them with a guilty smile.

"Hello there." Rhysand greeted, his tone laced with amusement. "Glad to see you two made it."

Lucien couldn't resist teasing. "Must be nice to get picked up, huh, Feyre?"

Feyre laughed softly. "Yes, she's utterly spoiled," Rhysand confirmed, setting her down gently. "I'm sorry, Elaine. Next time, duck into a shop, and I'll come get you."

"Elain, you know you can call to Rhys," Feyre said, concern evident in her tone. "you don't want to slip or catch a cold."

Lucien rolled his eyes dramatically. "She can handle a little rain. Geez, if it weren't for her directions, I'd probably have drowned. Elain can take care of herself; she doesn’t need an escort," he asserted, giving her a subtle nod.

Elain gazed at Lucien, a soft smile tugging at her lips. In a world where she often felt overlooked, it was nice to know someone who didn't underestimate her.

____

Elain was dreaming. Like most dreams, the outer edge of her vision was hazy and colorful. She noticed she was much smaller, a mere 4 feet tall, and within the confines of a barn. Frantically, she scampered about, the pounding of her heart reverberating in her ears as she sought refuge in the frontmost stall.

Inside, the stall was empty save for a bed of hay and a silver moss-filed water pale. Elain's breath came in ragged gasps as she pressed herself against the back wall, her small frame rising on tiptoes as she peered through a slender crack between the wooden panels forming the barn’s siding. Through the crack, the world unfolded before her. She saw the side yard of a long white house, rolling hills stretching into the distance as several cows grazing in the wild grasses.

Two tall figures appeared over the nearest hill and were approaching the house—a woman and a man. Straining to focus, she tried to identify the individuals. The woman gestured her head, and the man turned, looking directly at her. Dread washed over her like a tidal wave, and she couldn't suppress the soft whimper that escaped her lips as tears welled in her eyes. It was Azriel.

With a start, Elain bolted upright in bed, her heart racing and her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. As she scanned her bright room, she realized it was morning. She quickly rose from her bed and darted out of the room as if fleeing the space would chase away the nightmare.

Stepping into the crisp morning air, Elain felt a sense of calm wash over her. Breakfast wouldn't be served for another couple of hours, and her garden beckoned. Her potatoes were ripe and ready for harvesting, which would make a delicious addition to breakfast. Kneeling amidst the rows of greenery, she began to dig and pluck each potato from the fertile soil, relishing in the pleasure of the repetitive task. The cool breeze played with her hair, and large fluffy clouds, remnants of the rain from the day before, drifted lazily across the sky.

The side door clanged, signaling Lucien's approach; he had spent the night. Last evening, over dinner, he spoke mostly with Rhys and Feyre, discussing strategies for dealing with Tamlin. Elain watched as he came closer, his tan skin shining in the morning light, his hair messy from the rain. She couldn't help but notice how his white shirt clung to his strong chest.

"Good morning," he greeted her warmly as he drew near.

"Good morning," Elain replied, beginning to rise.

"No, don't get up. I'm on my way out," Lucien insisted. "Cassian invited me to watch Nesta's training. You know I have to see this." He hesitated for a moment before continuing. "I'm heading back to the mortal lands afterward."

Elain nodded understandingly. "Have fun. It was good to see you."

Lucien hesitated "Before I go, I wanted you to know that I'm happy to fulfill Feyre's offer. If you ever wish to see the gardens of the Spring Court, I'd be happy to give you a tour."

Elain nodded cautiously. 

"It was good to see you," Lucien said, his tone gentle, before turning and heading towards the city. 

With a sigh, she returned to harvesting potatoes. She wouldn't take him up on his offer, but she couldn't help but wonder what would happen if she did.

Chapter Text

"Miss Elain," Nuala whispered, shaking Elain awake. Elain groaned and tried to turn away, but the housekeeper firmly grasped her elbow, keeping her in place. "Master Azriel is waiting for you in the garden."

Elain furrowed her brow, unsure if she was dreaming. It was horribly early and still pitch black outside. A week had passed since she last saw Azriel, yet he hadn't sent word until now. With each passing day, she grew more wary that he’d cancel their mission. The last thing she expected was that he’d arrive this early.

"Elain. Get. Up." Nuala's commanded as she tugged at her again.

Reluctantly, Elain rose and rubbed her eyes, shuffling into the bathroom where Cerridwen stood with her clothes and a hairbrush, ready to dress her.

"I hope you know what you're doing, girl," Cerridwen remarked with a hint of concern.

"Do you both know?" Elain asked anxiously.

"Of course," Nuala reassured her with a wink to her sister. "We know everything."

"Aren't you afraid Rhysand will find out you're involved?" Elain whispered.

The sisters exchanged a glance, their expressions unamused. "We can’t tell if he doesn't ask," Nuala replied. "But if he asks, we will tell," Cerridwen added firmly.

Elain nodded gratefully to the twins, her heart swelling at their loyalty, both in this moment and throughout her time as Fae. She couldn't fathom where she would be without them. They had her dressed and ready within moments, and she hurried outside to meet Azriel.

Quietly shutting the side door behind her, Elain entered the dark garden. The only light came from the crescent moon overhead, barely illuminating the yard. Squinting in the darkness, she noticed a flash of blue, likely from Azriel's siphons. She moved cautiously, sticking to the gravel path, her hands outstretched slightly to protect her from the overgrown branches and vines. As she neared the willow tree, her palm landed on something firm and warm. Azriel held her hand to his chest and dipped his head in greeting. "Good to see you, Elain," his deep voice sent butterflies down her spine. "Your garden could really use some lights."

Casually, Elain responded, "You called for me?"

Azriel mused, "Are you ready to meet your instructor?"

Elain shuffled her feet in hesitation. Azriel gently grasped her upper arms.

"Elain, she's only a child. You'll be fine and can learn a lot from her. Don't be afraid," his thumbs began to rub her arms soothingly.

Elain nodded and moved closer, wrapping her arms tightly around him. Azriel’s arms froze midair in surprise as she embraced him.

"Thank you," she whispered against his chest.

Meeting his shocked gaze, she pleaded silently with her eyes, watching as shadows danced nervously around his shoulders. After a moment, he exhaled and returned the hug, resting his chin gently on her head. Basking in his warmth and cool scent, Elain wished she could stay in his embrace longer. But he swiftly lifted her into his arms, ready to go.

"Alright, you remember last time. The child's home is out of the city, so we will be in the shadow realm longer than our last trip. You'll be safe; just stay calm," he instructed.

"I'm ready," Elain declared, finding solace in his embrace as he lifted from the ground and faded into the shadow realm. 

—-

They landed softly in a grassy valley, the dew-kissed blades glowing in the gentle light of dawn. Though the journey was as terrifying as the last, Elain focused on listening to Azriel's breathing, which calmed her. The two remained silent the entire journey. The valley was far more pleasant than the realm they emerged from. Short foothills surrounded them, bathed in the soft hues of the rising sun.

"The house is just over that hill," Azriel pointed out."They're farmers, as I'm sure you gathered," he added, smiling at the distant sound of cow mooing filling the air. "Don't worry, they are expecting us."

"Is her mother upset about this?" Elain asked anxiously.

"Don't worry, we came to an agreement," Azriel confirmed, leading the way up the hill with steady steps.

When they reached the summit, the picturesque valley stretched out before them. Cows of various brown shades grazed peacefully on the grass. At the center of their view was a long all-white house with arched windows and a wraparound porch. An oversized oak tree shaded the left side of the home, accessorized with a small tire swing hanging from its lowest branch. To the right was a large cow barn. 

The sight hit Elain like a ton of bricks, leaving her breathless. "I've been here before," she exclaimed, her eyes darting towards the barn. Azriel followed her gaze, his shadows beginning to stir around his ears.

"Someone is watching us," he remarked, moving into a defensive stance as he listened intently.

"It's the child. Let me go alone. You scare her," Elain directed. Azriel relaxed, and there was a flicker of shame in his eyes.

"Azriel, she just a child, and you’re…," Elain said gently. He nodded in understanding and silently commanded his shadows to conceal themselves.

"You're right. Go on ahead. I'll speak to the mother. Just shout if you need me," he instructed as he descended the hill towards the house.

Summoning her courage, Elain took a deep breath and made her way to the barn. It stood proudly before her, a classic A-frame structure painted in a vibrant shade of red. As she approached, the pungent scent of cow manure hit her first, followed by the loud crunching of her boots on dirt and hay as she entered the barn. Inside, the barn was bright from morning light coming through the windows. Other than Elain's loud footsteps, the barn was empty and silent.

Moving slowly, she walked through the barn, peering into each stall as she passed. Finding no one, she called out tentatively, "Hello? Please come out, don't be afraid."

There was no response. Elain retraced her steps back to the front of the barn, circling and scanning every corner for any sign of movement. About to give up, she gazed up, noticing a small loft tucked away across the roofline of the barn. Crouched on the ledge, she spotted the angelic-looking child from her vision, with beautiful golden eyes, long lashes, plump rosy skin, and fluffy brown hair cascading down to her knees. The child glared down at Elain, baring her teeth in a menacing expression that seemed out of place on such a perfect-looking child. 

"There you are. Can you come down?" Elain asked uneasily. 

In response, the child growled and spat a bullet of saliva at Elain. With a gasp, Elain recoiled quickly, dodging the spit as it landed on the ground with a sickening splat. Furry reddened her cheeks then Elain noticed the climbing rope hanging in the corner of the loft and hurried towards it. As she began hoisting herself up, the child screamed and attempted to snatch the rope away, but Elain was too heavy. Elain smiled wickedly, seeing that she now had the upper hand. Desperate, the child lunged at her, causing them both to fall to the ground. Elain let out a yelp as the child scratched at her, but she wrestled to seize her wrists. They flipped, and sitting firmly on the child's legs, Elain had her pinned to the ground.

The child’s frustrated grunts were silenced by a dark chuckle from the barn entrance. Azriel leaned against the doorframe, enjoying the spectacle. "That's enough, ladies," he commanded with lethal calm. He straightened and beckoned for the child to come to him.

Fear washed over her little face and sounded in her throat. 

“Az, there’s no need -” Elain intervened, but a warning look from Azriel silenced her. The little girl stood, tears streaming down her face, which was Elain's undoing. She hurried in front of the child, gently pulling her behind her back, shielding her from the shadow singer.

"No need. We can play nice, can't we?" Elain directed towards her little friend, who nodded gratefully. Azriel gave the child a knowing glance before leaving the barn.

Once alone, Elain dropped to her knees, meeting the child's gaze. "Now then, I’m Elain, and I’ve come here to learn from you. I’ve been told you are very special, and I need your help. Can we please be friends?" she said firmly.

The child stared at her, deliberating. After a moment, she nodded. "I’m Orla, and we will be friends. Better friends than you two will ever be," she said, her eyes darting to where Azriel once stood.

Elain was stunned by the confidence of Orla's knowing words. She continued, "I have gifts like yours, I just don't know how to use them. I’ve even seen you once in a vision."

"No, that was my vision. I traveled to you, but you saw me that time," Orla said solemnly.

"Can... can you teach me then?" Elain asked.

The child smiled, her face becoming the most adorable thing Elain had ever seen. "If you bring me strawberries from your garden."

Elain smiled in awe and amusement. Her strawberries were ripe and begging to be picked. Orla must have been seen. “It’s a deal,” she winked.

Chapter Text

Orla dashed across the hills, weaving through cows and giggling as Elain chased her. Azriel stood close to the house, as still as a shadow, watching with silent envy. Today’s purpose was solely fun and gaining the child’s trust.

Elain also met Orla’s mother, Maevin, a tired mother managing the farm and raising her gifted daughter on her own. Orla’s father, an official of the Day Court, and mother were Mated, though neither wished to leave their respective lives. Farming was all Maevin had ever known, while her Mate was enamored with the finer things of life, content to stay in the Day Court palace. He visited from time to time, which was evident as Maevin was pregnant. She had agreed to Elain’s training in exchange for access to a high fae healer for her birth, as she struggled greatly with Orla.

This was in addition to a hefty payment, of course. Azriel paid the fee from his own funds. Elain protested, but Azriel assured her that he was a simple man with funds piling up and no good use for them. Begrudgingly, Elain accepted the gift.

Elain was thoroughly enjoying herself, laughing and playing with Orla. Whenever she managed to catch the child, she would lift her up and start twirling her around, causing Orla's boots to clip and behead the foxtail grasses, sending white cottony seeds drifting through the air. The two quickly formed a bond, with Orla eagerly following Elain everywhere she went.

After hours of chasing and exploring the farm, Elain settled onto the tire swing to rest. Azriel glided over and leaned on the rim of the tire, his face inches from Elain's.

"About time you took a break," he said casually.

Elain chuckled and began to sway in the swing. "I envy your ease with children," Azriel admitted, shadows pooling at his shoulders.

"It's nothing, just play with them, and they come around," Elain assured him.

He scoffed, "You don't realize the gift because of how natural it is for you. It's beautiful, Elain."

Elain's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Shame settled in Azriel's eyes. He looked towards Orla, who was balancing on a large overturned wheelbarrow, pretending she had ascended an Illyrian mountain. She hadn't followed Elain to the swing, deeming it too close to the shadow singer.

Azriel rested his chin on top of both hands on the tire, a frustrated scowl on his face. He was clad in his black fighting leather, his hair slicked back neatly, highlighting the sharp points of his cheekbones and nose. He was very tall, especially to a child, not to mention the skittering shadows that circled him. He screamed foe, not friend. Elain's heart ached for him, always outcasted due to his dark intensity, his beautiful intensity. She would do what she could to allow others to see his gentle side, starting with Orla.

"Azriel, push me," she commanded.

Azriel raised an eyebrow with a questioning smile but obliged. Once Elain gained a bit of air, she commanded him to push at her sides. He complied, and the tire began to swing in wide circles. Elain laughed forcefully and loudly. Orla peeked from the side of her eyes, drawn to the wild sounds.

"Orla, help me!" Elain shouted between laughs.

Orla took a small step towards them but stopped, eyeing Azriel cautiously.

Desperately, Elain continued, "Orla, save me!" She outstretched her arms clumsily, trying not to fall off the swing.

The child smiled and ran into Elain's arms. Elain hoisted her onto her lap and nodded to Azriel to continue swinging. The girls laughed as they swung side to side. Orla never acknowledged Azriel, but her presence next to him was a win for the day.

___

Lunch was served in their cozy kitchen, the group gathered around the country breakfast nook, enjoying sandwiches. Maevin moved swiftly back and forth from the table to the prep island, bringing sides, drinks, and all the fixings. Her fluffy brown hair, the same texture as Orla's, was tied back in a voluminous low ponytail. Her dark brown eyes, however, were nothing like her daughter's. Azriel had mentioned that Orla got her golden eyes from her father, a very Day Court feature.

He stood at the table, attempting to assist with carrying plates, but Maevin wouldn’t accept his help. She soon grew annoyed that he wouldn’t sit and start eating. Elain and Orla were already halfway through their sandwiches.

“When is the baby coming?” Orla asked Elain.

Confused, Elain's eyes trailed to Maevin and her little bump. “I’m not sure, but your mother can tell you.” If she had to guess, she would say Maevin was four months along, barely in her second trimester.

“No, your baby,” she corrected. 

Elain choked on her bite and flushed at the accusation. Azriel’s eager, questioning stare was no help.

“I’m not having a baby,” she spat.

“I see you holding a baby. He’s cute,” Orla said, leaning closer to Elain.

“Orla, perhaps she’s holding our baby,” Maevin chimed in, gently patting her belly. “Don’t make assumptions, remember.”

“No, it's a baby with wings,” she said frustrated.

Elain's eyes widened, her face already pink with embarrassment deepened to a fiery red. It took everything in her not to acknowledge Azriel as he subtly tucked his wings in.

“Orla, that’s enough,” Maevin snapped, noticing the strain in the room.

“No, she’s right. The Night Court will be informed soon, but as the child guessed,” Azriel hesitated, “our High Lord and Lady are expecting a baby. A baby boy…with wings.”

Finally able to breathe, Elain looked at Azriel, unaware of the news. 

“Wings?” Maevin whispered. He nodded, exchanging a knowing glance. 

Elain felt foolish for not considering that the baby could have wings. After all, Rhysand was part Illyrian.

“I trust you will keep the pregnancy to yourself until formally announced,” Azriel stated with a light threat to his tone. “I think that’s enough training for today. Thank you for your hospitality.”

Azriel gestured to the door and guided Elain out of the house.

___

Elain nestled her face in the nape of Azriel’s neck, closing her eyes as they traveled through the shadow realm. Concentrating on his steady breaths silenced the eerie screams and whispers that brushed past them. They were almost back at the river house when Azriel broke the silence.

“Do you think the child can assist you?” he inquired.

“Yes, I’m happy to learn anything she can teach me,” she whispered into his neck.

Goosebumps rose down his neck from her breath's tickle and lips brushing against the sensitive skin. He twitched slightly, trying to shake off the need to press his lips to her skin.

“Thank you again for arranging this, Azriel,” she continued.

His arousal grew, and the sound of his name from her mouth was almost his undoing. He focused on his breath. His shadows pooled around his ears, whispering to nip at her lovely, full lips.

He bargained with them, allowing himself to rest his cheek on her hair. He smelled the sweet vanilla scent as stray strands brushed across his lips. He straightened, ashamed of himself for being so weak. He needed to refocus his mind.

“Elain?” he gruffed, “There’s something I want to show you. Would you join me tomorrow night?”

Elain pulled away from his neck, which Azriel was grateful for, but then she stared up at him. He refused to look down at her as the beauty of her brown eyes would be his undoing. He stared ahead and began flying faster.

“Yes,” Elain said without hesitation.

Azriel nodded, still not meeting her gaze. He could hear her heart begin to race. Light began to stream into the darkness, and a moment later, they appeared along the bridge leading to the house. Azriel placed Elain down and instructed her to meet him at the bridge the next night.

Dark shadows inked all around him. He managed to bow his head before fading into darkness. He never met Elain's puzzled eyes. 

__

Elain lounged on her bed, pondering where Azriel might take her. Rita’s tavern, a favorite haunt for Azriel and Mor, came to mind, where they danced and indulged in drinks until the early hours. The thought of dancing with Azriel filled her stomach with rocks; she had only danced formally at balls, never in a tavern. She doubted Rita’s was the plan, but Elain couldn't shake her anxiety.

A soft knock interrupted her musings, and Feyre announced her presence at the door. "Can I come in?" she asked.

"Yes, come in," Elain replied an octave too high, her mind racing for an excuse for where she had been all day. 

Feyre strode in wearing a flowing dusty grey linen dress and small tiara. She sat beside Elain on the bed and inquired, "How was the gardening club?"

"Gardening club?" Elain echoed, momentarily taken aback.

"Azriel mentioned that you joined a gardening club that meets in the Day Court," Feyre explained.

"Ah, yes! Azriel was kind enough to take me. It was a nice first meeting. Can’t wait for the next," Elain reassured her, inwardly grateful for Azriel’s quick thinking in providing an alibi.

Eager to change the subject before more questions came, Elain shifted the conversation to her sister. "During our trip to the gardening group, Azriel mentioned that your baby has wings," she said gently.

Feyre exhaled, "Yes, he does. We found out last week. Madga and Rhys explained that it will be a challenging birth, but everything will be fine. They're exploring some medicinal aids," she added calmly. "I’m sorry I forgot to mention it. It didn’t seem like a big deal, just one of the perks of mating with an Illyrian."

"That makes sense, considering Rhysand’s strong genes as a high lord," Elain offered reassurance.

"Actually, he got the gene from both of us," Feyre confessed with a guilty smile. "He was conceived while I was in my Illyrian form. That's why this happened. I changed back soon after, so no one expected this to occur."

"Can't you change back for the birth?" Elain suggested.

"No. Like winnowing, Madga said it's unsafe to change forms while carrying our baby," Feyre explained, worry pooling in her eyes.

Elain reached over and hugged Feyre, offering comfort. "Well then, we'll stay grounded and make the most of things as they are," she said, beaming.

Chapter Text

Elain found herself standing in front of the large French doors of the study, voices rumbling from inside, drawing her in. The doors floated open in unison, expelling a lavender fog that rolled past her, creating a current pulling her in. Inside, the fog cleared, revealing Rhysand hovering menacingly over Madja, the healer. His face was twisted in agony, tears visible in his eyes, his mouth seething while night rippled off him in angry waves. Standing at five feet tall, Madja trembled beneath him.

“There has to be a way!” Rhysand barked.

“There is no known remedy,” Madja winced. “We will continue researching, but the libraries have been destroyed during Amarantha’s—”

“Never speak that name in my presence,” he said, his violet eyes darkening to amethyst.

“My lord,” Madja said gently, “the time has come to consider an extraction. It may be the only way.”

“She would never allow it,” Rhysand whispered, tears now streaming from his eyes.

“Perhaps if she was fully aware of the severity -”

“Not yet. We still have time,” he concluded.

The current surged back into the room, pulling in the fog and pushing Elain out. She floated through the house, dazed and confused, until the stream delivered her to Feyre’s bedroom. The door swung open, revealing Feyre lying bare on her bed, screaming in agony. The horrifying scene tore through Elain, and she shuffled backward, attempting to flee the room. But no matter how she paddled, she remained facing the scene, unable to escape.

Elain echoed Feyre’s screams, her desperation growing. "No more, no more! Get me out of here!"

The fog began to flow again, revealing a small figure. Orla's golden eyes appeared first, followed by her full form. She stood staring at Elain, unbothered by the chaos around them.

“I want to leave,” Elain cried.

“Breathe,” Orla said calmly. “You need to be calm to move.”

Feyre's cries quieted, and she began to lose color in her face, her eyes crossing as her head slowly lowered to her pillow. She was dying.

“How can I be calm?” Elain shrieked, gesturing to her sister.

“It’s not real,” the child assured. “Never forget this is not real. It’s like closing a book; you decide when the story ends. Breathe slowly, and when you’re calm, you can walk away.”

Elain grunted in frustration, feeling the impossibility of the task. Orla closed her eyes and began to breathe slowly but dramatically, demonstrating. Elain frantically followed suit, shutting her eyes tight and trying to tune out Feyre’s cries. She focused on the rhythm of her breaths, which gradually reminded her of Azriel’s steady breathing. She recalled his rumbling voice and addictive scent, finding solace in the memory amidst the chaos.

Elaine's eyes drooped drunkenly open, and she saw the horrific scene and Orla’s curious eyes, but this time, the scene did not affect her. It was like flipping through a picture book for the first time, the images new and unfamiliar. She stepped forward, then turned and left the room. Orla was speaking to her, but she couldn't hear a sound.

The fog around Elain dispersed, revealing a dark chamber. Unshaded windows allowed moonlight to cast a blue hue across the room. In the center lay an enourmous disheveled bed, with sheets cascading off its edges like a waterfall. A large figure was sprawled across the bed in a strange angle. Azriel slept peacefully, his hair falling over his face and his expression somewhat strained. His deep, rumbling breaths echoed in the room.

Elain kept her distance, marveling at his beauty as he slept, his bare chest rising and falling with each breath. She longed to get closer but didn't want to risk waking him. He seemed at ease, at least as much as someone as watchful as Azriel could be. She watched him for a few minutes before quietly slipping away back into the fog.

Orla’s voice echoed from all directions, “Wake up, Elain”. 

___ 

It was morning. Elain rose from bed and rushed to get dressed, her head aching from the night of terrible nightmares. She didn't know what to make of the dreams, but she knew one thing for certain: she needed to check on Feyre. Bursting through the dining room doors, she found Rhysand and Feyre waiting for breakfast. Feyre was seated at the table while Rhysand sat on the kitchen table next to her, brushing his mouth along Feyre’s neck.

“Good morning,” Elain flushed, realizing she had interrupted them.

Rhysand paid no heed to the intrusion, his violet eyes glancing at her and then returning to kissing down her sister’s neck. Feyre gave him a shove, prompting him to rise and take his seat. She gave Elain an apologetic smile.

“Feyre darling, our fun will have to wait until after breakfast,” Rhysand said smoothly.

“Only if you behave and don't cause me to lose my appetite,” Feyre retorted. Rhysand’s expression became hungry, and he released a challenging growl.

Elain took her seat, scanning her sister up and down. There wasn’t a pain or worry to be found in her expression. She was the picture of health, not a hair out of place and radiating with a pregnancy glow. 

Still, Elain asked, “How have you been feeling, Feyre?”

Rhysand stiffened, his eyes darting between the two of them.

“I’ve been feeling fine, Elain,” Feyre responded genuinely.

“Why do you ask?” Rhysand interjected, his tone a bit harsh.

Elain continued watching her sister. She quieted her mind, begging her powers to provide a flash of something to ease her worry, but nothing appeared. She exhaled in defeat.

“Nothing, just checking in,” she conceded.

Nuala and Cerridwen entered with their breakfast plates, deftly arranging the table and fussing with the place settings. The women exchanged pleasantries and bursted into chatter while digging into breakfast. Rhysand, somewhat removed, watched Elain for the entirety of the meal.

__

After breakfast, Elain stayed behind to help the twins tidy up. There was no training today as it was Sunday, market day for most farmers. Maevin and Orla would be off to Velaris to sell their produce at the bustling street fair in the market district. Elain likely unknowingly purchased goods from them in the past. Tomorrow, however, marked the beginning of her real training back at their farm.

She was tempted to travel into the city to visit their booth, but she had a promise to keep. She hurried through the cleaning, ensuring the dining room and kitchen were spotless. Once satisfied, she gathered her tools and made her way to the garden.

The rest of the day was a delightful blur of harvesting ripe strawberries and transforming them into sweet strawberry cakes. By late afternoon, she had a bowl of chilled strawberries ready and two impeccably decorated cakes: one for Orla and Maevin's hospitality and the other for the river house as a clever cover-up for the day's activities.

By the evening, Elain was splotched with dirt, flour, and sugar. Glancing at the clock, she realized she had just enough time to freshen up before meeting Azriel.

__

Azriel stood patiently on the bridge leading to the garden, his eyes scanning the dimly lit path, waiting for Elain. The garden, usually bursting with life, now loomed ominously in the night, its colors swallowed by the shadows. Instead of his usual fighting leathers, he dressed in a fitted navy bomber jacket and sleek black pants. His leather boots shined under the moonlight, like his neatness gelled-back hair. In his hand, Azriel held a single blue eryngium stem, while a large empty jar rested securely in the crook of his arm. He paced back and forth, his senses sharp, listening for her approach.

__

Elain slipped into her long silk blue dress, its fabric clinging gracefully along her figure.  Over it, she wore a navy cardigan to keep her arms warm. Her hair was elegantly pinned up in a romantic, curling bun, with soft curls framing her face. She applied a touch of blush to her cheeks and lips. With a deep breath, she cast a final, satisfied glance at her reflection before stealthily leaving the house.

_

The side door clicked, and Azriel straightened, his heart quickening at the approaching sound of her soft steps. Moments later, Elain appeared from behind the willow tree, a smile gracing her lips as she looked up at him. Azriel’s breath caught, mesmerized by the glow of her gown, which made her complexion as pale as the moon itself. Her delicate pink lips framed her smile, making his hands begin to sweat.

"Hello," Elain said softly, stopping a foot away from him. Her gaze trailed from his face down to his shoes, taking in his new attire, before lingering on the flower in his hand.

"This is for you," he said, offering her the flower.

She smiled, accepting the stem. "Thank you. You look handsome. I rarely get to see you in casual clothing," she remarked.

"You look beautiful, Elain," he replied, his hand gripping the back of his neck. "You always do."

"And what is that?" Elaine asked playfully, pointing to the jar.

Relieved by her usual act of ignoring compliments, Azriel was happy to change the subject.

"Ah, this is part of the surprise," he said, clearing his throat. He extended his arm to her. "Ready?"

Elain nodded, hooking her arm into his. They strolled along the lower-level pathway of the Sidra. As they walked, Azriel felt her head rest on his shoulder. Peering down, he watched as she twirled the stem in her hand. He hoped the blue spikey bud would remind her of him.

They ascended the hill of a nearby park, which revealed a small, tranquil courtyard lit by a team of curved white lamps. Elegant marble goddess statues watched over the grassy hills, and at the north corner was a large rectangular pool with a trickling fountain.

Elain turned to Azriel questioningly. “My father’s gravestone is here,” she said.

Azriel nodded. “I know. It's a place of remembrance for many fae who lost someone.”

Hurt shone in her eyes. He knew she visited her father often, adorning his grave with bouquets she crafted from her garden, each visit a new arrangement. He suspected she would feel uncomfortable being here with company. Azriel extended his scarred hand to Elain. She hesitated, uncertain. 

“I didn’t bring you here to visit your father,” he assured her, “The land here is blessed with magic. Tonight, I will show you how to take a piece of it with you.”

Her doe-like eyes blinked with worry, but she finally took his hand. Azriel brushed his thumb across her skin and led her toward the water.

The pool's edge featured a marble platform with steps descending into the water, as if inviting visitors to enter. Its surface was dotted with clusters of large lily pads. The air buzzed with the croaks of frogs and the hum of dragonflies. Several lanterns were stationed along the pool's edge, casting a soft glow on the water. With a firm grip, Azriel guided Elain onto the platform and stood on the topmost step. He positioned himself behind her, pressing his chest to her back and wrapping his free arm around her, intertwining their fingers as he held her hand against her stomach. Elain’s breath quickened, aware of their proximity. His body heat warmed her spine.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered into her ear.

There was silence, then Azriel began chanting softly under his breath. She couldn't make out the words, as his grip on her hand tightened. Suddenly, shadows flitted around their shoulders before darting past Elain's head and toward the lanterns and street lamps in the courtyard. The lights flickered and then extinguished with a hiss, plunging the pool into terrifying darkness. In the absence of light, the night sounds turned monstrous.

In the darkness, flashes began to plague Elain. She saw a dark swamp, a disgusting wasteland. Flash. A woman plummeting from a tree. Flash. A head rising from the murky water, black gaping eyes. Flash. A demon on all fours, claws like daggers. Flash. A golden disc floating toward her underwater.

“Azriel, stop!” Elain shrieked, disoriented and afraid of what might emerge from the pool.

“Be still. Just one minute,” Azriel pleaded.

Elain couldn’t see the water in the darkness. Panic set in, and she longed to bury herself in his chest. She squeezed her eyes shut, pushing away the images of the horrid water beast. After a moment, Azriel's grip loosened, and he began to rub her hand soothingly with his thumb.

“Elain,” he said gently, “open your eyes.”

Elain opened her eyes to find the courtyard illuminated by several glowing orbs. She relaxed her posture and looked around. The pool glistened yellow and white from the orbs that swayed lazily side to side over its surface. She scanned the pool cautiously but saw no sign of anything lurking below.

He released her hand to open the jar. 

“Fireflies,” he smiled. “For your garden, Elain. With a few of them, your garden will never be dark.”

She steadied the jar as Azriel herded enough fireflies into it that the glass shone as bright as the lanterns once did. She watched him in awe. 

“Will they stay?” Elain asked, releasing a gleeful squeal.

“If they like it there, they will,” he said. His hazel eyes met hers, tender and triumphant at her joy.

“I’ve never seen them here before. They are so beautiful,” she said, holding up the closed jar to her face, captivated by the emitting light.

“They only appear in the shadows,” Azriel said, watching the golden orbs dance in her eyes. His gaze trailed down to her lips. Azriel's shadows pressed against his back, whispering.

She is not yours. She is mated. She is pure light, and you are pure shadow. You will extinguish her light. You are unworthy.

Elain noticed his attention on her mouth. She wet her lips, silently beckoning him to act on his desires. He gently took her face in his hands and brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. Slowly, he pulled her closer and closer until his lips pressed to hers, kissing her softly. Her mouth was warm and sweet like honey, better than he could have imagined. 

Elain released a short gasp, dropping the jar and the stem to grasp his forearms. The jar rolled down the steps and fell into the water. Their mouths moved with each other, each delighting in the taste of the other. The soft kissing turned desperate and hungry, so much so that Elain pushed him away, desperate for air. Azriel darted a few steps back, shocked by what he had done. He studied Elain's face, waiting for the regret or anger to set in.

Elain stared at him, flushed; her chest heaved delicately up and down as she caught her breath. Azriel stepped towards her, prepared to beg for her forgiveness, but was met with the largest smile he had ever seen from her, blooming from her swollen lips.

Chapter Text

"Be careful," Elain cautioned, her hand outstretched towards Azriel.

Kneeling at the pool's edge, Azriel coaxed the jar of fireflies idly floating in the water towards him. Elain couldn't shake the image of those gaping black eyes peeking from the murky water.

"What's wrong?" Azriel asked, sensing her unease.

"I just had a flash of something," Elain confessed, feeling foolish. "I saw... I saw something in water, in swampy water."

Azriel tensed, his senses on high alert as he carefully scanned the clear pool. His shadows danced over the surface before returning to his shoulders. "There's nothing here, Elain," he reassured her gently.

She looked down, regretting bringing it up at all. Azriel retrieved the jar and took her hand. "Are you ready to head back?" he asked, offering a kind smile.

"Yes," she replied, returning the smile, but she couldn't shake the lingering unease. Peering into his warm eyes, she longed for the taste of his kiss, the mix of darkness and armor, mist and mint, like the calm of a dark sea.

Craving the taste, Elain moved closer, rising on her tiptoes to request a kiss. Azriel smirked and gave her a quick peck on the lips before pulling her forward in his quick stride. She frowned, feeling somewhat snubbed.

As they reached the slope of the hill, Azriel paused, his gaze lingering on the inscription of her father's stone. Azriel released her hand and gently placed her blue stem on the plaque. Elain hadn't noticed that he had retrieved it, and her lip quivered as she saw the stem below her father's name in a silent introduction. With a solemn nod, Azriel gently guided them along their way; neither acknowledged the gesture.

—

When they reached the bridge leading to the house, Azriel dropped Elain's hand, his actions measured and deliberate. Stepping back slightly, he maintained a polite distance, his demeanor stiff and controlled.

"You're not staying," Elain discerned from his posture, a note of sadness creeping into her voice.

With a calculated expression, Azriel schooled his features into a calm mask. "Elain, it's best if you go on without me."

"You don't want to release these little guys with me?" she asked, a playful smile gracing her lips as she gently shook the jar.

Azriel's expression remained firm as he whispered, "Elain, no one can see us together like this."

His words hung heavy in the air but sank in. Azriel didn't want their romance known.

"Why?" she pressed.

He didn't immediately respond. "Is it because I'm mated? That means nothing to me."

"Elain, stop," he winced. "Being mated is nothing to dismiss so easily, but it's not my foremost concern. My role puts anyone I care about at risk. I just need some time to ensure you're safe."

Elain wasn't entirely convinced, but she nodded in agreement.

Azriel took her hand and pressed a tender kiss upon it. "Goodnight."

Elain managed a smile, though it didn’t meet her eyes. "Goodnight."

Azriel caught her expression. "I'll be back tomorrow morning to take you to the farm. I'll be counting the minutes," he said with his gently smile, drawing a genuine one from her before he faded into the shadows, leaving Elain standing alone on the bridge.

Taking a deep breath, Elain made her way to her garden, her mind swirling with thoughts of Azriel. She had always known him to be secretive and aloof, disappearing for days at a time and returning exhausted and battered. Her longing for him was intense, and every moment without him felt painfully empty. Could she handle his prolonged absences now? Would she ever grow accustomed to the solitude, reveling in the fleeting moments he was by her side before vanishing into the shadows once more?

Sighing, she lifted the lid, releasing the fireflies into her garden. Some clung to her hair, while most scattered onto the nearby ivy and leaves. Their gentle glow illuminated her garden, reflecting vibrant colors from her flowers and the sea glass pathway. Thanks to Azriel, her garden was more enchanting than ever.

—- 

Elain awoke the next morning from a dreamless night. She dressed and headed to the kitchen to pack the strawberries for Orla in a wicker picnic basket. She was about to exit the house when a voice spoke to her, mind to mind. 

Elain, do you have a moment? Meet me in the study. Come now.

Elain jerked her hand from the front door as if it had burned her, reminded of the immensity of Rhysand’s powers. The High Lord possessed mind-bending abilities, and here she was, foolishly attempting to conceal information from him. Trembling, she headed to the study, feeling like an unarmed maiden facing a fire-breathing dragon.

Pushing open the french doors to the study, Elain half-expected to find Rhysand and Madja deep in discussion, reminiscent of her past nightmares. Instead, she found Rhysand leaning casually against his cluttered desk, his gaze fixed upon her.

"Good morning Elain. Have a seat," he gestured to the leather chair just a few feet away.

As she settled into the chair, Elain could feel the blood rushing in her ears. Rhysand observed her in silence for a moment before speaking.

"Elain, is there something you need to tell me?" His tone was cool, but there was an underlying intensity.

She shook her head too quickly, refusing to speak, knowing her voice would betray her.

"No?" he prodded further.

Again, she shook her head.

"Elain, we are family now, but I’m still your High Lord. You must obey me and answer what I ask of you. Do you understand?" His words carried a weight that made her heart thunder in her chest. She nodded in response.

"I know you care for Feyre," Rhysand continued, his voice softening slightly. "If you know something, something that may harm her, you must tell me."

Elain caught her breath, realizing he was concerned about Feyre's well-being, not her training or time with Azriel.

"What do you mean?" she whispered.

Rhysand stepped closer, his gaze piercing. "If you know something about Feyre’s health, I need you to tell me."

Seeing the desperation in his eyes, Elain understood. "Feyre is fine," she reassured him.

"Then why were you checking on her yesterday at breakfast?" he pressed on.

Elain looked down at her hands, feeling the weight of the truth she couldn't share. "Because I had a nightmare. I dreamed that she was in a lot of pain giving birth, but it was just a nightmare."

Rhysand turned away, clearing his throat quietly. "What happened?"

Elain couldn’t bring herself to tell him of Feyre’s face going white, her screams silencing, and her body lying limp on the bed. He demanded to know, but she wouldn't break him over a mere dream. This is precisely why she needed to hone her powers. With control, she could provide him with real answers.

"Nothing," she assured him gently. "In the dream, she was in her room alone, but Feyre told me it’s been arranged for her to deliver in Madja’s clinic. You will be there at the birth, but you were not present in the dream. You see it was just a bad dream, Rhysand. When I saw her that morning, I wasn't worried anymore."

Rhysand relaxed a bit, running his hand through his hair. "Let me know if you have any more dreams like this. That’s an order," he said in a hushed tone. "You may go."

___

Azriel waited for Elain at the end of the bridge leading into the city. It was the farthest he had ever made her walk to meet him. As Elain approached, her head drooped, realizing this heightened caution would be the new norm.

He stood there in his usual fighting leathers, his wings neatly tucked in. As he watched her approach, a loving smile graced his lips. The sight of it sent butterflies dancing up her spine, and she couldn't help but return a bashful smile, relieved to find him in a good mood.

"You look beautiful," Azriel said in his cool demeanor.

Elain's heart swelled, delighting in his newfound confidence with her. It usually took hours together to draw out a romantic word from him.

Before she could respond, Azriel interrupted.

"Let's go," he added, smoothly taking the picnic basket from Elain's hand and sweeping her up into his arms.

Without any warning, they both dissolved into the shadows, disappearing from sight in an instant.

The shadow realm, terrifying and eerie, failed to hold her attention this morning as her focus was consumed with observing Azriel. As they journeyed, he maintained a forward gaze, silent and stoic. She counted every furrow of his brow, every moistened lip, every movement of his neck, mesmerized by his wind-tousled hair, the texture of his skin, and, above all, the shape of his mouth.

Desire swirls within her, longing to kiss him again, yet his guarded nature causes her to hesitate. She knew she had to carefully test the waters. Nestling her head into the curve of his neck, a habitual gesture when fear gripped her in the realm, she traced the tip of her nose along his skin. Making idle lines, she gradually lifted her head until her lips lightly trailed against his neck. He glanced over, then refocused on the road ahead. Determined, she continued her tracing, finally pressing a soft kiss to his neck.

Azriel shuddered, arms tightening around his grip on her. She kissed again and trailed small kisses up his neck, pausing by his ear.

“Can I steal you away for a few minutes?” Azriel said roughly. 

“Mhmm,” she murmured into another kiss at the base of his neck.

Azriel flew faster, and they materialized at the farm, yet the shadows still enveloped them. Soaring down into the barn, they discovered it empty, the animals already set free. He landed gracefully, gently placing Elain on her feet and dropping the basket. Taking her hand, he guided her towards the nearest wall of the barn, pressing her firmly against it. Elain caught a glimpse of the intensity in his hazel eyes, his grip unyielding. With a gentle lift of her chin using a curved finger, Azriel brought her gaze to meet his own.

"You are keeping me from my responsibilities," he taunted, pressing his warm lips to hers.

"I can be your new responsibility," she breathed in response.

Their mouths moved with each other in perfect harmony, delighting in the taste of each other's lips. Elain gasped as Azriel’s head dipped and began kissing down her neck.

"Imagine trying to fly feeling this," he clicked his tongue playfully. "Bad girl."

A small moan escaped her lips. Azriel bucked his hips at the sound, pressing his length against her for too short of a moment. She wanted to feel more of him but he caught her hand as it began to slide down his chest. 

The front door of the house slammed shut, causing Elain to freeze, though Azriel continued kissing her neck and collarbone.

"Someone's coming," she whispered anxiously.

"They can't see us; we're still in shadow," he said, unfazed.

Peering around her, Elain noticed that the barn was cloaked in a dark hue, as if captured in a black and white photograph.

"So this is how you spy," she rasped.

"It's one of the ways," he replied, once again unfazed.
Pulling away from her, he watched as she took in the veil of shadow surrounding them.

"That's enough for now," he said, pressing her upper lip with his fingers as if still needing more.

At his words, the veil began to fall as if he were a drain pulling the grey water into himself. Light streamed in, and in a short moment, the barn returned to full color and light, accompanied by the warmth and sounds of a bustling farm.
"Fix your hair," Azriel said smoothly. Elain complied, quickly fixing herself up.

"I'll pick you up this afternoon. Good luck with your first day," he said, fading away without another word.

Elain stood there stunned, realizing how little she understood of Azriel's powers and responsibilities. The darkness and secrets he faced day by day, the sights and demands he had to confront, left her feeling embarrassingly naive. If this was only one aspect of his skills, she shuddered at what more he subjected himself to.

Orla's footsteps sounded at the entrance of the barn. She giggled and ran in when she spotted Elain.

"You brought my strawberries!" Orla exclaimed as she kneeled, opening the basket resting on the barn floor.

Chapter Text

Orla began her lesson while nibbling bites of strawberry cake as she swayed belly-down on the tire swing. Elain warned of a potential choking hazard, but Orla dismissed her, and reminded her that she was in charge. 

Elain settled nearby onto a blanket, the fabric soft beneath her. As she awaited instruction, she let her gaze wander over the hills, their slopes bathed in daylight. In the distance figures of farmhands tended to the apple orchard, their movements mere specks against the vast landscape. With a carefree demeanor, Orla began her lesson, her voice carrying through the gentle breeze.

"As a see-er," Orla began, her words punctuated by the swaying motion of the swing, "there are three skills to know." She paused, a mischievous glint in her eye, before continuing. " One, seeing something that has or is happening now. Two, seeing something that will happen. And three, doing this without getting caught. If they catch you, there’ll be hell to pay” Orla said as she kicked off the ground to swing wildly.

Elain shot her a reproachful glance at the colorful language, which Orla's ignored. Her brow furrowed in concentration. "So, to see the past, present, and future, while shielding myself from detection," she summarized, her voice a soft murmur against the backdrop of grazing cows.

"Yes," Orla affirmed with a vigorous kick of her feet, sending the swing soaring higher. "Most fae won't catch you watching, but those with high level of powers, like me,  High Lords, and those like the boy who brings you here, can sense you tuning in on them. They can trap you in their mind or come after you for spying on them."
Elain soaked in each word, excited to have finally gained insight into the workings of her powers.

"Let's start easy," Orla proposed, her tone confident. "I want you to tell me if my mom's having a baby boy or girl." With a playful challenge, she gestured towards the orchard below. "Mom is down there," she continued. "Watch her and clear your mind. See if anything comes to you."

"Alright," Elain replied tentatively, her nerves weaving in excitement. Her gaze flitted across the orchard scanning the workers. She paused when she spotted a familiar curling ponytail.

"Clear your mind and focus," Orla whispered, her voice gentle.

Elain obeyed, her mind a blank canvas as she honed in on Maevin's figure and the gentle swell of her belly. Suddenly, a flash erupted in her consciousness—a memory unfurling before her like a vivid painting. She found herself standing at Orla's front door, watching through Maevin's eyes as a man with Orla's unmistakable golden eyes smiled from the doorway.

"It's another baby girl," Maevin's voice echoed in her mind.

"Step out," Orla urged from her side in the vision.

Elain complied, her focus zooming out from Maevin to find her resting a hand on her stomach, her gaze filled with love as Orla's father stood in front of her, his hat removed and brow glistening with sweat from the summer heat. 

"Come back," Orla whispered, drawing her back to the present moment. Feeling her body return to the farmland and picnic blanket, Elain peered deeper into Maevin's protruding abdomen until she beheld the delicate features of a small infant—a soft, feminine face framed by long lashes.

"You're having a baby sister," Elain announced with a smile.

Orla let out a joyful squeal, abandoning the swing to twirl around Elain. They spent the following hours practicing, with Orla giving simple prompts such as locating objects on the farm or in her bedroom, all of which Elain deciphered effortlessly.

After a break for lunch, Orla proudly showed Elain her yellow tea party-themed bedroom. Elain watched with delight as Orla dressed and redressed her dolls, spinning, dancing, and laughing all the while.

Later, as they lay in the loft of the barn, Elain asked her instructor about something that had been troubling her. "Orla, the other night I had nightmares. You were there too. Was that real or..." Elain trailed off, feeling a bit self-conscious.

"You woke me up. I know the sound of your visions now, and you were so scared that I had to make sure you were alright," Orla explained, concern hard in her golden eyes.

Elain shuddered, recalling the unsettling images. "So, everything I saw..." Feyre's ghostly face flashed in her mind, "...will it all come to pass?"

Orla gently laid her tiny hand on Elain's knee. "Dreams, visions, and nightmares are all woven from the same fabric. That's why it's so important to be focused. If you let your worries cloud your mind, your visions will be tainted. Just because you dream something doesn't mean it's destined to happen. When you're asleep, you enter a place beyond your control, that’s why I never take dreams as visions. I dream of ascending Ramiel as a princess knight with a gown as long as the mountain's peak because it's my wish, not a vision."

Relief flooded through Elain, but how could she ever be certain? "Orla, could you check on my sister, Feyre, for me? Will she be alright with her baby?"

“It’s best you look Elain” Orla said hesitantly, “ She’s your sister and it would be good practice.”

Elain nodded but wondered how she could ever maintain focus now with the memory of her sister in such pain, real or not.

As if hearing her thoughts, Orla said, “Staying focused when you want or don't want something to be is almost impossible.”

She rolled onto her back and stared up at the barn roof. “'That’s why I need a fluorite stone,' she grumbled.

“A what?” Elain asked. 

"A fluorite stone," Orla clarified, noticing Elain's confusion. "It's a focus stone that helps harness our powers. Like the boy who brings you here, he has stones all over him. Well, this stone helps people like us with our types of powers."

"Where can you find one?" Elain asked, intrigued.

Orla sighed. "You can find them in the waters of the Spring Court, but their High Lord has closed its borders, so my dad can't go get one. He said he might get lucky finding one for sale at a market, but they aren't that valuable, so probably not."

Lucien's offer rang in Elain's mind. 

If you ever wish to see the gardens of the Spring Court, I'd be happy to give you a tour.

Perhaps...

A soft thud reverberated from the ground below, drawing their attention. Azriel stood waiting below the loft, his hands clasped politely behind his back, his expression kind.

“Thank you for the lesson, Miss Orla,” Elain remarked, leaning in to plant a gentle kiss on Orla's forehead. “Until next class.” 

“Keep practicing,” Orla giggled as Elain climbed down from the loft. 

___

On the flight back, Azriel informed Elain that he had been summoned to a meeting at the river house that evening. The meeting involved himself, Nesta, Cassian, and Amren. Its purpose was to persuade Nesta to scry to locate one of the items of the Dread Trove. Amren believed they were losing time, so it was critical that Nesta cooperate.

"So, I should stay out of the way," Elain joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Azriel's expression remained composed. "It's up to you," he replied.

"I'll stay away this time. My instructor gave me some homework anyway," Elain decided.

In truth, Elain was looking forward to relaxing in her bathtub and testing her abilities.  She wondered if they would hold up without Orla nearby. She was also in a good mood and didnt need Nesta's sharp tongue to ruin that. 

As they arrived at the bridge, Azriel set her down and promptly distanced himself a few feet away. Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes at his attempt to avoid association, Elain found his behavior irritating.

"Enter through the side door. I'll use the front," Azriel directed.

Elain couldn't help but roll her eyes this time. She walked away without another word, giving him the cold shoulder.

Azriel flushed and began stammering out some apologetic sentiment, his shadows skittering away in hiding. However, she continued on into the house, unimpressed by his attempt to backtrack.

___

Elain spent the evening secluded in her room with Nuala and Cerridwen. Excitedly, she recounted her day of training and all that she had observed with her newfound ability. The twins, intrigued, challenged her to locate some of their personal items. While she successfully pinpointed some, she failed when it came to objects she had never seen before or wasn't entirely certain how they looked.

Nonetheless, the twins were impressed by her progress. As the hours passed, Elain began to feel drained. The housekeepers bid her goodnight after the second yawn that escaped her mouth.

As the housekeepers bid her goodnight, Elain finally slipped into the warm bath, feeling the tension melt away from her muscles and temples. She lingered in the water, gazing out of the large windows at the glittering stars in the night sky. After dressing in her nightgown, she began to towel dry her sopping-wet hair when a knock sounded at her door.

Still tending to her dripping locks, Elain opened the door to find Azriel waiting. His eyes glazed over; he took in her relaxed attire and savored the scent of her vanilla shampoo filling the space.

"May I come in?" he asked gently.

"I don't know, what would everyone think?" Elain responded dryly, the memory of their last encounter still irking her.

Azriel smiled slightly as he stepped into the room and quietly closed the door behind him. "That's true, but I was actually ordered to speak with you, so this is a matter of business," he said slyly.

Elain moved to sit at the edge of her bed, leaving room for him to join her.

As he sat beside her, Azriel gently placed his palm against her cheek, his thumb caressing her skin tenderly. "I'm sorry for how I've behaved. I shouldn't have disregarded you like that. I'm just not prepared yet for the consequences that come with being with you, but I will be. I'm not ashamed of you, Elain," he declared, his eyes ablaze with passion. "I've dreamed of holding you for a long time, and I can't wait to love you freely."

Love. Elain’s heart fluttered at his words, and it didn’t help how handsome he was in the dim light of her bedroom. Perhaps she had been childish and quick to pout. She truly hadn't considered the potential repercussions of their relationship, which Azriel’s calculated mind likely had determined thrice over. Maybe it was best to keep their affair secret for the time being.

"I understand. I can't wait either, but I'll be patient for you," she promised softly.

Azriel smiled gently, his thumb brushing against her upper lip before he leaned in to kiss her tenderly. They shared a soft, patient kiss for a moment before Elain parted her lips, her tongue teasing against his bottom lip. Azriel let out a low groan, reluctantly pulling away.

"I was ordered here, Elain," he said, clearing his throat, "to ask you about something you mentioned to me."

Elain straightened, her curiosity piqued. "Yes?"

"You mentioned swampy water," he prompted.

Elain shuddered as the memory flooded back. "Yes, I saw a figure rising above a swamp. It had thin, dangly limbs, with eyes like gaping black holes and long claws."

"A kelpie," Azriel said, his tone chilling. "A creature that lurks in the swamp, dragging victims into its depths to torment and kill," he explained to Elain's confused expression.

"Why do you ask?" Elain inquired.

"Was there anything else you saw?" Azriel pressed on, ignoring her question.

After a moment of contemplation, Elain recalled, "I also saw a golden object floating towards me in the water. It looked like a golden mask."

"Then we're on the right track," Azriel concluded. "Nesta's scrying was successful. We believe the mask of the Dread Trove is in the Bog of Orid, in the Middle lands of Prythian. The Bog, Elain, is a swamp. Tales warn of creatures in its depths, so a kelpie is very possible. Thank you, this is very helpful," he added, squeezing her hand in appreciation.

Elain beamed, delighted to have contributed to the mission. "Nesta, Cassian, and I must go tomorrow to search. I'm sorry, I won't be able to take you to the farm," Azriel informed her.

Though disappointed, Elain understood. "That's alright. Just be careful and stay safe," she replied sincerely.

Azriel's heart trembled at Elain's sincere plea. It was a request both simple and profound, brimming with expectations he was unfamiliar with. He had never had someone anxiously awaiting his safe return, not as a matter of courtesy but out of sheer desire and need.

"I told Rhysand that you had mentioned a swamp in passing and nothing more. He sent me here to ask you because he has faith in your abilities. I’m sure if we informed him, he’d approve of your training and take you to Orla tomorrow and anytime I’m unavailable,” Azriel urged.

Her training meant everything to her, but she couldn't risk the possibility of Rhysand or Feyre forbidding it. "No, he can't know. I don't mind missing training until you return," she asserted firmly.

Azriel nodded without protest, respecting her wishes. He gently brushed a wet tendril of hair, which had soaked the front of her gown, to her back before leaning in to press another soft kiss to her lips. Elain encircled his neck and lowered him down to her bed. They lay side by side, kissing feverishly, hands roaming on each other's backs. Azriel's hand trailed to the back of her head, pulling her hair to tilt her face up towards him. His intense gaze bore into hers as he leaned in and nipped along her neck.

Elain gasped softly, which elicited a deep moan from Azriel. With a heavy sigh, he released her and rose to a seated position. 

“I’m expected to report back. I have to go,” he smiled down at Elain, who was sprawled out on the bed, her wet hair weaving like snakes. “Unless you want to risk Rhysand coming to see what’s taking me so long.”

Elain rose with a pout, though the thought of Rhysand's arrival killed her arousal.

“You should go,” she said halfheartedly, “but you’re welcome to come back.”

“Another time, I’m sure,” he laughed as he rose to his feet.

“Be safe,” she whispered.

The sentiment again warmed Azriel's heart, and he leaned down to give her a final kiss before heading out. “I will. Goodnight, Elain.”

Chapter Text

Feyre sat perched on the garden bench, a gentle breeze tugging at the pages of The Lineage of the Night Court. She flipped back and forth through the book, scanning possible names for the baby. Elain listened idly while trimming the excess leaves that overhung from the intricate lattices of the garden.

"Artemis?" Feyre mused into the tranquil space.

Elain paused, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow with a gloved hand before casting a thoughtful gaze towards her sister. "Not a bad choice," she said thoughtfully.

Feyre's lips curled into a wry smile as she continued, her tone playful. “I still prefer Rhysand, but Rhys doesn't want him to have his name. He says it's too much to live up to,” Feyre said, rolling her eyes. 

A soft chuckle escaped Elain's lips as she resumed her gardening, the shears moving with purposeful precision. "I agree with him. One Rhys is more than enough to handle.”

The garden was dutifully maintained, so the overgrowth was minimal. In truth, Elain was utterly bored. The excitement of her training with Orla and travels with Azriel made her usual routine dull. She thought time in her garden would help, but she was feigning tasks that her garden simply didn't require. 

She tossed away her garden sheers with a loud sigh. Feyre's attention left the book, and she eyed her sister, now noticing the telltale signs of her sister's frustration.

“Elain, are you alright?”

Elain froze, feeling caught. She let out another sigh, “I’m just bored. I don't have any plans today, and it's no fun tending to a garden that needs no tending.”

“Maybe you should plant something new? Or get some inspiration from some other gardens in the city,” she suggested. 

Elain was overly acquainted with every garden in Velaris. She had forged friendships with the local gardeners and researched the complexities of each garden. Hers surpassed any other in the city thanks to her dedication and connections. Being the sister of the High Lady granted her both the means and access to the finest plant breeds available in the Night Court.

Lucien's proposal drifted in her mind like the wind's whisper. She could venture to the Spring Court, indulge Lucien by accepting his tour, and locate the focus stone Orla coveted. The thought of Orla's face seeing the stone spurred her into action.

“I’ve already seen all the gardens of the Night Court Feyre,” she said, dropping the bait. 

“I n that case, maybe it's time you let a certain someone finally show you around the Spring Court, ” Feyre countered. 

Elain turned from her sister, hiding the sly smile that was blooming.

“Well, I guess that’s better than doing nothing all day,” she said nonchalantly. “Do you think he’s available?” 

Feyre set her book aside and gestured for Elain to join her on the bench. As Elain settled beside her sister, Feyre produced a folded paper and a pen from thin air.

“Ask him,” Feyre said, handing her the materials. 

Elain swallowed hard, realizing the proposition before her. Lucien would grant her the tour in return for spending the day alone with him. And if she wanted those stones, she would need to be pleasant. For Orla, she would do this. Hastily, Elain scribbled a note on the paper and passed it back to Feyre, sealing her fate.

Hi Lucien. It’s Elain. I find myself free this afternoon. I’ll take that tour if you are available. 

Feyre glanced over the message, a smile playing on her lips as she crumpled it in her hand. When she unfurled her fist, the note had vanished.

“He’ll send it back to you directly. He knows how to do this type of magic.” Feyre said, resting her head on Elain's shoulder. 

A faint whisper filled the air, and a folded paper materialized on Elain's lap.

"That was quick," Feyre chuckled.

She read over Elain’s shoulder as she opened the parchment and sighed. 

Happy to. I’ll pick you up in an hour. 

“The Spring Court is beautiful. You’ll love it,” Feyre said quietly, her eyes haunted with memories.

___

An hour later, Lucien's booming laughter echoed through the front hall. Elain's heart raced, and she hurried into the kitchen. She was ready and packed, but hearing his voice made her question the courage she had earlier that morning. Frantically, she cleaned the spotless kitchen island.

The side door leading to the bridge into the city beckoned from down the hall. If she ran, she could escape without being noticed. Suddenly, shadows danced before her, revealing Cerridwen and Nuala.

"Your mate has arrived, Elain," Nuala teased, a playful glint in her eyes.

"Don't be a coward," Cerridwen purred, her voice smooth.

"I can't. Could you make an excuse for me?" Elain pleaded, clasping her hands together.

"Such a coward," Nuala giggled. "Wasn't there something you needed from the court?" Cerridwen gently reminded her.

Elain glanced at her leather pouch on the table, empty to reserve space for Orla's stones. She reminded herself that she was doing this for Orla, not Lucien. With an exasperated grunt, she summoned her courage and slung the bag across her body. She marched out of the room, sticking her tongue out at the twins before clearing the doorway.

As she approached, the voices of Lucien and Rhysand grew louder in the entryway. They were discussing the disappearance of Eris' soldiers, pondering their fate.

Lucien's back was to her as she entered the room, his long, fiery hair flowing freely down his back. Rhysand faced her direction and offered a kind smile as she entered.

"There you are, Elain. Lucien has come for you," Rhysand said softly, devoid of teasing.

Lucien turned to face her, his piercing gaze meeting hers. He wore a beige tunic, a brown leather vest, and a weapon belt. Despite his nerves, he nodded confidently and smiled, leaving her momentarily breathless.

"Elain," he greeted, bowing his head.

Clearing her throat, she returned his smile kindly. "Hello. Thank you for agreeing to this tour on such short notice. I'm looking forward to it."

Lucien's mouth opened slightly as if he were taking a shallow breath. She realized she had never been this welcoming to him before.

"The pleasure is mine," he replied wearily.

At his word, a blush tinted Elain's cheeks. Somehow, they felt too intimate to be spoken in the presence of another, or perhaps it shouldn't feel that way.

"Enjoy your afternoon," Rhysand said, waving a hand as he walked toward his study. "Give Tamlin my love."

Lucien chuckled, shaking his head at Rhysand's audacity.

"Let's get going," Lucien said, leading the way to the front of the house.

Outside the front gate, he extended his hand to Elain. She hesitated for a moment, then took it. It was warm, large, and oddly comforting, sending a rush of warmth through her skin as if welcoming the touch.

With a warning, Lucien winnowed them, and in an instant, they stood before the grand manor of the Spring Court.

The mansion was impressive, yet it bore scars of neglect. The white paint was faded and chipped to a light gray; dead foliage graced the grounds, and broken windows exposed the dark interiors. Even the front door lay flat amidst a pile of debris. The once-proud rose bushes lining the walkway were now withered and sodden, staining the ground beneath.

The manner was nothing like how Feyre had described it. Lucien's golden eyes observed Elain, noting her disappointment.

Clearing his throat, he said, "My home has seen better days. We won't be touring the manor, but I would like you to see how it once was... if you'll allow me."

Elain nodded kindly. Moving behind her, Lucien gently placed his hands on her shoulders. A tingling sensation danced in her ears, and suddenly, a glamour enveloped her vision. The manor of ruins transformed into a magnificent estate, gleaming with life. Ivy trailed the walls, white roses adorned every molding, and pink roses lined the pathway to the grand staircase. The windows now boasted intricate botanical stained glass designs. Colorful parakeets flitted through the lush foliage, adding to the enchantment and life of the estate.

The sight was breathtaking, drawing Elain in despite her apprehension of what lay within. Her face lit up in wonder, and silver filled her eyes. Turning to Lucien, she felt a tear escape her eye.

"It's so beautiful," she whispered.

"It was," Lucien replied with a soft smile, brushing away her tear with his thumb before quickly retracting his hand.

As the glamour faded, Elain gazed upon the ruins of what had once been the most exquisite home she had ever seen.

Lucien continued his tour of the gardens surrounding the manor, each vista more breathtaking than the last. However, to Elain's disappointment, no body of water was to be found. She hoped a flowing spring would come into view with every turn they took, but all they encountered were the marble fountains gracing the gardens.

"The gardens are beautiful, Lucien. They've given me some ideas for my garden. You're a wonderful tour guide," she smiled boldly, batting her eyes.

Lucien's metal eye skittered as he scanned her over, picking up on the change in her demeanor. Elain maintained an overly pleasant facade to win his favor. Something must have been evident on her face, whether it was her plotting or her guilt, for Lucien could no longer hold his tongue.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" His brows furrowed in confusion.

"Excuse me?" Elain retorted, offended.

Lucien bit his lip, deliberating whether to apologize or push harder. He chose the latter. "You know what I mean. You barely speak to me, yet you want to spend the day with me today. What do you really want?"

Elain gasped and marched past him back toward the path they came from.

"You're going the wrong way," Lucien said, lifting an eyebrow in amusement.

She kept stomping into the unknown, knowing it was foolish as she needed him to take her home either way.

Suddenly, Lucien winnowed in front of her, causing her to smash into his chest. He steadied her and lowered his gaze, his expression intense.

Elain recoiled from his strange whirling metal eye and focused on his normal russet one, which was ablaze with curiosity. So close, she noticed his freckles stained his tan skin like galaxies, something she had never noticed before.

"Just tell me," he said through his teeth, his breath brushing against her face. His warmth and scent enveloped her, reminding her of warm baked goods, spiced pumpkin, and vanilla. The aroma steadied her, clearing her mind. 

"Fine! I need a fluorite stone," Elain groaned in exasperation. "I heard you can find them in the waters of the Spring Court. That's why I came here," she admitted, dipping her head in shame.

A moment passed before he gently lifted her chin to meet his gaze.

"You could have just asked me," he said with a crooked smile.

Elain's eyes softened. "You're not mad?"

"Did you really enjoy the tour?" he countered.

"I did," Elain said sincerely.

"Then no, I'm not mad," he laughed. “You Archeron sisters are crafty. You know, Feyre also tried flirting with me for information when she first got here.”

"I was not trying to flirt with you,” Elain screeched.

“Not trying. You were doing. You are a shameless flirt, but I will admit you made me sweat a bit,” he teased.

Elain bit her bottom lip, stammering over her words, struggling to find a good retort.

“Come on, we’re going to need a horse,” Lucien led.

__

As they approached the stables, Elain's nerves fluttered like a flock of startled birds trapped in her chest. Lucien had suggested riding to the nearby pool on horseback. She knew she would be riding with him since she didn't know how to ride, which made her palms clammy.

"Oh, the sentries are in the stables," he remarked to himself, pulling her from her thoughts.

"Should I wait here, or do you need me to hide?" she said on edge, ready to dart away at his instruction.

Lucien's laughter rang out, a warm melody that dispelled the tension in her shoulders. "Why would you need to hide?"

Elain's cheeks burned with embarrassment, but she laughed, trying to bury her words.

"You are my proud guest, Elain. You don’t hide from anyone," Lucien assured her, his words a gentle reminder of his position as the court's emissary.

Lucien mounted his chocolate mare and outstretched his hand to Elain. She took his strong hand and climbed onto the beast, settling into its spine behind Lucien. Awkwardly, she wrapped her arms around him and secured herself in place.

With a nod of greeting to the sentries, who greeted them both, they rode off in a steady gallop. The mare's speed was swift, but Lucien guided her with expert ease and grace. She immediately took to the thrill of moving fast, the crisp spring air whipping through her hair. The estate blurred past them in a haze of green and pink stripes, and Elain felt utterly free.

It wasn't long before they slowed and approached a sizeable glimmering pool. Lucien slid off and lifted Elain from under her armpits. His biceps bulged from his rolled sleeves as he held her and gently set her on the ground.

Side by side, they walked through the overgrown grass and down the slope to the pool. Elain gasped as they grew closer. The pool shimmered like diamonds, like a pool of melted silver beckoning you to feel its cool temperature.

"What is this?" Elain began.

"Starlight," Lucien confirmed, his voice filled with reverence as he gazed at Elain's delicate face. “Your stones can be found on its floor.” 

Elain flashed a hesitant smile, “Can you fetch some for me? Please?” 

A hint of amusement danced in Lucien's eyes as he mulled over her plea. "I gave you a tour of the gardens, transported you on horseback, and took you to a pool of starlight even though you tried to manipulate me, and now you ask me to mess up my hair to retrieve your stones?" he remarked, his tone tinged with playful disbelief. "Well, you definitely live up to your reputation." 

“And what reputation is that?” she interjected, her irritation blooming.

“Well being - “

“A baby?” she growled.

"I was going to say a princess or precious flower, but I guess 'baby' works. A little harsh, but it has the same flavor," he countered, a challenge gleaming in his eyes.

The sting of his words pierced Elain's pride, her heart pounding with a mixture of resentment and self-awareness.“I don’t care what you or anyone thinks of me. I am not a baby!” she seethed.

"Then stop behaving like one," Lucien retorted, his words cutting through the tension like a blade. "You know what you want, Elain. Don't let anyone stop you. You are so powerful, yet you stand waiting for permission all the time. The stones are right there. Are you going to get them or not?" he challenged, his gaze pleading yet unwavering as he pointed towards the pool.

For a moment, Elain felt the weight of his words bearing down upon her, a relentless reminder of the truths she had long sought to bury. She was done crying, done waiting to be rescued. She hated him for it, hated him for seeing her so clearly, but he was right.

Elain uncrossed her sachet swiftly and looped it around her wrist. Without another word, she darted past Lucien, her eyes ablaze with determination, and dove into the pool of starlight.

Chapter Text

Submerged beneath the cool blue water, Elain felt the bubbles from impact clear, revealing the pool floor a few feet below. Stones of varied colors and sizes graced the bottom, reflecting sun flecks from the water's surface. With each delicate stroke, she propelled herself deeper into the pool. Though she had only swum a handful of times in her human life, as fae, swimming felt exhilarating and innate to her.

Reaching the pool's floor, Elain scanned the stones, uncertain of which were fluorite stones. Panic filled her as she realized she did not know which ones to grab. She considered shoveling handfuls into her bag and hoping to be lucky, but she had come too far to risk failing. Orla's sweet voice echoed in her mind, a patient instructor guiding her. Elain steadied her thoughts and focused on a single task: finding the fluorite stones.

As she called out for the stones within herself, a vision unfurrowed before her. She saw herself walking triumphantly up a hillside towards Orla, who was running down the slope towards her with loud cheers of glee. Elain's hand was raised erect in the air, presenting a stone that called in the child like a ship to a lighthouse. Stepping out of herself as she had been taught, she peered at the stone in her palm—a purple and green striped oval rock. Returning to herself on the ocean floor, Elain spotted the stones mixed with the others. She harvested four for good measure and secured them in her bag before paddling to the surface.

On the shore, Lucien shuffled anxiously in his boots, waiting by the pool's edge. As the minutes stretched on, he grunted angrily at himself, fearing he had again gone too far. Prepared to dive in after her, he removed his weapon belt and vest. At that moment, Elain broke the water's surface, gasping for air as she paddled towards him. Rushing into the water, he met her halfway and guided her to shore.

Once on her feet, she elbowed him away and leveled him with a venomous stare. Lucien fell back, captured by the angry angel standing before him, who froze him in fear and reverence. 

Thoroughly soaked, Elain's once chestnut hair, now black from the rain, clung to her cheeks, framing her face, paling her skin, and highlighting the gold flecks in her brown eyes. Her cream linen blouse clung to her form, the damp fabric accentuating her curves and exposing the peeks of her nipples.

Without averting his gaze from her intense stare, Lucien reached for his vest and offered it to her. With a swift motion, she snatched it from him and draped it over herself, covering herself.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want this day to end this way.” 

"What way?" Elain responded with deadly calm.

“I just wanted you to leave happier than when you arrived. That’s all,” Lucien murmured, closing his eyes in defeat.

Elain watched him as guilt tugged at her chest. The weight of her soaked clothes pulled her down uncomfortably, but not as strongly as the weight of her bag straining her arm. This tour was nothing like what she had expected, but she remembered the true reason for her journey. Retrieving Orla’s stone had been her mission, one she nearly abandoned were it not for Lucien's challenge and faith in her abilities. He had the ability to quickly get under her skin, igniting a fiery determination that was unfamiliar, yet she couldn’t deny how her powers surged through her, stronger than ever before.

"I am happier," she said sincerely.

Lucien studied her skeptically. "You sure look it," he said sarcastically.

"You were right," she said, her eyes softening, "I’ve been my biggest obstacle, and I’m done holding myself back."

"So…you found the stones?" he eyed the bag.

"I did," she smiled.

"Thank the cauldron," he laughed, relieved. 

Elain couldn’t hold it in and joined in.

___

Lucien winnowed to the bridge in Velaris, his steps steady beside Elain as they strolled up the garden path toward the side gate. Evening's dimness draped over the sky, rousing a few fireflies from their slumber, their lazy dance adorning the flower leaves.

"Thanks for the tour," Elain smiled.

"Sure," Lucien replied skeptically. "But I’m guessing you won’t be knocking on my door for another tour anytime soon." His golden metal eye whirled, scanning their surroundings.

"You never know," Elain retorted with a sly smile.

"Well, before I go," he said, "I’ll teach you one last thing so you don’t have to wait on Feyre to help you."

With a flick of his wrist, Lucien summoned a paper and pen to his palm, swiftly jotting down a note and handing it to Elain. She unraveled it, revealing instructions on how to send a note with magic.

"Write me sometime," he winked.

She hated how he was most handsome when he was overly confident.

"We'll see," she said as she moved to return his vest.

He stopped her with a raised hand. "I’ll collect it some other time," he chuckled nervously.

Elain bid Lucien farewell with a small smile before disappearing into the house.

—

Elain woke early, eager to reunite with Orla. Her bag of stones waited for her from the vanity chair, resting next to Lucien’s leather vest.

She grimaced as it reminded her of last night's encounter with Rhysand in the hallway. She was heading to her room when he turned the corner. As he walked past, he took in her damp hair and recognized Lucien’s vest gracing her chest, spurring a wicked grin to spread across his face.

“Someone had an exciting date,” he remarked in a sultry tone.

Elain could only shake her head, tongue-tied and unable to form words, as she hastily retreated to her room, cursing her brother-in-law under her breath. The urge to toss the vest out the window briefly flitted through her mind, but she quickly realized the gossip it would spark if found strewn across the yard.

As she prepared to head downstairs, Nuala and Cerridwen appeared in the room. Their sudden appearance scared Elain, who never quite grew accustomed to their stealth.

"A message from Azriel," Cerridwen announced solemnly.

"Their mission was successful. He thanks you for your insights," Nuala added, her tone devoid of warmth.

"Unfortunately, he has additional matters to attend to and is unable to transport you to your training for the foreseeable future," Cerridwen continued.

"He sends his apologies," Nuala concluded, her demeanor somehow colder.

Elain's disappointment was painfully evident, as she was so desperate to resume her training. However, Cerridwen's wicked smile hinted that all was not lost.

"We’ve been approved to escort you," she declared, flashing her sharp teeth.

Traveling through the shadow realm with the twins offered little comfort, but she would face whatever challenge necessary to see Orla today.

"Fine. Let’s go," she conceded.

The journey through the shadow realm with the twins proved to be significantly longer than when accompanied by Azriel. His large wings swiftly flew them through the shadows to their destination. Without wings, Nuala and Cerridwen took a different approach. They seemed to winnow vast distances, moving from shadow to shadow with Elain held firmly between them. Each sister grasped one of Elain’s arms tightly as they moved in silence, offering no comfort passing the screeching darkness of the realm of shadows. Had Elain not traveled the realm before, she might have become sick from fear. The journey required several jumps before finally arriving at their destination.

The sisters came to a halt under the shadow of a large tree and gestured for Elain to continue on her own. With a flicker of night, they vanished, taking the veil of shadow with them. Elain found herself standing in the lower bowl of the valley. Her determination was unwavering as she hoisted her skirts and began the ascent up the hill. With each step, anticipation surged within her until she reached the summit, revealing the sight of the white house and barn.

As if on cue, the front screen door of the house swung open, and Orla emerged, her giddy excitement sounding in the air. Elain’s heart swelled with joy, awaiting this moment since deciding to face the Spring Court. Without hesitation, she reached into her bag and retrieved a single stone, clutching it tightly in her hand. Triumphantly, she raised her palm toward the sky, ensuring the stone caught the sunlight to reflect its colors like a shimmering beacon.

Orla's delighted squeal echoed through the valley as she dashed towards Elain, delighted to witness her vision come to pass.

__

Together, they sat on a picnic blanket spread out in front of the house. Elain rested her arms on her knees, a smile playing on her lips as she watched Orla's intense focus. Orla, sitting cross-legged and hunched over, deftly braided twine together with her stone nestled in the fold of her dress.

"We'll be unstoppable now, Elain," Orla declared, her concentration unwavering.

"I'm sure of it. I've been practicing, you know," Elain mused.

"Oh really?" Orla glanced at her from the corner of her eye. "Prove it."

"What object would you like me to locate today?" Elain challenged, excitement coursing through her at the prospect of using her abilities again.

"That's all too easy now," Orla replied confidently. "It's time to see what someone is doing at this very moment."

"Who?" Elain asked, a chill of nervous anticipation creeping up her spine.

"Let's start easy. Choose someone you feel safe with."

Elain pondered for a moment. "Let's do Feyre. She tends to be napping at this time."

"Great. She won't notice if she's asleep. Easy," Orla encouraged. "Just hum her name in your mind, reach out, and find her. Then watch her, but stay still and quiet so you won't be noticed."

Elain nodded, settling into a comfortable position. She quieted her mind, focusing on the reverberating sound of Feyre's name humming in her ears. Her jaw shook slightly from the vibrations before she whispered, "Feyre." In an instant, her mind stretched out before her, creating a translucent tunnel that raced through the universe at lightning speed. But suddenly, it halted and dissipated.

Feyre stood in an unfamiliar room, her words urgent as she addressed those gathered around her. Elain's view widened gradually, revealing Rhysand, Cassian, Nesta, and Helion clustered around Feyre, their attention focused intently on her. The weight of the group made Elain feel as though a spotlight was shining directly upon her.

"She's with everyone," Elain whispered to Orla, her voice trembling slightly.

"Okay, fade out and don’t loose focus. Come back to yourself," Orla instructed.

Elain began to retract her focus when a shadow materialized in the room. From the swirling smoke emerged Azriel, his demeanor emotionless and cold. He directed a silent message toward Rhysand, his gaze unwavering. Elain hadn't expected to see him, and the sight of him standing there, strong and ruthless, stirred a deep longing within her. She yearned to be in his arms again. But Rhysand's gesture abruptly sent Azriel away, and as he faded, Elain's mind traveled with him.

"Come back! You're staying too long!" Orla cried urgently.

Elain emerged through the smoke into another dark and foreboding room. Two soldiers, their features hardened and distant, were bound to vertical slabs facing Azriel. With a sharp, calculated movement, Azriel drew Truthteller, his beloved blade, from his side.

"Reveal your Queen, or die a slow, painful death," he demanded, his voice echoing with authority. In a swift motion, he lunged forward, slicing one of the soldier's cheekbones dangerously close to his eye. Though the soldier remained unafraid, Elain gasped.

Azriel stiffened, his gaze shifting behind him, meeting Elain's wide eyes. His deadly anger transformed into shock and shame. With all her strength, she pulled her mind backward, the room receding from her consciousness as she traveled through her mind's tunnel.

Moments later, she found herself back on the picnic blanket on the farm, her body trembling with fear.

"What happened?!" Orla demanded, shaking Elain's shoulders in distress.

Elain gulped, recounting how she had seen too much. Orla's face fell at the mention of Azriel.

"He's going to kill us," she whispered, her voice filled with dread.

Elain laughed haggardly, still catching her breath. She assured her that would not happen, but they were definitely in trouble.

__

The next few days fell into a similar pattern. Nuala and Cerridwen informed Elain each morning that Azriel was still away, offering to transport her to Orla's farm. Reluctantly, Elain faced the dreaded shadow realm with her less-than-comforting escorts, enduring the journey as best she could. Orla had crafted a necklace for each of them, specially designed to cradle a single fluorite stone at its heart. Once Elain secured it around her neck, she never took it off.

Together, they continued practicing their ability to See fae in the present, selecting nearby farmhands as subjects for safety. Elain gradually improved, her mind stretching smoothly back and forth. She couldn't be sure if the focus stone was helping, but she cherished finally receiving consistent training with Orla. As Saturday dawned, Elain soaked in each of Orla’s tips. Sunday was market day, forcing a break in their training. She didn’t mind the break, but she made plans to visit Orla and Meavin's stall in Velaris.

Walking through the barn as the cows were led into their stalls, Orla suddenly asked, with a mischievous smile, "Who is the red-haired boy?"

Elain's mind raced. The only red-headed boy she knew was... "Lucien?"

"I like him," Orla announced confidently.

"Do you know him?" Elain asked, incredulous.

"No, but I will," Orla replied cryptically.

"What do you mean?"

Before Elain could press further, Orla stuck out her tongue mischievously and darted away, only to freeze abruptly at the barn's front entrance. She had spotted Azriel standing there, his arms clasped behind his back, gazing stoically in their direction. With a startled scream, Orla raced back towards Elain, swiftly passing her and bolting out the back door. Azriel's quiet laughter filled the space and warmed her heart. She eagerly made her way toward him, carefully weaving past the entering cows.

"I'll be taking you home today. Sorry for being away so long," Azriel said with a warm smile, his hazel eyes shimmering with tender longing.

"I missed you," Elain confessed softly.

"Thanks for waiting for me," Azriel murmured softly as he lifted Elain into his arms and effortlessly carried her into the shadows.

Chapter Text

Through the smokey realm, Azriel stared down at Elain, a hint of mischief in his eyes. He listened to her recount the week of training with Orla and her growing skills, but she failed to mention her day at the Spring Court. Under his intense stare and hungry gaze fixed on her lips, she found it hard to speak clearly.

The familiar streets of Velaris emerged shrouded in shadow. Over the bridges and past the Sidra, they flew to the river house. With a fluid motion, Azriel set her down in the garden, his hand effortlessly pinning her arms above her head against the sidewall of the house.

Under the intensity of his gaze, Orla's cry echoed in her mind. He's going to kill us. 

“Azriel, I’m sorry,” she pleaded, looking up at his hauntingly handsome face. 

He smiled and lowered his head to her neck. At the same moment, his leg slid between hers, gently rubbing against her center. 

“Sorry for what?” he murmured between his rhythmic movements.

Elain released a small gasp, her thoughts scattered from the sensation. She couldn't remember what she was about to say, and she desperately needed his mouth. She made to move her arms, but they were immovable in his grip.

"Kiss me," she pleaded. Azriel paused, masterfully subduing his skittering shadows that whispered affirmations of self-hatred and loathing. With his shadows restrained, he leaned in slowly and gently, pressing his lips to hers and savoring it. They kissed each other soft and kind, having both missed the warmth of the other. 

Keeping her arms pinned, he pulled his body back and waited for her.

Her lip trembled as she glanced down, summoning the courage to speak.

"I'm sorry for what I saw," she confessed softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Seeing you with those soldiers."

A flicker of understanding crossing his features. "You couldn't have known what you were walking into," he murmured, his voice dark with self-loathing. "You do not apologize for the work I do."

"I distracted you," she persisted.

"No. You simply reminded me of who I am," he replied, his tone chilly.

"It's your job. I shouldn't have been spying," she admitted.

Azriel slowly leaned in, gently kissing her, his tongue brushing against her bottom lip. He whispered against her mouth, "I've warned you before that I am the spymaster of this court. Perhaps you should be punished."

Azriel’s hand slid slowly from her cheek to her breast. He cupped it in his palm and squeezed gently. He released a grumbled growl at Elain's soft, answering moan. She desperately wanted more, cursing the layers of fabric between her skin and his hand.

“Take me. Take me now,” she begged.

His arm squeezed her wrists tighter, “I would already be inside you if we weren’t expected.” 

“What?” Elain gasped.

“Cassian has something to discuss. He, Amren, and I have been invited to dine with you and the High Lord and Lady in an hour. This doesn't stop me from taking you now, but I can’t have you scenting of me at the table,” he said, calculatedly.

Elain’s face heated.

“You’ll need to behave and not beg for me at dinner. That’s your punishment,” he smiled, finally releasing her arms.

With her arms finally free, Elain wasted no time pulling him close, sealing their agreement with a passionate kiss. “I’ll do my best,” she said. 

–

Elain wore her pale blue dress to dinner. Stepping into the dining room, she took a moment to steady her breath and compose herself. She had a role to play, one of innocence and indifference toward her lover, the shadow singer of the Night Court who excited her blood, who she would bend to his will. Entangled in the garden, he had been the one to pull away, saving them both from being late.

Elain was still the last to enter. Cassian greeted her with a bold compliment, which helped calm her nerves. Taking her place between him and Feyre, with Amren seated across and Azriel by her side, Rhysand rested at the head of the table. Elain acknowledged everyone with nods, though her gaze briefly lingered on Azriel.

"Thank you for joining us for dinner," Rhysand purred as plates of food appeared before everyone by magic.

As the group began to eat, Cassian eagerly shared news of his trainees resurrecting the Valkyries. Elain hung on his every word, genuinely intrigued by her sister becoming one of these powerful female soldiers. 

"Some were as lovely as you, Elain," Rhysand remarked, drawing a blush from her.

Cassian observed how their fighting style resembled dancing. Elain speculated that Nesta likely adapted quickly, having been trained in dance as a child. She fondly recalled their last ball before they had lost their fortune, where Nesta had captured the attention of a wealthy duke. The group ate silently, eager to hear the tale.

"An heiress from our village was ruthlessly unkind to me, without reason. To this day, I don’t know what I did to upset her. Once Nesta caught wind of it, there was a target on her back. A handsome and wealthy Duke arrived in town, and the heiress made it clear she fancied him. Nesta seized her moment and went to the heiress’s ball to steal her prize from her. The duke was utterly enchanted by Nesta's beauty and dancing, to the point that they danced all night, and he proposed to her the very next morning. Father refused because of Nesta's youth. Fortunately, Nesta had no interest anyway. She only desired to put that heiress in her place, which is very Nesta," Elain finished, a hint of admiration in her voice.

At that moment, Elain felt a pang of longing for her sister. Despite her resentment of Nesta's coldness and severity, the story reminded her of Nesta's loving and protective nature, even from their childhood. Elain understood she owed her sister much for protecting her. While she was proud of her ability to stand on her own now, she couldn't help but appreciate the times they stuck together. It had been months since she last saw her, and the absence weighed heavily on her heart. Feyre moved to hold her hand, seemingly feeling the same way.

After dinner, the group migrated to the living room for drinks. Elain stayed behind to assist with clearing the table. As she began collecting plates, Azriel appeared, offering her a nearby plate. She glared at him in warning, fearing he might reveal them.

"Let me help you," he said politely, his demeanor composed. "No one will suspect anything if we behave normally," he instructed as he migrated down the table collecting drinkware.

Elain nodded, unable to trust her voice.

"Do you want to see me tonight?" he asked calmly, still not meeting her eyes as he stacked glasses.

Elain's heart thundered in her chest as she nodded in silent agreement.

"I'll be leaving shortly, but I thought we could try something," Azriel continued. He nodded towards the table, prompting Elain to continue clearing. As she did, he began gathering silverware, placing them near his tower of cups.

"Tonight, when everyone has gone to sleep, attempt to See me as I am at that moment. I'll be waiting in my room at the House of Wind. Will you try this for me?" he murmured.

Elain bit her lip nervously and nodded once more. Just then, Cerridwen and Nuala appeared. Azriel politely greeted them as he handed one the cups and silverware and the other his stack of plates, then swiftly left the room without another glance at Elain.

Elain followed the twins to the kitchen, where she remained for the evening.

__

The evening hours dragged on like an eternity as Elain waited for a late enough hour. Taking her time in the bath, she meticulously washed her hair and ensured every inch of her body was pampered with lotion. After painstakingly drying her soaked hair, she curled it to perfection and slipped into a silk nightdress. However, as she looked at her reflection in the vanity, she looked like a woman staged to model sleepwear, not one ready for bed. She prayed to the Mother that Feyre wouldn't drop by, knowing she would be immediately found out.

As midnight approached, she scanned the room one last time, ensuring everything was in its place. A glint caught her eye—her fluorite necklace hung from her chair, Lucien's vest resting at its feet. She picked up the necklace, pondering if it might enhance her abilities tonight. Slipping it over her head, she felt its weight settle on her chest, the stone too large for a day-to-day necklace.

Moving to her bed, she nestled under the silk sheets; the cool fabric tickled her skin. She curled and flexed her legs, warming the bed before finally lying still, steadying her breath. She was ready.

Elain filled her mind with thoughts of Azriel, immersing herself in memories of his deep, cool voice, the mesmerizing color of his eyes, and the intricate patterns of the scars on his hands. The thoughts buzzed in her ears as she hummed his name to herself, allowing her mind to leave her physical body, traveling at lightning speed through the world.

Her mental journey came to an abrupt halt as she found herself in a dark room with a familiar scent of mint and mist. The view expanded as she placed herself down on her feet, recognizing the room she had glimpsed once before in a dream. Black curtains were drawn open, allowing blue midnight light to filter in, casting gentle shadows across the space. A large, neatly made bed dominated the center of the room, while weapons were neatly aligned on a far wall. And there, at the back of the room, Azriel stood shirtless, his skin adorned with intricate Illyrian tattoos, only wearing black sweatpants. 

His wings, oversized and imposing, were fanned out behind him, blocking the light from the wall of glass behind. All around him, his shadows swirled protectively like a shield. He brushed his hair back, his intense gaze fixed on Elain, taking her in. 

"Elain, you are too beautiful," he murmured, his voice resonating loudly in the large, silent room. Elain reached out to him longingly, her hand beckoning him closer.

Tactfully, Azriel walked over to her, his movements deliberate and measured. He paused before taking her wrist gently into his scarred hand. To her surprise, she felt his touch, his warmth entirely real. He brought her palm to his mouth, kissing it softly, realizing the same thing. Elain's breath caught in her throat.

"I wasn’t sure if this would work, but it appears it does. I can feel you," he said while his eyes lingered on her chest. With his free hand, he reached for her necklace, examining it closely.

"What’s this?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

"It’s a fluorite stone. I've been told it can help harness my powers," Elain replied, feeling foolish.

"Does it work?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

"I'm not sure," she admitted. Azriel nodded in understanding, smoothly removing the necklace and delicately placing it on a nearby dresser. 

Gently, he slid his pointer fingers under the spaghetti straps of her silk nightdress. With a steady motion, he stretched the straps past her shoulders and released them, causing the smooth silk to slide effortlessly down her thin frame. The dress pooled at her feet, leaving her entirely nude before him. 

Azriel took a deep, steady breath, memorizing every peak and valley of Elain’s gorgeous figure. His eyes roamed but repeatedly returned to her chest, her nipples sharp and pink in the cool room. She held her stance unflinching, her eyes meeting his with a quiet confidence. Her mouth went dry as she peered down at his pants, his erection bold and inviting. 

“Do you want these off?” he smiled, tugging at the waistband.

Elain nodded.

“Turn around,” Azriel directed, twirling a finger.

Elain obeyed, turning to face a full-body mirror. Her form covered his lower half, but she recognized the motion of removing pants. After tossing them clear across the room, he approached her with maddening slowness. 

She couldn’t see but felt the sheer size of him slide between the gap of her thighs as he pressed his chest to her back. He rubbed himself gently front and back as he clasped her breasts from behind and kissed up her spine. The air sucked out of Elain, and her center became delicately wet. 

“Good. You can feel me too, " he observed.

“I want to feel more” she moaned greedily.

She turned and reached, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him roughly. He staggered but allowed her to push him back towards the bed. They fell onto the oversize bed, pushing and pulling from one another as they crawled backward to the headboard. Azriel set himself flat on his back, sitting Elain on his stomach, waiting. 

Elain broke their kiss, sitting upright to take in her lover. Azriel looked like a fallen angel before her. His muscled frame splayed at a wild angle, his sharp features shadowed in the darkness, and his wings flexed grandly behind him. He would be too intimidating a lover if his eyes were not as kind and his fingers gentle. He traced her thighs in soothing circles, patiently waiting for her.

Elain scooted herself back, revealing his enormous member. For a moment, she feared he would be too large, but her eagerness for the challenge outweighed her fear. She traced his erection between her five fingers, causing it to twitch in her grasp. 

“Come back to me,” he said, losing control.

Elain obeyed, falling into his arms and kissing him tenderly.

“What is it you said in the garden?” he mused.

Elain smiled on his mouth, knowing exactly what he wanted to hear.

“Take me. Take me now.”

Azriel growled, lifting her and gliding smoothly inside her. Her slickness made the connection fluid and filling. Elain gasped loudly, causing Azriel's shadows to appear and skitter around them. He grounded his teeth, sending them away.

“Try to stay quiet. We’re not alone in the house” he murmured.

“I’ll do my best” she said playfully, moving herself on him. 

Azriel groaned deeply, vibrating the bed. Grasping her hips firmly, he bounced her feverishly on him. They moved on each other desperate and delighting in the full feeling of the other. His grip grew tighter and tighter, causing Elain to moan and yip from the pain and pleasure. No doubt bruises would form.

Azriel rose to her, burying his face in her chest. Shuddering and finishing while smothering his release to her chest. Elain clenched handfuls of his hair, waiting for him to still. 

He fell limp in her arms as she traced lightly down his spine. Slowly, he rolled over her, watching her with a drunken longing. 

"You are too pure for this world, Elain. You are an angel, and I do not deserve you," he said stoically, shame flickering in his eyes.

"I can't be an angel because the cauldron bestowed one on me," she said, staring pointedly at his wings.

"Angels fall and become monsters walking among fae, Elain. They're called demons," he said, brows furrowing in self-hatred.

"Perhaps, but you are not that. You've watched over me, guided me during those months I was lost, and rescued me from the clutches of war. You are my angel Azriel, and I forbid you from saying otherwise," she said firmly.

His gaze softened, thoughtful, as he took in her words. All that she said was true, but could he allow himself to see it? He conceded, watching her wiggle as his hand slid down her stomach to her center.

Elain tensed, bowing her hips to his fingers. Azriel’s wings draped over, cocooning her into a dark chamber as he plunged into her. He covered her mouth gently as she lost control, climaxing and shuddering on his hand. When she finally fell limp, he kissed her forehead before falling away at her side. He watched her until her breath slowed. 

Elain's eyelids fluttered, heavy with contentment and exhaustion. As she lay with Azriel, his gentle touch brushed through her hair, soothing her frazzled nerves.

"Go to sleep, my angel," he whispered, his voice a soft caress against her ears. "This won't be our last night together."

His words filled her with reassurance and peace. With a contented sigh, she closed her eyes, planning to rest for just a moment. However, before she knew it, she had slipped into a deep, peaceful sleep.

When she finally opened her eyes again, soft daylight greeted her. She found herself back in her room at the river house, nestled under her purple bedding, completely naked.

Chapter Text

Elain would have believed last night to be a dream were it not for the bruises decorating her thighs in the unmistakable shape of Azriel's fingers. Staring at her naked form in the mirror, she traced the marks, feeling their tender ache. As further proof, his scent lingered on her skin, which sent her into the bath to wash it away.

From the tub, she gazed out of the large windows. Memories and questions of last night flowed like the Sidra past the house. When did she return to her bed? Where were her clothes? Flashes of Azriel's tattooed chest, his hands on her hips, and the pleasure they had shared stirred within her, igniting a fierce need. Yielding to it, she moved her fingers to her center, finding solace in the quiet sanctuary of her bathroom in the morning light. Her release was slow and delicious, causing her eyes to roll back into her skull. She lay still in the tub, basking in the afterglow before getting dressed for the day.

As she made her way to the kitchen to assist Nuala and Cerridwen with breakfast, she felt somehow older, stoic, and strong. That is, until she faced the twins.

"Do I smell the scent of a spymaster, sister?" Nuala mused wickedly.

"Maybe you do," Elain interrupted, refusing to balk at the teasing.

"My sister jokes Elain. You smell of nothing but lavender," Cerridwen cooed reassuringly.

"Yes, just a joke. We wouldn’t send you before the High Lord and Lady if it were not safe to do so," Nuala added with a wink.

"Very funny. I wonder if this spymaster you speak of would enjoy the joke," Elain retorted.

"That's my girl," Cerridwen's smile radiated with pride.

The trio bustled about the kitchen, whipping up pancakes, frying sunny-side eggs, and sizzling meats. Elain's stomach rumbled impatiently, and she couldn't resist picking at the food while setting up plates. But when she attempted to snag a full plate for herself, the twins swiftly ushered her out. She resigned herself to waiting in the dining room, mouth-watering as she eyed the spread.

Just as the plates were served, Feyre and Rhysand strolled in, thanking the twins for their efforts. Elain barely acknowledged the pleasantries, diving headfirst into her meal without delay.

"Morning! Hungry Elain?," Feyre asked with a raised eyebrow, a hint of amusement in her tone.

"You must've had a busy day yesterday," Rhysand chimed in, causing Elain to momentarily choke on her food. She reached for her water, gulping it down to clear her throat.

"I hear you've joined a lively gardening club. They keeping you on your toes?" There was a cool edge to his voice that earned a warning glare from Feyre.

Clearing her throat, Elain replied, "Yes, we've formed quite a tight-knit group. In fact, we've been meeting every day this past week."

"That's wonderful. If they ever wish to convene here, they're more than welcome." Rhysand returned Feyre's subtle glare with a tender kiss on her cheek.

"I'll be sure to pass on the invitation," Elain said, eager to shift the conversation. "Feyre, you're glowing. Are you ready for the baby?"

Feyre's smile widened. "I feel fantastic, but I've officially popped. I can't squeeze into anything but a dress."

Rhysand's grin somehow didn't match his mate's.

"Looks like it's nursery time. We can start this week," Elain suggested, earning an enthusiastic agreement from Feyre.

The ladies discussed nursery design ideas as they finished their meal. Rhysand nodded along with a subtle slump in his shoulders.

After breakfast, Elain hurried into the city, eager to visit Meavin and Orla's stall at the market. She nearly missed the single blue eryngium stem resting on the garden bench as she rushed out. Her heart fluttered at the sight of it, and as she took it into her hand, the stem disintegrated into smoke, revealing a folded note.

Join me for dinner, my angel. Meet me at the bridge at 3:00 pm. - Azriel

Elain scanned the garden, searching for any sign of him. A gentle breeze rustled the tree branches, showering the ground with small flower petals and seeds, but there was no one in sight. She smiled, tucking the note into her bag before continuing into the city.

The market square was bustling with activity, filled with fae of all types weaving past one another, visiting stalls of produce, artisans, and sweets from all corners of Prythian. Elain purchased fresh vanilla for baking, flower food, and bath bombs before making her way to the produce area. Farmers of all sizes and varieties shouted their prices to passersby, offering samples to entice buyers. Elain politely declined each one, searching for her favorite little vendor.

Amidst the roar of voices, a familiar high-pitched shrill broke through the air. "Milk! Eggs! Apples! Get them while they're hot!" Orla's voice rang out aggressively, drawing Elain's attention. She smiled as she spotted the small child standing on a crate of produce, bravely facing the mob. The booth was busy, with two farmhands assisting customers. It was evident that they earned a significant portion of their income from this market.

The crowd was packed around the stall, so Elain decided to sneak to the back. She carefully navigated the narrow pathway between two rows of booths until she reached Meavin, who was at the back of the stall gathering pitchers of milk from a cooler.

"Well, hello there!" Meavin greeted with a warm smile. She wore loose overalls to accommodate her protruding belly and a cheerful yellow t-shirt with their farm's name, Vandler Farms. Her fluffy brown curls were pulled back into her signature high ponytail, and she looked hyper from the frenzy of business.

“My you are busy! Orla sure knows how to work a crowd.” Elain smiled.

“She certainly does!” she said full of pride. “Must be nice to have a day off. You two were working hard this week.”

A pang of guilt sunk in her stomach. “I’m sorry if it was distracting or too much for Orla. I guess I was eager to finally be able to work with her consistently.”

Meavin laughed heartily. "That's not what I meant, Elain! Orla loves training as much as you do. The two of you bring out the best in each other. And honestly, you keep her entertained while the farm operates. You should have seen the mischief she caused before you started coming by. It's a pleasure to have you around."

Elain's heart fluttered with joy and relief. "Thank you."

"I see you ditched your stone too," Meavin observed, pointing to the missing necklace from Elain's chest. She had worn it every day since Orla had woven it, but not today. She had searched her room high and low, but that and her nightgown were nowhere to be found. 

"Oh, I forgot it at home," Elain fibbed.

"Well, then I should tell you," Meavin said, biting her cheek. "Orla chucked hers. I scanned the grasses but couldn't find it. It's likely gone for good."

"What? Why?" Elain asked, puzzled.

"She got riled up and threw it in frustration. She said it doesn't work. I'm sorry, I know you must have gone to some trouble to find it," Meavin explained.

“It’s alright. Thanks for letting me know,” Elain said in surrender. “I’m gonna see if I can make it to the front. Good luck with the rest of your day”.

Meavin smiled and nodded, returning to organizing the cooler.

Back on the main street, she weaved through the crowd. The deeper she moved, the louder Orla's voice sounded. 

"Two pitchers for the lady! Buttermilk for the big guy! Three cartons of eggs for the gentleman!" Orla's voice rang out, and Elain couldn't help but smile. "A dozen—Elain!"

Orla laughed wildly and waved at Elain. When she finally reached the front, she leaped into Elain's arms and hugged her tightly.

"You made it! What do you think? Are you gonna buy anything?" Orla chattered excitedly.

Elain hugged her back and complimented the stall. She placed her order for one of everything. Orla quickly returned to her post, announcing orders with fervor. It was then that Elain noticed Orla's absent necklace. Sighing, she collected her purchase and waved farewell to Orla and Maevin. Both waved wildly and laughed until she had cleared the crowd. The bell tower chimed twice, pushing her to hurry home.

—

Azriel stood on the bridge, clad in his fighting leathers, the afternoon sun reflecting off his blue siphons. His dark hair was swept back neatly, as typical. Despite his usual appearance and stoicism, there was a subtle ease in his stance, a relaxed air that softened his cold demeanor.

Elain approached, her footsteps echoing softly on the stone bridge. An electric current crackled in the air as his gaze lifted, meeting hers. A warm smile played on his lips as he extended his hand to her.

Taking his hand, Elain felt a rush of warmth as he pulled her close, his lips meeting hers in a gentle kiss. For a moment, she was conscious of their surroundings but quickly swept away any reservations, returning his kiss unabashedly.

"When I woke this morning, I was so afraid last night was a dream," Elain confessed, tilting her head to meet Azriel's gaze.

"I wanted to check on you this morning, but there were too many eyes on me. I knew you’d return to your body, but it was still jarring to see you fade away," Azriel replied, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of her hand.

A blush crept up Elain's cheeks as a guilty smile tugged at her lips. "Do you have my nightgown? It seemed to have stayed behind."

A crooked grin crossed Azriel's face. "Luckily, I do. You weren't the only one who worried last night was a dream. It was the proof I needed when I awoke. You can have it back tonight."

Azriel took Elain into his arms and soared into the sky, keeping to a high altitude to avoid detection as they swiftly soared over the city to the House of Wind. With a graceful maneuver, he landed on the small private balcony connected to his room. There, a table was elegantly set with a bouquet of white roses, wine, and covered plates. Elain gasped in awe at the beautiful setup, her eyes drawn to the breathtaking view of the clouds below.

"It's beautiful," she murmured, utterly mesmerized.

"It's for you, angel," Azriel replied, pressing a tender kiss to her hand.

Elain bit her lip with a hint of nervousness, sparking a hungry look from Azriel.

"Do we have to eat now?" she asked in a small voice.

Azriel scooped her up into his arms and carried her into the bedroom, answering her question with a knowing smile.

He placed Elain on the bed, hiking her dress up to her navel. She clawed at his shirt, which he removed with a single pull. His tan chest had light scratches, reminiscent of last night's activities. Kneeling between her spread legs, he slid his pants down to his knees and grasped the headboard. Elains hands rested above her head, waiting eagerly. 

Azriel glided into her, cursing softly as he fully entered. Elain hummed softly, savoring his maddening fullness. With the unspoken understanding everpresent between them, Azriel and Elain knew that this time would be slow and tender. Azriel gripped her hips and plunged in and out in slow waves. Elain’s hands tangled in her hair, breathing deeply into each pulse. Her back arched, lifting her chest to the sky. Azriel reached to pull the ruffled fabric of her bodice down, exposing her breasts. The skin around her peeked nipples was blushed, exciting him.

Azriel’s steady pumps quickened, rocking her steadily. The intensity drew gasping breaths from her. She reached for him, to which he ignored, rather watching her bounce as he quickened. He finished in harmony with her, capturing her mouth as she screamed wildly from her climax. Azriel collapsed on top of her as they caught their breath. 

“We’re supposed to have dessert after the meal, angel.”

Elain rose on her elbows and fixed her dress. “We still can. Right?” 

“Only if you beg,” Azriel chuckled, rising from the bed. 

He moved to the other side of the room and tossed Elain’s nightgown and necklace onto the bed. "As promised," he stated matter-of-factly.

Elain held the focus stone in her palm, her thoughts drifting to Orla's discarded one, and sighed. 

Azriel observed her sympathetically. "Your stone isn't harnessing your powers," he stated. 

Elain realized it wasn't a question. "What's wrong with it?" 

"Power-harnessing stones need to be activated by a High Lord," Azriel explained solemnly. "Rhys' father activated mine, Cassian's, and all the bestowed siphons. That's what makes them powerful, rare, and earned." His eyes darkened with the memories that earned him his siphons.

"Rhysand can activate it then?" Elain mused, considering how she could persuade him.

Azriel returned to her side, sorrow heavy in his voice. "No. The High Lord of the stone's origin must do so. Your stone spawns in the Spring Court, so the High Lord of Spring would need to do it."

Elain's heart sank as she realized who would need to activate it. Being Feyre’s sister, Tamlin would never agree.

"I'm sorry," Azriel murmured, brushing her arm.

"It's fine. I don't need it. I can harness my powers all on my own," she reassured him with a smile.

Azriel nodded in admiration as he redressed. He held Elain’s hand as they walked out to the balcony. The sun was now setting, casting a beautiful blue and gold glow over the set table. The cooling air was perfect to soothe their sweat-lined skin. Azriel pulled out Elain’s chair, and she settled in eagerly, taking in the spread before her. As he moved to his own chair, his shadows suddenly appeared, swirling angrily around his ears. His body tensed, and he turned, glaring down over the railing at the city below.

"What?! What’s wrong?!" Elain's voice pitched with concern.

"Nesta told Feyre," Azriel sneered coldly, his siphons awakening with a flicker of anger.

Utterly confused, Elain sensed that something was terribly wrong. "Told Feyre what?"

Chapter Text

Azriel marched into the house, his movements swift and purposeful. Elain trailed closely behind, still on full alert, demanding answers.

“What did Nesta tell Feyre?” she pressed, her voice tinged with a mix of worry and confusion.

In Cassian's room, Azriel moved with controlled haste, his movements a blur as he gathered clothes and supplies. Shadows danced around him, obedient to his silent commands. “She told Feyre that her baby will likely kill her,” he stated matter-of-factly, his voice heavy with the weight of the revelation.

Elain gasped, her hand flying to her mouth with the possibility. As Azriel grabbed a pack from a nearby closet and headed towards the kitchen, she followed, her steps quick and desperate. “How would she know that?” she asked, her voice trembling with disbelief.

“It’s common knowledge among Fae,” Azriel explained, his tone clipped and direct. “Illyrian babies rarely survive birth from non-Illyrian mothers. Their wings become trapped, causing the death of both mother and child.”

Tears welled in Elain's eyes, her heart heavy finally understanding the truth Azriel had revealed.

As they made their way to the landing balcony, Elain's mind raced with thoughts of Feyre. “How could Rhysand keep this from her?” she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Azriel paused, meeting her gaze. “Somethings are best left in the dark to protect those we love,” he said softly, his touch gentle as he brushed away her tears. Elain shook her head, still struggling to come to terms with the grim reality.

With a heavy sigh, he hoisted the pack onto his back and turned his gaze skyward. “Nuala and Cerridwen will take you home. I must go.”

And with that, Azriel took flight, leaving Elain behind to grapple with the weight of the revelation that she and her sisters were purposely kept in the dark. 

—

Elain's glare bore into the twins as they emerged from the shadows of the foyer. Her arms crossed defiantly as she stamped her foot.

“You knew?” she demanded, her voice edged with accusation.

“Hush up, child,” Cerridwen snapped sharply.

“It’s not as terrible as you think,” Nuala interjected, rolling her eyes.

She fought against their grip as they dragged her into the shadows. Her protests fell on deaf ears, futile against their strength.

As they moved through the shadows, the twins began to explain.

“Rhysand and his confidants have been researching ever since they found out the babe has wings,” Cerridwen remarked, her tone matter-of-fact.

“The High Lord will do everything in his power to ensure she and the child live. No expense or resource has been spared,” Nuala added with a grumble, evident that she and her sister are aiding in the search for answers.

Elain sighed, feeling some of her anger dissipate. She knew Rhysand loved Feyre deeply and would move mountains to protect her. Though she still resented the secrecy, she could understand concealing the horror from her pregnant sister.

Elain jabbed at the twins with a hint of sass in her tone. “Do you have other secrets you're keeping from me?”

“A few,” the sisters chimed in unison, their response causing Elain's frown to deepen.

“Remember, child, you have secrets of your own,” Nuala pointed out.

Elain flushed, her earlier bravado deflating. “My training only affects me. I'll be sure to keep any threats against you two to myself and see how you like it,” she retorted, tapping her finger under her eye.

They emerged from the shadows into the familiar kitchen of the river house. The sounds of Feyre's and Rhysand's voices echoed from the nearby study. Elain's heart clenched at the sound of Feyre’s gasping sobs.

“They’ve been at it for some time,” Cerridwen whispered.

“It’s best you go to your room,” Nuala advised uncomfortably.

Elain nodded as the twins returned to the shadows, though she had no intentions of being obedient. Walking silently toward the study, the sounds of the argument grew louder and more intense with each step.

Pushing open the door, she wasted no time rushing to embrace her sister. Feyre's tear-stained face softened as she hugged Elain tightly.

Elain's presence seemed to cool the fiery tension in the room. Feyre breathed deeply into Elain’s shoulder, finding solace in her sister's embrace. Rhysand turned away, unable to bear the sight of his mate broken and weeping.

“I’m sorry, darling,” Rhysand's words dripped with anguish. “I planned to find a remedy quickly, so you’d never need to worry. I should have told you once my first attempts came up short. But know we will find a way to keep you and the baby safe.”

Feyre finally stopped crying and pulled back to look at Elain. Elain gently wiped her sister’s tears away with her sleeve. “You didn’t know,” Feyre said, her words echoing what Rhysand had conveyed mind to mind. Elain nodded, holding back the quiver pulling at her lip.

“I’m sorry, Elain,” Rhysand said, remorse evident in his voice. “It was wrong to keep this from you and Feyre.”

“And Nesta,” Feyre added, her gaze piercing as she held him accountable.

Rhysand scoffed. “She told you to hurt you, Feyre. It wasn’t an act of sisterly love,” he gestured to Elain, emphasizing their bond.

Both sisters frowned at him, knowing that despite Nesta's harshness, she loved them fiercely and would protect them at any cost.

“At least she told me,” Feyre said coldly, her words cutting through the tension in the room.

Elain flinched at the sharpness of her sister's sentiment. “Don’t let Nesta come between you two. She may be harsh in her words, but she wants Feyre to be safe, as we all do. We know what’s at stake now, and we can all work together to find a solution,” Elain said, holding Feyre’s hands with a grateful smile.

“Thank you, Elain,” Rhysand said, his sadness still lingering in his eyes. He made to leave the room when Feyre stopped him.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I banished Nesta from this court,” Rhysand smiled darkly. Feyre began to protest, but he continued, “Which I am about to revoke. I’ll tell Cassian that she is begrudgingly welcome.” With that, he left, shaking his head, leaving the sisters alone with their thoughts.

“You’ll be okay, Feyre,” Elain said softly, her hand gently caressing her sister's swollen belly.

“Will we be?” Feyre winced, her gaze fixed on her abdomen, filled with worry.

Elain wasn’t entirely sure, but perhaps she could find out. “They shouldn’t have kept this from you,” Elain whispered.

Feyre nodded thoughtfully. “I understand why they did. But it's time we stop having secrets from one another. Nesta only did this because we hid her powers from her. This could have been avoided if we trusted one another.” A spark ignited in Feyre’s eyes as she met Elain’s attentive gaze.

“Elain, there’s something I need to tell you,” she whispered, her tone grave.

Elain waited with a mixture of worry and curiosity etched on her face.

“Rhysand and I know about your training to harness your Seeing abilities. We’ve known for a while. I’m sorry,” Feyre said gently, reaching out to brush Elain's hand.

Elain's eyes widened, feeling utterly exposed.

“If it's any consolation, we whole-heartedly support your training and gifts,” Feyre continued, offering a reassuring smile.

Elain withdrew her hand from her sister's grasp. “How long have you known?” she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of shock and anger.

“Azriel informed Rhys the night we had Nesta over for dinner. Rhys told me before we went to bed that night,” Feyre explained, watching as Elain's expression shifted from disbelief to rage.

That had been weeks ago, the night of her first training. Azriel had come to her room, wanting to tell Rhysand, but she denied him. He promised he wouldn’t mention it, but perhaps he already had. She could roar with anger, but she pushed it down, and it boiled in her veins.

All those days of making excuses and sneaking out of the house. Rhysand’s feigned interest and questions about her gardening club at dinner. Were they all laughing at her behind her back?

Elain jerked out of her seat, unable to contain her emotions any longer. “I need a minute,” she said tersely, storming out of the room and aggressively pushing past Rhysand on his way back in. Stumbling back, he looked to Feyre for an explanation.

“You’re in trouble on multiple fronts tonight, Rhysand,” Feyre warned with a sigh.

___

Night had settled over Velaris as Elain darted into her garden, the soft glow of fireflies illuminating the settled leaves. She had contemplated heading into the city for a few glasses of fairy wine, but her thoughts were halted once she spotted Azriel pacing on the bridge. In all the time she had known him, this was the first moment she wished he would leave.

She marched right up to him, startling him as she snapped, her voice trembling with sorrow. “You promised me! You said you wouldn’t tell Rhysand, but you did. How could you lie to me?! I looked like an idiot sneaking around when everyone knew!”

Azriel's eyes widened with understanding. His shadows skittered defensively around him, caught off guard. He had been waiting outside for an update from Rhysand regarding Nesta and Cassian. How his betrayal had been exposed, he was unsure.

“Rhysand is the High Lord. It’s my job to report to him,” Azriel said matter-of-factly, though his tone softened with remorse.

“Your job! What about your word to me!” Elain gasped, tears welling in her eyes as she struggled to contain her emotions.

"He had to know to keep you safe," Azriel pleaded, his voice tinged with urgency. "He’s been placing wards on the farm to conceal you. The queens are out there and could use you as leverage to gain power. You’ve been captured before, and I will not allow it to happen again." Azriel's voice carried a hint of venom; his jaw set decidedly. Her protection was his priority.

“You promised me,” Elain’s voice cracked with hurt.

“There’s an order that must be maintained in this Court. Order is good, Elain. It’s what keeps us protected. I will always do what’s required of me. I’ve rejected rules in the past and paid the price,” Azriel's voice calmed as if the sentiment reassured him of his decision, driving Elain over the edge.

She desperately wanted him to yell or cry, to show some heightened emotion. His decisiveness was so opposite to her own doubts and insecurities that it infuriated her. 

“You’re a heartless, mindless warrior, that’s what you are! Trained to gather information by any means necessary. You lied to me. Perhaps your affections for me are a lie to use me for my powers and information. You're just a monster on a tight leash,” Elain's words cut deep, and once they landed, she desperately wished she could take them back.

Azriel nodded in agreement while his shadows echoed her words. She had validated his self-hatred, solidifying his belief that he was unworthy of her or anything good in his life.

“I would never use you for information, Elain,” Azriel said coldly. “But I have done so to others in the past. You’re right. I am a monster, but I do have emotions…”

“Azriel, I didn’t-”

“You never told me about your day at the Spring Court. Your day with your Mate,” Azriel’s brow furrowed. “I know I have emotions because I was jealous. And when you avoided mentioning it…”

Elain became weak at the knees as a terrible shame washed over her. She had lied to him. Here she was, salting his wounds, all while being just as guilty.

“It was nothing,” Elain gasped, her voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel raised a hand, halting her. “You don’t owe me an explanation. I’m glad you went. Mates are bestowed for a reason, and I am not your Mate.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she challenged, her heart pounding with uncertainty.

“Elain, I can’t give you children without killing you. What’s happening to Feyre will happen to you if we ever… The Cauldron selects Mates for a reason. You are an angel full of life and love, and I’m a demon bestowing pain and spreading darkness. There’s a reason Orla runs to you and from me. I and the Cauldron know I am unworthy of you.”

“Azriel, I didn’t mean it. Please don't say that,” Elain reached out for him, her heart breaking for the pain she had caused. But he stepped back, evading her embrace. Shadows swirled around him, his expression remaining impassive as the darkness enveloped him, swallowing him whole.

“Don't go!” she cried out desperately, her voice filled with anguish.

But he disappeared, leaving her broken and alone on the bridge. Once again, she had misjudged him, but this time, she had gone too far. As tears stung her eyes and regret filled her heart, she realized she had marked him a villain as so many others do. She was supposed to be different. With that realization, she rose, determined to make things right.

Chapter Text

Elain lay flat on her back on the hardwood floor of the loft. Her hand rested lightly on her stomach, rising and falling with each breath. Despite the breeze drifting through the barn, the air was hot and stale. Nearby, Orla sat brushing and braiding her doll's hair.

"Shall we head down?" Elain murmured dully.

"Not until you stop being mopey all the time," Orla retorted, her tone tinged with annoyance. 

Elain was escorted to training all week by the twins, with no word from Azriel. When she dared to ask for him, they noted a breakthrough in the search for the mortal queens. Supposedly, Azriel had been occupied with tracking them down. Part of her wanted to believe it, but another part knew he wasn't interested in seeing her, even if he had the time. Because of this, her mood had been somber and disinterested all week.

For training, Orla continued to drill her on locating objects and farmhands, to which Elain had unenthusiastically proven to have mastered. 

Orla rolled onto her stomach, positioning herself just inches from Elain's head. "If you miss him that much, why don't you try Seeing him," she challenged.

Elain continued to stare up at the ceiling, unflinching. "He’s the spymaster. He would catch me instantly."

"That could be fun," Orla giggled mischievously.

"What if he gets angry? So angry that he comes here. Will you run away from him again?" Elain challenged.

Orla stuck her tongue out at her.

Elain groaned and rolled onto her stomach, mirroring Orla's position. The girls propped themselves up on their elbows, staring at each other nose to nose.

"There's something I'm ready to look into," Elain sighed, breaking the heavy silence that had settled between them. "I've been procrastinating all week, but I think it's time."

Orla waited eagerly for her next words.

"I'm ready to see what happens to my sister when she has her baby. I've heard there could be problems, and I think it's important to see if there's anything I should warn her about."

"Ooooo," Orla drawled hauntingly. "Let's do it."

Orla led Elain to the quiet south side of the farm, where the hill sloped down to the crop fields. The area was serene at this time of day, a perfect spot for their endeavor. They settled on the grassy hillside, and as Elain prepared to travel into the depths of her visions, Orla took her hand. She stared lovingly at Elain, assuring her that she would be by her side through whatever lay ahead.

"Clear your mind and stay neutral," Orla reminded her gently. "Remember not to have any wishes of what you will see. Try to focus on facts to prepare your mind to be objective. Whisper three facts to yourself before looking."

Elain nodded, taking a deep breath to center herself. She let her thoughts drift away until all that remained was the sensation of the cool grass beneath her and Orla's little hand in hers. Three facts. She whispered them to herself. "Feyre is my sister. Feyre is the High Lady of the Night Court. Feyre is having a son with wings."

With her eyes closed, Elain felt the gentle embrace of the lavender mist enveloping her, carrying her forward in time. When the mist dissipated, she found herself in a familiar scene. Feyre lay on her blood-covered bed, crying out in pain, with Rhysand by her side. Madja knelt between her spread legs, blood staining her sleeves, while Amren stood watchful along the back wall. Elain glimpsed her future self nearby, consumed by anguish and staring expectantly at the bedroom door.

Elain kept to the mist with Orla still by her side, holding her hand tightly. Together, they watched the scene unfold.

Night exuded from Rhysand as he yelled at Madja, who snapped back. Their violent demands were drowned out by the ear-shattering cries emanating from Feyre. Within minutes, her cries quieted, and she grew more and more pale and limp. Both she and the baby were slipping away. Suddenly, Mor entered, leading Nesta, Cassian, and Azriel into the room. Their gasps and broken faces mirrored her own. Madja announced that both mother and child would be lost.

Orla squeezed Elain's hand, her eyes searching for reassurance. Elain remained rooted in place, anguished and desperately hoping for a sudden change of fate. Feyre can’t die, she thought desperately.

With that thought, a golden light flooded the room. The purple mist enveloped them once more and cleared, revealing Feyre lying with Rhysand, happy and content, with a babbling baby in her arms. Tears welled in Elain's eyes at the sight of the beautiful family. This was everything her heart desired, her sister happy and healthy with her son and Mate. But she realized then that she had tainted the vision with her desperate wish for change. Orla jumped in excitement, but Elain solemnly shook her head at her. She zoomed her mind out, and they returned to the farm.

"What's wrong? Didn’t you see she’s okay?" Orla sang.

"No, Orla. I changed the vision. I couldn’t bear seeing her in pain, so I wished for it to change, and it did," Elain whispered, holding herself together.

Orla's face dropped in understanding. "Well, we can try again."

"That's all I can take for today," Elain whispered, walking back towards the front of the farm, ready to return home.

The sad cloud hovered over Elain for the following days. She skipped training and stayed confined to the river house. She mostly lay in bed, staring out her large windows, worrying and worrying.

Feyre would die. Her vision was clear before she changed it. She couldn't allow herself to be fooled by the alternate ending she had woven. She looked into the birth to prepare Feyre and Rhysand, but knowing the tragic outcome, she couldn't bring herself to tell them. She wanted Azriel’s advice advice but he was still nowhere to be found. At first, Elain clung to the hope that he was genuinely occupied with a mission and unable to contact her. However, that fragile hope shattered over lunch when Feyre mentioned Azriel's recent meeting at the river house. Elain, engrossed in her garden at the time, had been unaware. His silent arrival and departure felt like a cruel blow.

How could he be so callous? They had been friends before their affair, hadn't they? Elain seethed with a sense of betrayal, tossing and turning in bed until her anger reached its boiling point. With a frustrated growl, she hurled her pillow across the room, causing her vanity chair to topple over. And there, amidst the chaos, lay Lucien's vest.

The mere sight of it ignited a fresh wave of fury within her. She growled and snatched it off the ground, finally ready to throw it out the window when a small piece of paper slipped out of its pocket. She unfolded it, recognizing the instructions Lucien had hastily jotted down for her. The magic seemed simple enough. Perhaps it was time to stop moping and do something productive.

With a determined exhale, Elain settled at her vanity, studying the instructions intently. As she began to formulate her plan, her pen danced across the paper in her bubbly cursive script.

"Hello. I thought it was about time I wrote you."

Elain's pulse quickened as she closed her hand around the folded page, focusing all her energy on it. With a fluttering sensation, she felt a shift in the air, a subtle yet undeniable indication of something extraordinary happening. When she finally opened her hand, her eyes widened in astonishment as the note had vanished.

For a moment, she could only stare, disbelief coursing through her veins. Did it work?

The soft sound of another flutter drew her attention, and she found a folded note and pen materializing before her eyes.

A rush of exhilaration flooded through her, mingled with a newfound sense of empowerment. With trembling hands, she unfolded the note.

"You forgot to send a pen. Luckily I have my own. Try to send it back to me."

Elain chuckled softly as she penned her response. With a hint of mischief, she crafted her words carefully, knowing full well that Lucien would likely see through her flimsy excuse for writing him.

"I'm tired of holding your vest for you. It's about time you send for it," she wrote, masking the deeper truth of her boredom and restlessness.

"You forgot to send the pen again. As for the vest, I’ll retrieve it next time I’m invited over. If it’s too much trouble for you, you can throw it out."

Elain grabbed the instructions and reviewed them again, focusing on the pen instructions. She was surprised by his indifference to his vest.

"Perhaps I will since it seems unimportant to you," she retorted, sending the note and ensuring the pen vanished along with it.

"It’s very important to me. It’s one of the few items I have from my home court. Good job with the pen," Lucien responded, surprising Elain with his honesty.

"Well, I can’t toss it then. I’ll keep it for you.”

“Thanks. Was that all?" 

Elain sighed, realizing even Lucien seemed disinterested in her. But she found solace in practicing her magic.

As she thought and thought, scanning the room for something more to say, she realized she left her focus stone in Azriel’s room again. The commotion from Nesta and Feyre had her rushing out of the House of Wind, leaving it behind. She still had the spare two in her bag, hanging in her closet.

"Actually, no. Why didn’t you tell me the focus stones are useless without being activated by your High Lord?!"

His response took longer this time. 

"I didn’t realize you needed them activated. You never told me your intentions with them."

Elain had intentionally kept her training hidden from everyone. Now that she had been exposed, there was no need for secrecy. 

"I’ve been training to strengthen my powers as a Seer. I heard the stones could help but didn't realize they needed to be activated. Sorry I didn't explain before."

"So reading half the instructions is a theme for you. Don’t get mad." Lucien teased and drew a winking face on the note.

"I’m not fae! These things are new to me!"

"I know, please ignore me. Tamlin is in a dark place. I’ll see what I can do, but no promises."

Lucien could decipher her needs without her needing to ask, and she was grateful for that. She knew that as long as she remained truthful with him, he would be unwaveringly loyal and assist her in any way he could. 

"Thank you. I have two stones that I can bring to you. I wouldn’t mind seeing the Spring Court again."

"It’s a date. Until then," he replied, and Elain dropped the pen, regretting her kindness. She decided against writing to clear her intentions and sent the pen back without another response.

Writing to Lucien had been fun, but it brought her back to her reverie. She enjoyed chatting with him and their playful banter, but Feyre felt the same way and wasn’t expected to be partnered with him. Why was she? She had no desire for Lucien. But with Azriel, her need for him was desperate, all-consuming, and undeniable. Her heart ached, and all she wanted to do was shout up for him from the base of the steps to the House of Wind. 

But as Azriel had noted, the Cauldron had made Lucien her Mate. But why? Where was the connection, the spark? Did Lucien feel the same absence of bond between them?

The confusion weighed heavily on Elain, her head throbbing with unanswered questions as tears threatened to spill from her eyes. She resented the Cauldron for trapping her in this surreal existence, stripped of her free will and thrust into a life she never asked for.

She wished desperately to confide in someone, but she had no one. Nuala and Cerridwen were loyal to Azriel and the Night Court. Feyre had already been pushing her to Lucien, and Rhysand would undoubtedly support her efforts.

Then, a spark of realization ignited within her. There was someone she knew who wasn't bound to any court or alliance. With trembling hands, Elain grabbed a paper and conjured a pen, and in a flutter, the message was sent.

"Nesta? It’s Elain. Are you there? Write me."

Chapter Text

The House of Wind was bright and cheery in the early afternoon. Cerridwen and Nuala dropped off Elain, cautioning her about her unruly sister. According to the twins, Nesta was a ticking time bomb of fiery rage and death. Elain couldn't help but roll her eyes; Nesta had her ways but she knew her better than anyone and was eager to see her.

Nesta had agreed to meet, suggesting they catch up at the House of Wind since it would be empty this time of day. Elain knew Nesta wasn't exactly itching to face Rhysand and Feyre. As Elain wandered through the halls, the house seemed to hum with happiness at her return. But it was a bittersweet reunion for Elain, considering this place used to be her home when she was lost to her powers. She'd come a long way since then, now able to travel through time and expand her mind.

During those confusing days, Azriel had been her rock. He was the only one who listened to her jumbled prophecies, believing they held meaning. Elain couldn't help but wonder if he was home.

Making her way to the study, Elain knew Nesta would be buried in one of her steamy books. A smile graced Elain's lips as the doors swung open, revealing just that. There sat Nesta, so regal and absorbed in her reading, not glancing up until she finished the page.

"That book any good?" Elain teased, trying to break the ice.

Nesta just nodded, closing her book with a smile before standing to face Elain. There was a hint of longing in Nesta's eyes that prompted Elain to rush in for a hug. After a moment of hesitation, Nesta softened, running her fingers through Elain's hair.

"Missed you," Elain whispered.

"Yeah, well, you didn't seem to mind when they banished me up here," Nesta shot back.

Elain let the jab slide. She stood back taking her in and noticed she wasn't as wickedly thin as she usually was. Even her face seemed softer, though her eyes still carried that same piercing intensity Elain knew so well. There was a newfound calmness from her sister, a lightness in her demeanor as if her impenetrable wall had cracked.

“I see you really have been training. You look great,” Elain said.

“Thank you,” Nesta said, admiring her own frame. “What is it you wanted to talk about?”

Elain took Nesta's hand and brought her to the loveseat. The sisters sat knee to knee on the loveseat, as Elain explained. 

"Nesta, do you believe in fate? Do you think there's a reason we became fae? A purpose behind the powers and abilities we were given?" Nesta's brow furrowed, her lips forming a stern line. "I've resented this life but sometimes I wonder if it's wiser to embrace the hand we've been dealt. Maybe there's meaning behind all that's unfolded, and perhaps I accept it."

Nesta watched her, her silence heavy. After a prolonged, uncomfortable pause, she finally spoke. "That's foolish, Elain. Don't indulge in such nonsense," she said, her tone cold.

Elain tensed, biting back a childish retort, frustrated by her sister's lack of empathy. Before she could react, Nesta continued. "What happened to us was a consequence of decisions that were made. It wasn't fate. Choices and consequences. Some choices we made and others that were thrust upon us. We lost our wealth due to our father's choices. I was sent here because of my own choices. We are fae because of those Spring Court scum’s choices."

Elain swallowed hard, carefully choosing her words. "Then why did the Cauldron make one of them my Mate?" she ventured.

Nesta arched an eyebrow, sensing the underlying motive behind Elain's question. "Fate?" Her inquiry hung in the air like a frosty mist. "Isn't it curious that the man who took away your human life is has now claimed your fae life? Who's to say there's even a real bond? Was it fate, Elain, or perhaps a ploy?"

The color drained from Elain's face as a simmering rage stirred in her gut with hatred of her own naivety, if that was true. 

To Elain's surprise, Nesta gripped her hand firmly and looked straight into her eyes. "You don't owe your life to anyone, Elain. You're the one in charge of your destiny. Make sure your decisions shape your life, not anyone else's — not mine, not Feyre's, not any High Lord's, nobody."

A tear slid down Elain's cheek as she nodded in agreement. 

"Haven't you suffered enough because of that jerk, Greyson? Maybe it's time you swear off all men," Nesta sighed, averting her gaze. 

Elain winced at the mention of Greyson, but as Nesta turned, a telltale love bite peeked out from her collarbone. Despite herself, Elain couldn't help but smirk. Rumors of her sister's involvement with Cassian circulated within the inner circle. Elain had suspected as much from their interactions, but this was the first solid evidence she'd seen. Her sister also reeked of him...

"Rejecting all men?" Elain teased, her smile widening. "Even Illyrian men?"

Nesta's head snapped back to Elain, her expression uneasy. "Especially Illyrian men. Rhysand is a monster. Cassian is a brute," she remarked firmly.

Elain nibbled her lip, debating whether to share her secret with her sister. "And Azriel?" she whispered.

Instantly, understanding flashed in Nesta's eyes.

"Have you?" Nesta whispered, her voice barely audible.

Elain nodded gently.

After a brief pause, Nesta spoke thoughtfully, "He is handsome."

Elain managed a weak smile but then looked down at her hands, her heart heavy.

"What's happened?" Nesta asked, suddenly alert.

Tears streamed down Elain's cheeks as she poured out her confession, "I said awful things to him, Nesta. I lashed out, called him names, and painted him as a villain like everyone else does. I don't know why I did it, but I've ruined everything. He hasn't spoken to me since. I want to apologize, but I fear he'll never forgive me."

Nesta stiffened uncomfortably at Elain's emotional outburst.

" Well, I'm sure he must have done something to provoke you, but if it’s any comfort, you’re not the only one who can’t control their tongue. If I know anything, it’s how to say the most vile things to hurt someone. " Nesta admitted remorsefully. " I've wounded the ones I love so deeply that forgiveness seemed impossible. Yet, somehow, they found it in their hearts to forgive me. If I can be forgiven for all that I've done, I'm certain he'll find forgive you too ."

Pride swelled in her chest as she gazed at her sister, seeing the growth she had undergone during her time away. Elain was grateful to Feyre for sending Nesta here and for Cassian’s unwavering patience and dedication while working with her. This was the Nesta she had caught glimpses of during their childhood: loving, protective, and fair.

“Does he treat you well?” Nesta asked watchfully.

Elain nodded, tears spilling again. "He loves me, Nesta. He watches over me and would do anything for me. He believes in my abilities. He's not my Mate, but I want him so desperately."

"That's right, your Mate is the one who betrayed you," Nesta snapped.

"Okay, I get it," Elain snapped back, her emotions running high.

"Is Azriel concerned about your Mate?" Nesta inquired further.

"No," Elain murmured, "He says with him, we wouldn't be able to have children. Feyre's fate would be mine. He believes that's why the Cauldron didn't select him. I think he feels unworthy and ashamed to take motherhood from me," she explained, her voice tinged with sadness.

Nesta nodded in understanding.

"Well, you need to decide if that's important to you. But know this, Elain, you can love someone who isn't your Mate," Nesta declared hauntingly.

_

Nesta had plans to attend a service, which Elain kindly declined. Roaming the empty house alone, she searched for Azriel. She investigated the common spaces, but there was no sign of him.

As a last resort, she headed to his room. Her fingers shook as she knocked gently on the large wooden door. There was no response. Cautiously, she pushed the door open and stepped inside. His room appeared disheveled and dimly lit, and Azriel was nowhere to be found. 

Memories of their times in the space flooded Elain's mind as she wandered the familiar space. Pausing, she noticed a familiar fabric peeking out from a closed-end table drawer. Opening it, she found her nightgown neatly folded inside. She lifted the silk garment, expecting to find her necklace nestled beneath it, but it wasn't there.

Panic surged through her as she realized Azriel's shadows would likely inform him that someone had been in the room. Elain quickly replaced her nightgown and shut the drawer. She hurried out of the room, softly closing the door behind her.

As she walked down the hallway, she turned the corner and came face to face with Cassian. Her heart sank as she prayed he wouldn't notice where she had just come from.

"Elain? What are you doing here?" Cassian's voice boomed with excitement through the house.

"Visiting Nesta," Elain fibbed, relieved when Cassian didn't challenge her excuse.

"I hope it went better than your last visit," Cassian remarked, trying to conceal his worry.

"It did, actually. Whatever you're doing here is working," Elain replied.

Cassian blushed slightly but maintained his composure. "Yes, well, training and her work in the library seem to keep her grounded."

"Thank you for all you've done for her. I haven't seen my sister this peaceful in a long time," Elain said sincerely, expressing her gratitude to the Illyrian warrior.

"Thank you," Cassian responded appreciatively.

"Well, it's about time that I head back home," Elain said, excusing herself.

"Do you need a lift?" Cassian offered.

Elain agreed eagerly, she’d do anything to avoid jumping through the shadows with the twins.

–

Cassian carried Elain over Velaris towards the river house. Elain missed the sensation of flying. She took in the cool wind brushing her face, reminiscent of the feeling of soaring in Azriel's arms.

“Cassian?” Elain spoke up.

The warrior glanced at her, attentive.

“Is Azriel around? I wanted to talk to him,” she revealed.

“He's been very busy lately. He's been gone for days at a time, and the only time I catch him is in training or passed out in his room,” Cassian replied, his gaze shifting down to Elain as he beat his powerful wings. “I'll let him know you're looking for him next time I see him.”

"Thanks," Elain said.

Cassian remained silent. Elain admired his chivalry and was grateful he did not question her further. Her heart warmed at the thought that this would be the man to love her sister.

–

In the early hours of the morning, Elain slept restlessly, plagued by unsettling dreams. Flashes of shadows slicing her cheeks, a winged child tearing through her stomach, and being tossed wildly in a black sea haunted her mind. She tossed and turned until she sat up in bed, searching the sheets for something lost, though she couldn't determine what it was.

As her mind settled, she breathed deeply, attempting to calm her thoughts. Her dreams felt like a chaotic jumble, reminiscent of her early days as a new fae. Reaching for her pitcher of water, her hand froze in place. There, resting on the nightstand, was a single blue thistle, Azriel's flower.

Scanning the room, she found no one in sight. She moved to the bathroom, finding it empty as well. Quickly dressing, she headed downstairs to search. Though she tried to be quiet in the early hour, her haste led to clumsiness, dropping things and swinging doors.

Swinging open the side door, her breath caught at the sight of Azriel waiting silently under the willow tree. He stood upright, towering in his fighting leathers adorned with blue siphons. His gaze was kind but devoid of a smile or welcome.

Unable to contain herself, Elain lifted the hem of her dress and jogged to him. Upon reaching him, she enveloped him in her arms, gazing up at him.

Azriel looked confused but returned the hug cautiously. "Cassian said you were looking for me. Is everything alright?" he asked coolly.

"Azriel, I've missed you. Please don't run from me again," Elain pleaded softly.

His eyes widened slightly, and the corners of his lips turned upward. "I thought you didn't want to see me."

"Azriel, please stop being so self-loathing. I'm sorry for what I said. I didn't mean it. Of course, I didn't mean it, and I'm the monster for ever saying such things to you. I love you, Azriel. How could you believe something so absurd?" Elain confessed, shaking him in her embrace.

Azriel smiled boldly now. He had stayed away, truly believing Elain despised him. He had fought each day to keep away, annoying Cerridwen and Nuala with constant status reports on her well-being. He had busied himself with work, all to keep himself from going mad. When Cassian informed him that Elain had been asking for him, Azriel wasted no time and headed to her immediately. Arriving in the middle of the night, he found her fast asleep. Silently leaving her flower, Azriel decided to stay close and wait patiently in the garden until she would awaken.

Hearing Elain, this perfect and angelic creature, confess her love for him made Azriel feel less like a weapon and more like a man. Leaning down, he gently grabbed her chin and kissed her softly in the morning's blue glow, the garden around them awakening to the day.

Chapter Text

As the sun rose, the silent morning filled with birdsong and the stirring of villagers waking to the day. Azriel lay on the garden bench, his head resting in Elain's lap. She ran her fingers through his hair as he recounted his recent adventures, his eyes closed, savoring the sensation of her touch.

"Besides keeping away from you," he said in his deep, resonant voice, "I've been surveilling the mortal queen's home. We suspect some of them are missing and have gone into hiding."

"You shouldn't have kept away," Elain replied, uninterested in his political concerns. "I can't believe you were here at the house and didn't come to see me."

Azriel's eyes opened, guilt evident in their depths. "I thought about watching you from afar. I knew you were in the garden, but I was afraid that if I saw you, I wouldn't be able to stay away."

"Good," Elain said, a bit defiantly.

"I betrayed you, Elain. It makes sense that you wanted me to stay away," Azriel reminded her.

Elain leaned down and kissed him softly. "You only lied to keep me safe. I wanted you back the moment you left me. If I knew you were here, I would have gone to you. You would have known how sorry I was just by looking at me."

Azriel nodded, gazing into her eyes. "Maybe, but I wouldn't have believed it."

"Why?!" Elain asked, exasperated.

"Because you're too sweet," he chuckled, touching her cheek gently, "too beautiful and too pure of intention for someone like me."

"I don't have pure intentions when it comes to you," Elain said, biting her lip.

Azriel raised an eyebrow and sat up. "Is that so?" he purred, looming over her and pushing her gently back.

Elain's heart raced, and mouth watered with need. She lay outstretched on the bench as Azriel's arms braced like pillars at the sides of her head. His wings splayed, blocking out the light. She couldn't help as her knees parted, silently inviting him closer.

"What are your intentions then, my good girl?" he teased, maintaining a cold distance.

"I'm not your good girl," she grumbled before biting his forearm as hard as she could.

Azriel's hungry gaze turned wild from the shock of the sting on his flesh. Her bite wasn’t strong enough to break skin, but her teeth made their mark. 

"Behave yourself, or I’ll have to bite you back," he growled.

Elain reached for him. Azriel stiffened as he quickly scanned the air. The next moment, his veil covered them, turning the sunny morning into a shadowy haze.

With the veil in place, he collapsed on top of Elain, kissing along her neck. Her breaths became soft pants, and she released a small yip when he bit gently on her neck.

She tensed, waiting for the sting, but it never came. “Bite me harder,” she begged.

Azriel shook his head as he crushed his lips to hers. He wanted to take her there, on her garden bench. He had fantasized about it since their early days of chatting in the garden. He would drag her to the edge of the bench and make her scream his name.

“I can’t mark you, or they’ll know,” he said through clenched teeth.

"Please," Elain pleaded softly, attempting to lift her skirts.

Azriel swallowed hard, feeling torn. His fantasy lay before him, but his shadows whispered warnings that the High Lord was awake and moving throughout the house. The risk was too high.

He masked his frustration and smiled down at Elain. He moved a hand up her skirt and rubbed his fingers along her delicate center. She gasped, and he smiled darkly at the feeling of the damp fabric.

“Tonight,” he warned, “I’ll teach you to behave for me.”

Elain shuddered excitedly. She knew this was neither the time nor the place, but she was willing to try. Azriel straightened, sitting properly on the bench as the veil around them began to dissipate. Elain rose, adjusting herself.

“I have to go,” he said, pained. “But I’ll be back for you tonight.”

Elain sighed; she had known he wasn’t staying long when he arrived in his fighting leathers. Their reunion was brief, leaving her yearning for more, but she had grown accustomed to this. Still, she smiled sweetly, happy to have him speaking to her again.

She took his face delicately into her hands. “You’ve been so good to me, Azriel. You show me how to do what’s right, not what’s easy. I love you. Always come back to me.”

“Always, my angel,” he whispered, silver shining in his eyes. He kissed her swiftly before rising and disappearing into the shadows.

__

After breakfast, Elain headed into the bustling city to restock the kitchen with fresh produce. It was market day, and she was eager to see Orla. She had canceled several days of training this week due to her heartbreak, something Orla would undoubtedly hold over her head.

The market square was packed as usual. Elain weaved through the crowd, inching her way toward her destination. She couldn’t see much through the throng, even though she was only a few feet from the stall. Orla’s voice reached her first—giggling and chatting rather than calling out orders. Rising on her tiptoes, Elain located Orla sitting at the side of the booth, chatting with Lucien.

Elain abruptly halted in shock, causing nearby villagers to curse and command her to move. The commotion drew Orla and Lucien’s attention. Orla stood on the table and waved her over while Lucien looked utterly confused.

She sighed and continued inching toward them.

“Elain, the red-haired boy is here!” Orla shouted.

“Orla, please,” Elain whispered, giving the child a pointed look.

“You two know each other?” Lucien asked.

Elain hesitated. Azriel had stressed the importance of keeping Orla’s identity private. Knowing she was training was one thing, but identifying one of the Night Court's gifted children was another.

“She’s my student. I’m training her,” Orla said matter-of-factly.

Elain’s eyes widened, confirming Lucien’s suspicions. He laughed, piecing it together.

“From the mouths of babes, as they say. You’re probably a tough teacher,” he said to Orla, who was giggling uncontrollably.

“And what are you doing here?” Elain asked, her tone sharp.

“Rhysand wanted to see me. I was just exploring the city, killing time, until he called for me,” he said, offended.

“And how do you two know each other?” she asked.

“Orla’s father and I are good friends,” Lucien said, not appreciating the interrogation. “As Emissary for the Spring Court, we’ve had several political dealings over the years. Each time I see him, he speaks about his farm and his girls, so when I saw their booth sign, I came to say hello.” Orla peeked over his shoulder, staring cautiously at Elain. The fear in her eyes made Elain feel ashamed, cooling her anger.

“Sorry, I just didn’t expect to see you here,” she murmured.

“Well, I didn’t expect to see you either,” he retorted.

An electric tension filled the air between them as they stared at one another. Orla, true to character, broke the silence.

“You’re from the Spring Court?” she asked.

“Kinda,” Lucien said, flicking her nose.

“You must know the High Lord! Can you give him my focus stone?!” she asked excitedly.

“So this is where you’re learning all your tricks,” Lucien said snidely to Elain. “I can try. Hand it over,” he said kindly, holding out his palm to Orla.

Orla reached for her chest, remembering. “Oh no, I lost mine. Elain, can I have yours?” 

“I lost mine too,” Elain grumbled. Her stone was somewhere in Azriel’s room, and she hoped Orla had forgotten about the extra pair. After her talk with Nesta, she decided never to speak to Lucien again, let alone ask for his assistance. Yet here fate brought her, face to face with him.

“You have extras,” Orla said, furrowing her brows. “Give him those.”

“I don’t have them on me,” she snapped. Not appreciating being bossed around by a child.

“Well, go get them,” Orla demanded.

Lucien stepped between them, sensing her peeking rage. “Okay, okay,” he said, raising his hands. “You can give them to me whenever you’re ready. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Great,” she said through gritted teeth. Elain wanted to scold Orla, but not in front of Lucien and the crowd. She was close to losing her cool and needed to leave.

“I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow, Orla,” she said, letting the threat stain her words as she stormed away.

Orla and Lucien scowled but let her go without a word.

---

When Elain returned to the house, she was still fuming. She threw her empty produce bags on the kitchen counter and pulled out ingredients for a lemon cake. The silverware clanged loudly as she assembled and mixed the batter furiously.

“Well, what’s for dessert today?” Rhysand asked, raising an eyebrow as he leaned casually against the island.

“Lemon cake,” annoyance still coating her tone. She hadn't noticed his arrival. 

“Inspired. Elain, you’re always inspiring me,” he said coyly.

“What?”

“I’ve been thinking about your story about Nesta and that ball. Did she really win over that duke?” he asked.

“Yes,” Elain wondering where this was going.

“Good. I’m hosting a ball and inviting Eris. It’s important to strengthen our alliance with him. You are invited, of course, but I’m not sure if inviting Lucien is a good or bad idea. What do you think?”

Elain paused, glaring at Rhysand. “Don’t invite him,” she said coldly.

Rhysand chuckled. “I was leaning towards a bad idea as well. Eris isn’t particularly fond to his baby brother. It’s best not to push his buttons. I’ll keep quiet about it during our meeting.”

Elain relaxed and continued prepping. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because he is your mate. If you want him there, I’d invite him regardless of Eris,” Rhysand assured her.

“We don’t get along,” Elain shared.

“Not many mates do,” he said thoughtfully.

“Like your parents?” Elain asked, recalling what Feyre had shared with her.

“Exactly. My parents could barely stand one another. My mother was Illyrian, while my father was a High Lord. They were from opposite worlds with opposite values, but when they were together, you could feel their desire for one another in the air,” he recalled.

“How did they live with one another?”

“They didn’t. They often lived apart and spent long spells without seeing one another.”

“Then why were they mated?”

Rhysand chuckled and pointed to himself.

“You think they were mated to have you?” she asked in disbelief.

“Well, I am the most powerful High Lord to have ever existed. The ideal offspring for any couple,” he said, flicking an invisible piece of dust off his jacket.

“So you think it’s natural selection? The best partner for the best offspring?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I’d like to think my love for Feyre is more meaningful than just that,” he stated.

“Would you love Feyre if she wasn’t your mate?” Elain asked.

“Without question.”

“And what if you were mated to someone else? Would you still choose her?” she pressed.

Rhysand studied her for a moment before responding. “I’d like to think so. My heart would want her, but the mating bond for males is like a chain. It’s involuntary; we are, in a sense, enslaved to our female mates. My father begrudgingly changed a great deal for my mother. He accepted the Illyrians when he had hated them and became a far more mild ruler due to her just nature.”

“She was good for him then,” Elain realized.

“I’m sure the people of this court see it that way, but he didn’t. My mother accepted the bond to protect her people, not to have my father. And at times, I think my father wished she hadn’t.”

"You mean he wished she had rejected the bond?" she asked, stunned.

"Yes. He would have been free to rule as he pleased. Thank the Cauldron it wasn’t his choice," Rhysand said, brushing his hair.

He felt the mess of emotions running through her mind. "Elain, these bonds form for reasons we don’t always understand. Regardless, it’s your decision. It’s just important that you make a decision," he said with a leveling look. “I won’t mention the ball to Lucien, but as a member of my inner circle, you are expected to attend.”

“Of course,” she replied as he left the room. 

Chapter Text

Elain settled into a new routine that she truly enjoyed. She spent her mornings tending her garden, her days training with Orla, her evenings watching over Feyre, and her nights with Azriel.

With Feyre, it was the most challenging. They readied the nursery, stocking it with baby books, the softest blankets, and handmade toys from local artists. Feyre painted a mural of mountains, stars, and oceans on the walls and ceiling. The time spent together was warm and exciting, but Elain always had a sinking feeling in her stomach, knowing it would all be for naught. She tried not to let it ruin the memory, striving to be joyful with her sister to allow her to relish in the love for the babe in her belly.

At night, she traveled through her mind to Azriel’s room. There he would wait, desperate for her touch. Azriel took her on all the surfaces in his room—the bed, the floor, the walls, the tub, the windows, and even out on the balcony on an especially adventurous night. Afterwards, they’d lay together attempting to chat, but Elain would immediately slip away into sleep, completely exhausted. She’d find herself back in her bed naked and blissfully rested. Azriel had grown more and more bold, giving Elain hope that their relationship wouldn’t be kept secret much longer.

Orla begged Elain each day to take up Lucien’s offer and travel to the Spring Court. Elain had been cold and in no mood to oblige, still bothered by Orla’s bratty outburst at the market. She hoped Orla would give up after denying her for the umpteenth time, but somehow Orla grew more determined. Elain even mentioned it to Meavin, hoping she would shut down the idea, but to her dismay, Meavin didn't mind. She joked that her daughter being away for a day would do them both some good.

Orla apologized profusely and even tried to get on her good side by being friendly with Azriel, Nuala, and Cerridwen when they dropped in. She used to hide from the shadowy group, but Elain caught her giving Azriel a fist bump and chatting patiently with the twins. Each time, she looked back and forth with puppy eyes at Elain. She had to admit, it was softening her to the idea.

This day, she dressed and threw the spare stones into her bag, prepared to give in.

__

Orla swung on the tire swing outside her home, staring down into the valley. She waited patiently, biting her cheek as she deliberated whether she should bring out the big guns to get her way. When Elain appeared from the shadows in the valley below, Orla set her jaw in frustration. She watched with a cold expression as Elain climbed up the hill toward her.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Elain said, catching her breath from the climb.

Orla didn’t respond, her jaw still stiff with indecision.

“Are you alright?” Elain asked, searching her eyes.

“Why won’t you just take me to the Spring Court?” she shouted as the words came tumbling out. “Everyone is fine with it except for you. Why won’t you take me? I can handle it, and we could use the stones. I’m not afraid. Why are you?!”

Elain was shocked by the sudden outburst but realized Orla's words sounded very similar to her own frustrations. All those missions and tasks she was refused by her family and the Night Court. Orla’s eagerness and determination were impressive, and Elain couldn’t help but smile.

“I am taking you today, you wild child,” she said, tossing her bag to the floor. The spare stones fell out and glistened in the light.

Orla squealed and jumped out of the swing, hugging Elain tightly around the waist. “Thank you! Thank you!” she squealed in glee. “I thought you’d never give in, and I have to tell you—” Orla's eyes widened, and she quickly knelt down to put the stones back in the bag.

“Tell me what?” Elain asked, knowing she had caught her little pupil in some mischief.

“Nothing, Elain. It’s really nothing,” Orla said sincerely.

“Tell me, Orla,” Elain insisted, annoyed.

“Elain, you really don’t want to know.” Elain began to scold her, but Orla settled her down. “Look, Elain, you honestly don’t want to know this, but if you really want me to share something that will upset you, I will. But only after our trip to the Spring Court.”

Elain arched a brow but didn’t want to bicker with a child. “Fine, but when we come back, you will tell me, or I’ll keep the stone for myself.”

“Fine,” Orla promised.

Elain breathed, trying to push away the annoyance buzzing between her ears. She conjured a paper and pen and quickly jotted a note.

My instructor and I would like to know if you are free today.

The response from Lucien came back quickly.

Great, you sent the pen this time. Yes. Where shall I pick you up?

No need. Meet you in front of the manor in 10 minutes.

Alright.

Elain looked at Orla from the side of her eye. Orla stared eagerly, waiting for the response. She stood with her arms behind her back, trying to appear as angelic and well-behaved as she could.

“You’re lucky. We’re on.”

Elain guided Orla to her bedroom. There, she arranged some pillows for them to sit on the floor and lean against her bedframe. They sat and held still, breathing.

“Follow me and stay close,” she instructed Orla.

Elain filled her mind with thoughts of the Spring Court: its beautiful white manor, the intricate gardens that led to the manor, and the unforgettable scent of roses in the air. The thoughts buzzed in her ears as she hummed to herself, allowing her mind to leave her physical body. As she hovered above herself, she waited for Orla’s spirit to do the same. A minute later, Orla appeared above herself, beaming with excitement. Elain took her hand, and together, they traveled at lightning speed through the world to the Spring Court.

__

They touched down on the grassy lawn in front of the Spring Court manor. Orla gaped, taking in the beautiful roses and lush garden surrounding them. When she turned to face the manor, her awe faded into terror, seeing the ominous, abandoned structure looming before them. The sight reminded her of the murmurs from the farmhands about the High Lord, who faded into madness and roamed his lands as a deranged beast. She stepped close to Elain, clutching her dress.

Elain ignored the overgrown garden and manor, scanning the grounds for any sign of Lucien. She was eager to get in and out of this Court. Morning fog hung in the air, shielding the front gates from sight. Cautiously, she roamed the rose maze with Orla clinging to her side. After a few minutes, the sound of horse trots echoed through the grounds.

Lucien appeared from the mist atop his chocolate mare with the reins of a white mare in his hand. The two horses, beautiful and opposing in color but equal in grace, approached calmly.

“Good morning, ladies. Welcome to the Spring Court. I thought we could go for a ride,” Lucien said slyly. He seemed confident here, showing that this estate was truly his home.

“Can I ride by myself?” Orla asked excitedly, mesmerized by the ghostly white mare.

Elain’s face flushed, realizing that would mean she would have to ride with Lucien once again.

Lucien caught the change in her demeanor. “Copper here doesn’t care for ladies, unfortunately. You’re safer riding Moonshine together. She’s a nice gal.”

Elain flashed him an appreciative glance and assisted Orla up on the horse. Lucien hopped down, taking Elain’s hand to steady her as she joined Orla atop the mare. As their palms touched, electricity tickled their skin.

Lucien quickly released her and mounted his mare. “We’ll just trot over to the spring. You can wait there while I work on getting your stones activated. Perhaps you can collect more from the water,” he said, smiling largely at Orla.

Orla nodded excitedly as the horses began the journey. At this slow, steady pace, the trip would take half an hour. Elain remembered their last trip over, galloping swiftly with the cool breeze running through her hair. She had felt free and exhilarated and longed for the sensation again.

“How have you been, Elain?” Lucien asked, trying his best to be kind.

“Fine,” Elain said, a bit more clipped than she intended. He was assisting her, but she couldn't shake the vendetta she had against him. As Nesta had reminded her, he had betrayed her and altered her life.

Lucien’s brows furrowed slightly, and he remained quiet for the remainder of the journey. Orla chattered on about how her father had told her all about the Spring Court. She pointed out key landmarks, noting each story her father had shared about it. Elain faked a smile and nodded patiently while Lucien stared ahead emotionless.

When they reached the spring, Lucien tied the horses and assisted the girls off their mare. Once Orla was placed down, she ran straight to the shimmering silver spring, mesmerized by the diamond-like sparkles. He hoisted Elain down with impressive strength. His hands on her hips sent a shiver up her spine, and once he set her down, he held her in place with his hand and gaze.

“Did I do something to upset you?” Lucien asked, his tone clipped.

“You have, many times,” she said, meeting his gaze.

“Well, why don’t you enlighten me?” he said through his teeth.

“Enlighten yourself.”

“Elain,” he demanded. 

Elain glanced over his shoulder at Orla, who was distracted, creating ripples in the silver water.

“Because of you, I am this monster,” she said, touching her pointed ears. “You betrayed my sisters and me. Because of you and your High Lord, I lost my human life and am condemned to this life. And no amount of kindness or assistance will make me forget it.”

Lucien’s gaze softened, and he took a step away from Elain. Pain and shame painted his face.

“We were all betrayed, Elain. We would never agree to such an act. I know that doesn’t change what has happened, but know it is one of the biggest regrets of my many lifetimes.” His sincerity flooded Elain’s chest with a wave of guilt. “I’m so sorry for what they did to you, and I promise to do all in my power to make it right.”

Lucien’s expression of shame and anguish was somehow familiar. Elain stared, thinking and realizing this was the expression she had seen many times from those who received the unrelenting accusations from the tongue of Nesta. She shuddered, realizing that this expression spawned from her words and not her sister’s. 

Azriel’s golden eyes and soothing voice flashed in her mind. Without this life, she wouldn't have him. The love she had for him could bury the mountain of Ramiel, so vastly greater than any feeling she had for Greyson, her human lover. Driving a small dagger into Lucien’s side as she pleased was not behavior she was proud of.

“Lucien, I’m sorry—” A shrill scream echoed through the trees, causing birds to fly away rapidly. Elain and Lucien jumped, facing the spring. Orla sat on her butt with her hands behind her, staring ahead at the oversized bear-like creature with massive elk-like antlers emerging from the trees. Orla had fallen back and screamed when she spotted the beast.

Elain stood frozen, recognizing the horrible beast that had broken through their small cottage all those years ago. Lucien took Elain’s shoulder bag and sprinted to Orla. “Stay here,” he shouted back to Elain. 

Lucien picked up the small child and brought her to Elain. The beast stood growling at the outskirts of the clearing, its nostrils creating steam in the cool air.

“You need to get out of here now. He’s not fully himself. Go back home, and I’ll speak to you later,” he directed with anxious eyes.

“Will you be okay?” Orla asked with a trembling lip.

“Yes, I’m fine, my friend. It’s you I’m worried about. I’ll see what I can do, but you need to get someplace safe.”

Orla nodded, and Elain met Lucien’s eyes. They held the look for a moment before she darted into the brush behind her. Once out of sight, she placed Orla down and began focusing on returning to their true bodies. It took a moment to calm her racing heart, but once there, they were traveling through the air.

—

They returned to their bodies in Orla’s room, gasping and hearts beating wildly. Elain moved to Orla and brushed her hair, feeling her forehead. The child was clammy and pale.

“Are you okay?” Elain asked.

Tears streamed from Orla’s eyes as she nodded. Elain pulled her to her chest and soothed her. “We’re safe now, don’t worry.”

“What about Lucien?!” Orla cried out. “I love him, Elain. He can’t die!”

Elain shushed her and rocked her until she calmed. “He won’t die, sweetie. He knows the High Lord better than anyone. He’ll be alright, you’ll see.”

Orla calmed down after an hour. They were ready to head to the barn when a folded paper appeared on Elain’s lap. She unfolded it, noticing Lucien’s handwriting.

“He’s alright, Orla. See? Don’t worry.” Elain smiled, then read the note.

He refused to activate the stones. He knows who you are and refuses to aid a sister of Feyre. I’m sorry. I tried all I could.

Elain’s heart sank, realizing their attempt had failed, and the last of her focus stones were gone. She handed the note to Orla, who teared up again once she read it. Elain took back the paper and wrote their response.

We’re just glad to know that you are okay. You’re a good man, Lucien. Thank you.

Orla wiped her nose on her arm and outstretched her hand to Elain with a stoic expression. “As promised,” she said.

Elain took it curiously. Orla looked into the future and took Elain along to view. There, the lavender mist dissipated, revealing Lucien entering a beautiful cabin home. The walls were made of golden oak, and a fireplace was roaring. Three children ran to him, jumping and climbing on him lovingly. Lucien kissed each of them and laughed loudly, shaking the house. The children had fiery red hair as he did, obviously his offspring. After he kissed his youngest, he peered up lovingly as soft footsteps sounded in their approach.

Elain gasped, looking to Orla, who directed her back to the scene, eager for her to see. Elain shook her head, refusing to face the vision. She traveled back but not without seeing the back of a woman wearing her favorite blue dress approach.

Chapter Text

Azriel stormed into the study, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and shadows. He had been in the mortal realms when Rhysand’s call had pierced his mind like a sharp blade, accompanied by his shadows whispering frantically in his ear. They told him that Elain had been driven out of the Spring Court by Tamlin’s beastly wrath. He would have flown straight to her side if not for the shadows’ assurances that she was safe on the farm and Rhysand’s insistent pull toward Velaris. He sighed, knowing this meeting had something to do with the encounter. 

Rhysand had gotten word that the child was asking Elain to take her to the Spring Court. He had ordered Azriel to discourage her from going. Azriel had agreed to his face but hadn’t uttered a word to Elain.

Rhysand stood tall and ominous in all black, staring out the large stained glass windows. He didn’t move as Azriel closed the door and approached.

“I thought I told you to stop her from going to the Spring Court.” Rhysand turned with an arched, accusatory brow.

“She is free to do as she pleases. It’s her choice where she goes and who she spends time with.” Azriel tried to conceal the hurt. Elain had gripped about Orla’s constant pushing, but had it all been a cover? Had she set the scene to sneak off and spend another day with Lucien? Azriel knew these were foolish thoughts, but he couldn’t shake them from his mind.

“Tamlin is barking, and any hope of an alliance with his court is becoming less and less of a possibility.”

“Your visit surely hasn’t helped,” Azriel shot back. Rhysand’s brows knitted together, knowing Azriel’s shadows had fed him this piece of intel. He had visited Tamlin and, in a fit of rage over Feyre, had only succeeded in further angering the already volatile High Lord. Lucien had pleaded with him to stay away, not wanting Tamlin to retreat further into his madness.

“Yes, and now Elain’s presence was the cherry on top. He sent a warning, as he had all the right since she was on his lands. Her saving grace was she was invited by Lucien, or so he claims…” Rhysand said while watching Azriel’s unmoving expression.

“If it was a justified visit, then why have you summoned me?” Azriel asked.

“I don’t want to poke the beast any more than we already have. I order you to inform her that she has been banished from the Spring Court. She can never travel there again without my approval or until Tamlin lifts the banishment.” Rhysand said indifferently as he brushed the dust off his shoulder. Azriel knew his brother well and saw through the all too convenient arrangement.

“Is that true?”

“Are you questioning an order?” Rhysand said venomously.

“Is that true?” Azriel asked again, unflinchingly.

Rhysand's jaw twitched as he glared at him. He could manipulate everyone around him without his powers, and with them, all would bend to his will or be subjected to their minds being scrambled where they stood. But with Azriel and Cassian, brothers who he spent a lifetime with, he would not lie or force his word upon them for something so trivial.

“No,” Rhysand's word echoed through the silent study.

“I won’t lie to her. Not again.” Azriel’s voice was firm, his hazel eyes blazing with conviction. He saw Elain’s tear-streaked face in his mind, her betrayal evident when he had last lied to her. It had shattered something inside him, and he vowed never to cause her such pain again.

Rhysand approached and stood a foot from his brother. They were both tall and imposing in their own right. Their eyes blazed watchfully, staring back at one another.

“Why do you care?” Rhysand asked coldly.

“You know why,” Azriel answered with an icy warning.

Rhysand brushed his mouth and chin with his hand, sighing in defeat. He turned and walked to his window.

“Then it’s in your favor to lie to her. Tell her she’s banished. Tamlin isn’t the only one she will face retaliation from.” Rhysand's cold warning chilled the air.

“I said I won’t lie to her. Never again. I can handle any danger that results from it.” Azriel vowed.

“While that bond is in place, you will not lift a hand to Lucien.” Rhysand said indifferently, “he is welcome in this home and this court as a friend. He is a piece of our alliance with Spring, Autumn, and Day. I will not have our alliance broken by our hand. Understood?”

Azriel rolled his shoulders, already accepting the role he had to play. “No harm will come from me without just cause. I know my duty, but I will not lie to her. Don’t ever ask me to again.”

Rhysand waved his hand, dismissing him.

___

Elain grimaced at her reflection in the mirror. Her attire was unmistakably Night Court, yet a far cry from her usual style. The twins had dressed her in a midnight black gown. The heavy dark fabric formed a choker around her neck, extending to her wrists and flowing all the way down to the floor. Only her face and décolletage were free of the dark fabric. Her eyes, normally soft and doe-like, were transformed into the piercing gaze of a wildcat with smoky mauve shadows. Her hair cascaded in voluminous waves, pinned by twin combs of pearl. She felt utterly ridiculous in the modest gown that sucked the radiance from her skin.

Though Elain detested her attire, she knew tonight was not about her. Tonight, she would travel representing her family at The Court of Nightmares. Like every year, there will be three whole days of celebration leading up to Winter Solstice. Each night would host a ball, and at tonight's ball, Feyre would reveal her pregnancy to the world while Nesta seduced Eris on the dance floor. Rhysand had also reminded her that tonight's purpose was also to present her and Nesta as members of his family. As such, it was critical to appear powerful and menacing in order to garner fear and respect. 

Feyre wasn’t particularly pleased with the idea and offered to let Elain remain home. Elain squared her shoulders and declared that she was part of this court and would do what needed to be done. Rhysand had requested her to use her powers to watch over Feyre. Elain accepted eagerly, thrilled to have a real role in the night's mission. She would play her part while keeping a vigilant eye on Feyre, foreseeing any threats or ill will.

The incident with Tamlin a few days ago had shaken her deeply, but not as much as the haunting replay of Lucien’s loving gaze in Orla's vision. She desperately tried to push it from her thoughts. She longed for Azriel, knowing his touch would dispel any doubt, but he had been called away. He would be present tonight but under orders to protect the family and listen to the shadows for any sign of danger. Though it was a ball, this was not a night for fun and games.

—

The Hewn City was decorated for the holiday, though no amount of lights and streamers could hide its dungeon-like ambiance. Elain stuck close to Feyre as they waited in a private hall to make their entrance. Feyre and Rhysand spoke quietly, discussing the logistics of the night. In the shadows, Nesta stood lost in thought. Silver thread embroidered the skintight velvet bodice of her gown, the straps so narrow they might as well have been nonexistent against her moon-white skin. The neckline plunged nearly to her navel, where the silver thread gathered to hold a small sapphire that matched the ones on her crown.

There was no doubt in Elain’s mind that her sister would seduce Eris. She had witnessed it firsthand when Nesta was a mere child. Today, looking at the woman before her, no man would stand a chance.

Nesta’s glare burned into Elain as she approached.

"Are you all right, Nesta?" Elain whispered.

"I thought you were supposed to be watching over Feyre, not me," Nesta clipped, adjusting the alignment of her gown. Elain flinched but knew all too well her sister was stressed and ready to strike. So much for the pleasant exchange they had had at the House of Wind.

Elain huffed but maintained her composure. "Good luck tonight."

Music sounded from the main ballroom. Feyre gestured for her sisters to get into place. She and Rhysand were at the front, with Elain and Nesta side by side behind them.

"I hear your man will be in attendance," Nesta said in a false whisper. Loud enough to annoy Elain for it in front of Rhysand. To his credit, he stared ahead, fully aware of Nesta’s games.

The doors swung open, and the High Lord and Lady entered, beaming confidently at the crowd. The crowd gasped in unison as Feyre’s swollen belly came into view. A confused applause followed.

Elain and Nesta glided in, heads held high as they headed toward the dais. 

"I heard yours is too," Elain whispered as Nesta’s head jerked in her direction.

They walked down the long, gilded aisle. The crowd took them in, yet it was clear they were staring at Nesta. Who was this regal woman approaching? She wore a crown and was known for being Feyre’s sister, but something below the surface, a power so strong it showed through.

Elain attempted to appear as menacing and confident as she could, though she felt like a child in a costume. She scanned the faces of the crowd and recognized no one. This was not the Night Court she knew but rather the place from which the tales of Prythian nightmares had come.

Mor bowed as Feyre and Rhysand took their seats on their grand thrones. At their sides, Cassian and Azriel stood in fine black suits, hair slick with grease, and their wings expanded for all to see. Their overbearing power and strength were on full display. As the sisters reached the steps to the dais, the men approached, Cassian taking Elain's hand while Azriel took Nesta's and guided them to their seats. Elain settled and glanced at Azriel from the corner of her eye. She caught him looking at her, only for him to swiftly look away. 

There before the Court of Nightmares, the inner circle stood on full display as the ball began.

Chapter Text

The delicate sounds of violins and harps filled the hall as Feyre commanded the crowd, her voice like thunder at midnight. "Dance."

A circle formed at the center of the floor as couples glided to its middle, spinning in a synchronized waltz. Eris ascended the steps to Feyre and Rhysand. Elain flinched at the familiar shade of red hair and freckles. Eris, however, had a lighter complexion and colder demeanor than his brother. He walked confidently forward, paying no mind to anyone other than the High Lord and Lady.

“Congratulations, my friends, on behalf of myself, my father, and the entire Autumn Court,” Eris said gesturing to Feyre’s belly.

Elain looked to the future and saw no ill will or sign of struggle at the ball. She glanced at her sister Nesta, who was tapping her foot and peering over Eris at the dance floor beyond. Nesta was itching to move, and Elain saw a flash of her sister dancing with the Autumn prince.

As the vision faded, Elain returned to the present moment, seeing Rhysand offer Eris a gift. Eris peered into a small black box, his eyes widening. He thanked them but was hesitant. Feyre assured him that this was a gift of goodwill, as they were allies.

“I would dance with you, but in my condition, too much excitement can make me unwell.” Feyre made a show of looking to her sisters.

For the first time, Eris looked at Elain, who smiled pleasantly, knowing the role she must play. To Elain’s dismay, Nesta was distracted and not helping the matter whatsoever. Eris’ gaze lingered until Feyre noticed and interjected.

“My older sister shall take my place.” Eris’ mouth held a thin line, all too aware of the wild beast offered to him. Nesta finally looked to Eris and, to her credit, she returned a pleasant smile and approached. He offered his arm, and returned the smile once he realized she was being agreeable. Feyre and Elain let out a relieved sigh, but behind her, Elain felt Cassian stiffen.

Looking to the future, Elain saw that Nesta would be in no danger with Eris. She was about to assure Cassian when he left the podium to parallel them from the crowd. She sighed and watched as Nesta and Eris connected at the center of the dance floor. The violin snapped a quick chord into the next song, which was more intense and faster than the slow dances prior. Nesta began with a dramatic sway of her arm, dipping slightly in Eris’s arm as his eyes lit up and they began. They glided and spun in perfect coordination. Nesta moved effortlessly, and Eris caught her cues, twisting and dipping Nesta as she silently directed.

Elain couldn’t stop the proud smile that stretched across her face. Nesta was even more beautiful and graceful than she had seen her all those years ago. Her sister caught the attention of everyone—the crowd, Feyre, Rhysand, and Elain herself.

Elain’s head moved as they swayed left and right when suddenly she felt a warm graze on her arm. Azriel stood beside her, face to face. He bowed slightly, smiling, and extended a hand. “Miss Elain, would you honor me with a dance?”

Delighted, Elain agreed, taking his hand as he led her onto the dance floor. As they left the podium, Elain looked over her shoulder, noting that Rhysand and Feyre hadn’t noticed, too enthralled with Nesta and the mind-to-mind conversation they must be having. He led her to the back of the dance floor, away from the dais and out of Nesta’s way.

Azriel kissed her hand before drawing into a waltzing position. His eyes sizzled as his hand gripped the small of her back. Torturously slowly, Azriel pressed her body close and swayed side to side.

“You look beautiful tonight, my angel,” he purred as he kissed her forehead tenderly.

Elain looked around, shocked by his boldness. Everyone was too enthralled with Nesta’s acrobatic waltz to care about watching them.

“I look a little too Night Court for my liking,” Elain giggled.

“Perhaps. But all the same, you are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever had the pleasure to see.” Azriel was a talented dancer, skillfully moving Elain around and around with ease. No rush or hurry; they would take as many songs, as many moments together as they had time.

“I thought you couldn’t get any more handsome. I see I was wrong.” She took in his polished hair neatly brushed back and his suit that was clean and perfectly fitted. A pink pocket square sat in his pocket, matching the shade of her eye makeup perfectly.

“I’ve been known to put spy gear away for special occasions,” he smiled.

“And what occasion is tonight? Are you also celebrating Feyre and Rhysand’s big reveal?” she teased.

Azriel shook his head and stared at her tenderly. “No. Tonight marks the occasion I come out of the shadows. Stop being a coward. Whatever consequences may come, I will handle them.”

Elain furrowed her brow in shock and confusion. “And what brought on this revelation, may I ask?”

Azriel scoffed and leaned in to kiss her neck. Elain flushed, bringing a pink hue to her cheeks. “I hid you to keep you safe, Elain. Safe from retaliation. Those who want to hurt me or Feyre look to you as a token for retribution. I thought angering your Mate would bring attention to you, attention that I refused to gamble with over my own feelings.”

As the room spun, the crowd around them became colors and lights. Elain couldn’t make out anyone or anything other than her lover before her. She listened intently, needing more information.

“When I received word the other day that you were chased out of the Spring Court by that feral beast,” Azriel’s blazing eyes cooled, “I realized how quickly I could lose you. In the same moment I learned of the attack, I also learned you were already safe back at the farm. A split second, yet it was still too much for me, Elain. Do you understand?” Azriel pleaded with Elain.

“What do you mean?” Elain asked eagerly, needing to hear him say it.

“I would rather love you and face all that may come than not love you and lose you, wishing I had. I’ve faced torture, Elain, but if you were taken from this world, that agony would pale in comparison to all the torture I’ve endured and inflicted. If you’ll have me, Elain, if you’ll forgive me, I am yours.” Azriel stood still, halting their dance as other couples swayed around them. He stood bare before her, awaiting her response.

“Azriel, all I’ve wanted from you was to have you love boldly and unashamed. I chose you long ago, but the words of others and even your own caused me to question my own truth. You can be too stoic, too dutiful, and too often absent, but somehow I can’t stay mad at you because of how fiercely I desire you. This fire that burns inside me, that burns for you, is more meaningful to me than some elusive mystical bond. No matter how illogical or naive it may be, the fire I feel toward you is what I deem is love.” Elain placed her palm to his chiseled cheek. “I choose you, Azriel. I love you.”

Azriel pulled Elain to him, lifting her off her feet and kissing her among the crowd. A few glanced their way, but all strangers of the Hewn City. Elain wrapped her arms around his neck, allowing her tongue to graze his bottom lip. He set her down, and they returned to their slow dance, both glowing with excitement.

As they swayed, Elain’s smile fell into a thoughtful gaze. She bit her lip, realizing Azriel was not the only one responsible for the consequences of this relationship.

“Azriel?”

“Yes, my angel?”

“I have to make this right. To do the right thing, for both our sakes. I must reject my mating bond.” Elain said as the words echoed through her ears.

Azriel scowled and stretched his neck uncomfortably. “Elain, as much as I would relish that rejection, it’s not necessary. Keep the bond and you can always call on it whenever you no longer want me.”

“Azriel!” Elain’s eyes widened. “Do you have such little faith in this relationship?”

“Not from my end, Elain, but I will not force you to reject my opponent. I rather like having to look over my shoulder at every family function,” Azriel teased.

“Don’t you understand, Azriel? I’m rejecting the bond to free myself, not to please you or snub my… mate. I want to be free to love who I please and not be dictated to.” Elain spoke with utmost confidence.

“It’s your choice, my love.” Azriel smiled softly. “Good luck.”

Elain gulped, realizing what she was to face. The song faded as Nesta landed a dramatic leap into a deep dip and the crowd applauded. Azriel and Elain turned, applauding and looking to the center floor. Through the several heads of the crowd, a space opened, revealing Rhysand looking over, looking less than amused.

Azriel nodded to him and guided Elain away, releasing her from his stare. 

“Az-?” Elain began.

“Don’t worry about him. There something you’ll find more interesting afoot.” Azriel said with boylike excitement. He steered her to the front of the exterior circle, just in time to see Cassian approach Eris angry and unyielding. He requested a dance from her sister all while dismissing Eris, moving his above them on Rhysand’s reprimand list. 

“Can Cassian dance?” Elain asked Azriel sceptically. 

“Have you ever seen a bear dance at a circus?” Azriel laughed.

To Elain’s surprise, Cassian held Nesta close and at the fist strum of the violin, glided with her across the floor. Nesta’s dance was muted, complimenting Cassian’s slower pace. She still managed to excuse grace all while complimenting his movement style. Together, he was the agile warrior to the graceful queen. She would have overpowered him, if she had not bent to his lead. Silver lined Elains eyes, knowing her sister would not bend to anyone other than someone she loved. 

Elain took Azriel’s hand behind her, as he rubbed calming circled on her skin. They watched the dance, cheering them on with each new song. Cassian concluded the final song by spinning Nesta and pulling her in inches from his face. The both breathed heavily, catching their breath, as electricity shown in their eyes between one another. To Elain, they were unmated, yet their match was undeniable. 

Azriel leaned in whispering in Elain’s ear, “My brother asks I chaperone your sister.”

Elain nodded and stepped aside, knowing Cassian would not yield Nesta to anyone other than Azriel. He entered the floor, smoothly bowing and taking Nesta swiftly into a dance. Elain returned to Feyre’s side, checking in on how she was faring. She avoided Rhysand’s eye but luckily he was consumed with a discission with Eris.

___

Azriel danced with Nesta across the floor, weaving among the couples. Every turn that he faced north, he glanced at Elain on the podium, ensuring she was content. After the fifth look, Nesta could no longer hold her tongue.

“I hear you are enthralled with my sister?” she mused.

“And I hear you enthralled with my brother.” Azriel smiled. “Unless it’s your intention to become the lady of the Autumn Court?”

Nesta laughed, amused by their game. “A woman must have her options. Elain surely does,” she said with a serpentine smile.

Azriel’s shadows whirled, but he held his calm stare. “Your sister is free to do as she wishes, but my desire for her is clear,” he vowed.

“Clear to whom? From what I’ve heard, she’s one of the many things you keep in the shadows.”

Azriel smiled, all too familiar with Nesta’s tactic of redirecting. He would be enraged if he hadn’t observed her deflection tactics every morning at training when Cassian questions. “Then perhaps it would serve us both to make our interests known.” He glanced at Elain. She caught his eye and smiled sweetly to him. “I love your sister, and I will dote on her for all to see as long as she’ll have me.”

Nesta looked between her sister and the shadow singer. They were looking to each other across the room, calling silently to one another. “Good,” Nesta said with a sincerity as resolute as a judge’s gavel. “But if you hurt her, I will use all my cauldron-given powers to incinerate you where you stand.”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed in a wicked grin. “Good. I would expect nothing less from the senior Archeron.”

The song ended, and they bowed to one another in amused agreement.

___

Azriel escorted Elain after hours of dancing and merriment. Rhysand and Feyre had left earlier so Feyre could rest. Traveling from the shadows, they appeared in her garden. Hundreds of fireflies decorated the foliage. As they touched down, Elain clung to his neck and pressed her mouth to his desperately. She needed to feel him and know he wouldn’t become too guarded again or fade from her. That they could have a life together regardless of what the world threw at them.

Azriel smiled against her lips and bent to her will. His large hands trailed down her back until they gripped her hips. Elain’s hands moved to his hair, brushing through eagerly. They pulled one another closer and closer, moving together in the garden. Elain finally released, gasping for air, opening her eyes to meet Azriel’s loving expression. He needed the reassurance as desperately as she did. She looked around, noticing the veil was not in place.

“Rhysand’s not home?” she asked meekly.

“He is. And I don’t care,” he said, love blazing in his warm hazel eyes. “I’m sorry for how subservient and cowardly I’ve been. I am yours, Elain, and I don’t care who knows it.”

They were on one another again, desperately tasting each other’s mouths. Azriel guided her to the bench and laid her down. Elain pulled him closer and closer, all while he shifted up her dress to her hips.

He quickly unbuttoned his pants, exposing his manhood. Elain released a soft plea of anticipation. He pulled her to the bench's edge, further exposing her skin to the cool night air. He leaned in, kissing her neck while his cock grazed her center.

Elain gasped and pleaded for more. Azriel smiled wickedly and continued to tease her. He leaned into her neck and bit hard, all while softly pressing himself against her thighs. The pain and pleasure were becoming too much for Elain. She begged for the torment to end and for him to take her.

“Please!”

“I like when you beg.” Azriel bit her neck again, hard. She yelped, knowing there would be marks tomorrow.

“Please, my love,” Elain murmured.

Azriel’s eyes sparked with delight, as he obliged, finally performing the scene he had daydreamed about for ages.

Chapter Text

"Miss, are you going to buy something or not?" the skeleton-thin shop tenant sighed.

Elain stammered as he shook his head and walked away towards the customers waving cash in the air. This was the seventh shop Elain had visited for her Winter Solstice shopping. Gift-giving had always come easy to her. For Feyre, she purchased a gold coil to decorate her hunting bow; amethyst cufflinks for Rhysand; an early-release smut book for Nesta; new boots for Cassian, a china doll for Orla crafted to look identical to her; and a handful of rest and relaxation tonics for Maevin. All the gifts were stuffed in the bags hanging from her arm and growing too heavy.

She was having a successful shopping day until she reached the last person on her list, Azriel. From shop to shop, she mulled over the lavish gifts on display, biting her lip and considering. The latest idea brought her into this weapon shop, catering to common fae with its selection of simple and small-scale weapons. Gemstone daggers, pocket knives, letter openers, and such were on display under glass cases. She scanned the daggers, all beautiful and engraved with intricate designs. Elain sighed, knowing none would be as beloved as Truthteller, his trusty and true dagger. She prepared to leave, unable to face another glare from the brooding shopkeeper, when a dagger caught her eye.

At the back of the display lay a dagger with orange and red stones. The stones were placed in a metal frame across the crosspiece into the shape of a fox. The fiery stones colored the animal's eyes and fur, yet the hilt and blade were sleek and simple. 

"Is that for Lucien? Momma tells me he was once cursed and transformed into a fox," Orla whispered, pressing her round face into the glass.

"Excuse me? It’s Sunday. Don’t you have a stall to run?" She laughed, delighted to see her little friend.

"Momma is too big now. The baby comes next month, so she’s not supposed to walk far. She sent me out to do our Winter Solstice shopping. So I’m here on a mission, and if you don't get that dagger, then I will," Orla challenged.

Elain rolled her eyes. Lucien was definitely not on her list. He would be present tomorrow and no doubt give her a gift as he had each year, but that was no concern to her. They wouldn’t be Mates much longer, so why bother with false pleasantries?

"Last chance. Buy something or get out. You are blocking the counter from paying customers," the shopkeeper's brows furrowed, stretching his forehead tight enough to see veins.

Orla gulped and backed away from the glass, leaving her fogged nose print behind. Elain was about to excuse herself when she saw a flash of Lucien. He looked pained, with an expression that Elain recognized immediately—heartbreak. The vision cleared as she stared at the orange blade.

"I’ll take this one," she murmured. "And as the sister of the High Lady, I’m sure you can offer a hefty discount." The shopkeeper stammered and rushed to package the blade as Orla and Elain smiled slyly at one another.

___

Elain burst into the house with several shopping bags weighing down her arms. She towed them through the foyer with a triumphant smile, having gotten the perfect gift for everyone on her list, including Azriel. She was about to ascend the stairs when Feyre glided into the entryway.

"Well, it looks like you’re giving our city’s merchants some good business. Is that all for Solstice?" Feyre waved a hand, summoning some staff to carry the bags up the stairs.

"Yes! Luckily, I have all afternoon to wrap everything," she said, following the crew up the staircase. "To the library, please! Thank you!"

The bags were laid neatly on the long wooden table at the center of the library. Elain dug through the closet, pulling out wrapping paper, bags, and oversized bows. Feyre sat in the leather reading chair at the corner of the room, kicking her feet up and resting her hands on her bump.

"You know you can’t be in here. I have your gift to wrap!" Elain scolded as she prepped her supplies on the table.

Feyre sighed, exhausted. "Ugh, I can’t move. Wrap the other gifts. I just need 30 minutes to rest. Plus, I’m hiding out from Rhysand. He’s been a real worrywart these days." Elain obliged, seeing Feyre’s eyes looking heavy. Her sister would fall asleep any moment and spend the afternoon napping in her chair. These past months, Elain had found her sleeping in different rooms, in different positions, and at all times of the day. Her belly was tiny compared to Maevin’s, yet this babe seemed to require much more rest from its host.

Elain laid out each gift on the table, placing the perfect-sized wrapping bag beneath it, coordinating her assembly. If she was efficient, she could finish in time to assist Nuala and Cerridwen with dinner. She skillfully kept Feyre’s gift in its bag and set it aside to wrap once she fell into a deep sleep, which was signaled with a hearty snore.

"...Is that a gift for Lucien?" Feyre murmured, admiring the gifts spread on the table.

"It is," Elain said while busying herself with Nesta’s gift.

"Well, that’s nice," Feyre mused.

"I just saw it and thought it was too convenient to pass up. Plus, the shopkeeper was so kind, and I couldn’t leave without buying something," Elain shrugged, acting indifferent. 

"Well, you know if you offer him food or some of your baked goods, they see that as accepting the bond," Feyre rolled her eyes. "But metal and jewels are meaningless."

"This is not a gift to accept the bond," Elain said, furrowing her brows.

"I just can’t believe the ridiculous tradition," Feyre chuckled. "I’m sorry. It’s tough seeing you reluctantly accept his gifts every year. Now that you both get gifts, maybe it won’t be as painful to watch."

"Imagine how painful it is for me," Elain said, side-eyeing her sister while tying a ribbon to the gift in her hands.

Feyre’s eyes darted down, and she nodded in silent apology. She closed her eyes again, ready to drift off.

Elain began on Cassian’s gift. She already knew that offering food was the traditional acceptance of a mating bond. As someone who gifted cakes, cupcakes, puff pastries, bread, and pies on a daily basis, she had to be careful. Though she never thought of giving Lucien anything, even something as small as a sweet.

She sighed, signing her name on the tag of the second wrapped present. Perhaps getting Lucien a gift was a mistake. Maybe it gave off the wrong message and would give him false hope. Elain forcefully grabbed the next gift, almost tossing Rhysand’s cufflinks onto the floor.

Declaring your love with a cookie, how ridiculous. How easy! I bet rejecting the bond won’t be easy. Stupid ancient practices!

Elain’s head began to throb from her growing annoyance. Give a cake, and accept the bond. Reject the bond, slay a dragon. Elain growled at the patriarchal system. A man would require an impossible feat from a woman in order to reject them. She was sure of it. She would bet her favorite skillet on it.

It occurred to her that she, in fact, didn’t know how a mating bond is rejected. Feyre’s breathing grew louder, about to slip into sleep. Quickly, Elain moved, leaving a gift half-wrapped on the table. She rushed, kneeling on the floor, clinging to the side of Feyre’s chair.

"Feyre, are you awake?" she called, shaking the chair slightly.

Feyre’s eyes darted open as she scanned the room, realizing where she was.

"I’m sorry. This is important."

"Are you alright?" Feyre asked, scanning her sister’s face.

"Yes. I just need to know how a mating bond is rejected," Elain rattled, looking eagerly at her sister.

"Elain. What…why are you asking me this?" Feyre said, uncertain.

"Feyre, I need to know."

"Elain, you should really think about—"

"Feyre, it’s my life,” Elain's voice reverberated through the room. “I’m not asking for permission. You have to tell me. Please don’t keep me in the dark."

Feyre was haunted by the memory of her early days as Fae when information was hidden from her to keep her weak and dependent. Elain was right and advocating for herself, something Feyre had desperately wanted from both her sisters. For the first time in their lives, Elain looked to Feyre like her elder sister.

She sat up in her seat and placed her hand on her sister’s, resting on the chair arm. "You’re right. It’s your decision. I’m sorry," Feyre said. "To reject a mating bond, one of the parties must draw blood from the other. While the blood flows, either party can reject the relationship, and the bond will break. At least, that’s what Rhys shared with me. I’ve yet to see it done."

Elain nodded, kissing her on the cheek. "Thank you."

___

The moonlight trickled into the dark bedroom as Elain savored the feeling of Azriels fingers tracing lazy circles across her back. She lay bare on top of him, resting before inevitably going for another round two. 

“I received word that you were shopping today. Did you get anything for me?” Azriel's bedroom voice purred. 

“There may be something for you under the pile of gifts for everyone else,” Elain whispered, kissing his collarbone. 

“Cassian was wondering if he made your list this year.”

“He did actually. I have to show my appreciation to him for taming my sister.” Elain laughed but fell silent, remembering the other male who made her list this year. 

“Azriel, there’s something I should tell you,” Elain said meekly.

Azriel laughed at her expression and sat up in bed. “Yes, my angel?”

“I have a gift for Lucien this year. It’s nothing, really. Just something that was too obvious to pass up.” Elain said, avoiding Azriel’s glowing hazel eyes.

He leaned in and murmured on her neck, “Should I be worried?” 

Elain gasped, buzzing from the sensation. “No!” she yipped.

Azriel’s hands met her breasts, tracing torturous circles on her nipples. “Do you want me to be angry?” 

“No, I just thought you should know,” she gasped.

Azriel's mouth met her nipple as he hummed, considering. The vibration sent shudders between her legs.

“There is something that I want from you,” Elain whispered. 

Azriel’s head whipped up attentively, eager and hungry.

“Please don’t fight with Lucien. I plan to settle things with him, but not on Feyre’s birthday. Perhaps we should behave and keep cordial tomorrow to not set off any early alarms.” Elain said biting her lip, nearly drawing blood.

Azriel’s face remained stoic and emotionless as he adjusted her hips, positioning himself to enter her.

“Sure, but after tonight, your scent will reek of me,” he mused.

Elain gasped as his full length glided smoothly into her. She moved on him, begging his thrusts to quicken.

“Can we - “

Azriel kissed her, silencing her worrying. “I’ll play nice and see to glamouring our scents. I’ll try to keep my distance, but it's hard to keep my hands off you when you are this alluring.”

Satisfied, she pulled her lover closer, moaning and playing through the night.

Chapter Text

Gazing at her reflection in the gleaming copper pans hanging by the hearth, Elain meticulously combed the last traces of sugar from her hair. She wore her finest velvet lilac dress for the holiday, its rich fabric swishing around her ankles as she moved. Her hair, cascading in luxurious curls down to her waist, had taken the better part of an hour to perfect. Tonight was not only the Winter Solstice but also Feyre’s birthday. 

She groaned at the sticky mess she had made of herself after having just bathed and dressed. The morning had been a whirlwind of baking and preparation for the evening's festivities. She should be waiting for guests in the foyer, but instead, she found herself ensuring the twins had properly dusted her beignets with powdered sugar. Predictably, they hadn’t.

"The beignets are ready, no thanks to you ladies," Elain called over her shoulder while, carrying the full platter out of the kitchen.

With a delicate touch, she arranged her pastries on a gilded-tiered tray, placing it on the dessert table near the crackling fireplace. Cakes, scones, tarts, and cookies—each a labor of love from the morning’s efforts—were beautifully displayed. She allowed herself a moment to revel in her creation before the doorbell's chime pulled her away.

Elain darted to the front door. Feyre had been unwell that morning, leaving Elain to take charge of welcoming guests. She had risen early, intent on making the day perfect, only to find her sister retching in the bathroom. These bouts had become common, but Feyre seemed particularly uncomfortable today.

“Leave me here for a moment, I’ll be down soon,” Feyre had insisted, swatting Elain away from her spot on the bathroom floor.

Ignoring her, Elain had knelt beside her, gently pulling back her sister’s hair and rubbing soothing circles on her back. “Shush, I’m not leaving. And if you don’t stop swatting me, I’ll call Rhysand in here,” she scolded softly.

“No!” Feyre had gasped before expelling again.

Elain focused, honing in on the tiny life within Feyre’s belly. The babe, still in the alien-like stages of pregnancy, was growing well. Today, she noticed the delicate wings beginning to form their central spike, likely the cause of Feyre’s discomfort. After cleaning her sister up and tucking her back into bed, Elain returned to the kitchen to resume her tasks.

Swinging open the door, Elain was greeted by Varian’s broad smile, contrasting with Amren’s cold, menacing expression. She welcomed them and shut the door, only to find a scarred hand holding it from closing. Azriel entered, his arms laden with presents. He wore a black velvet turtleneck and leather jeans, the darkness of his attire making his hazel eyes glow amber like a crackling fire. Elain felt her cheeks flush as she greeted him.

“Sorry, I didn’t see you there. You look nice,” she whispered, a shy smile playing on her lips.

“Thank you. You look breathtaking,” he replied, pecking her quickly on the cheek..

Elain cleared her throat, casting a watchful glance around. Azriel chuckled, realizing just how challenging it would be to behave around her tonight.

Together they entered the livingroom that was decorated beautifully with wreaths and sparkling stars. The large fireplace blazed coating the room in glowing warm light. Feyre sat in the oversized reading chair smiling, though she still looked unwell. 

“Happy Birthday Feyre” Azriel said sweetly. 

“Thank you Azriel” Feyre smiled, hiding her discomfort. 

“A handful of presents, for me? You shouldnt have Az.” Rhysand purred as he entered the room. He wore his finest black suit with silver thread. He handed Feyre a glass of water as he rubbed her back.

“Feyre, can I get anything for you” Elain asked uneasy.

“I’m fine. Our son if making me extra queasy today, that’s all” Feyre teased, “But if you see me making a mess of the carpet, please let me know.” Elain nodded, worrying.

“Don’t worry. My shadows can hide you if needed, then we can blame the mess on Cassian.” 

The doorbell rang, and Elain’s heart leaped in her chest, feeling the familiar tug on the bond—Lucien had arrived. She glanced at Azriel before heading to the door, his shadows swirling around him as he gave her a curt nod, assuring her that he had glamoured her scent. Taking a deep breath, she returned to the front door, opening it wide.

Lucien stood there, holding only two presents, one of which she reluctantly realized was for her. His red hair was neatly brushed back into a bun, highlighting the warm golden tone of his skin and the strong lines of his neck. He wore a green tunic with intricate gold embroidery, making him look every bit a noble of the Autumn Court.

To Elain’s relief, he wasn’t alone. Mor stood beside him, having arrived at the same time. She wore a dark red coat trimmed with white fur at the neck and sleeves, looking voluminous and stunning—more so than usual. Elain felt a pang of jealousy, knowing Azriel would likely spend his time with Mor to maintain their necessary distance, a resolution she was not fond of.

“Happy Solstice! Please, come in,” Elain said cheerfully. Mor rushed eagerly into the living room while Lucien lingered by the door.

“Happy Solstice, Elain. It’s good to see you,” Lucien smiled kindly.

“Thank you. Happy Solstice,” Elain replied, her smile tense but genuine. The glamour appeared to be working.

“I’ve been meaning to write you. To apologize,” Lucien began. “I’m sorry about Tamlin. I didn’t expect him to appear like that, and I feel terrible for frightening you and Orla.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault,” Elain said, shaking her head. “Orla was more concerned about you. She had a bit of a fit, but your note settled her.”

Lucien nodded, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “I left that day and have been staying elsewhere. There’s no getting through to him.” An uncomfortable silence settled between them.

“I heard you’re living in the mortal realms with Vassa and Jurian. How’s that going?” Elain asked, breaking the quiet.

“Surprisingly well,” Lucien replied thoughtfully. “Jurian busies himself with his strategies, and Vassa is wild and full of life. We call ourselves the Band of Exiles since we have no home.”

“Sounds like something you’d do,” Elain laughed.

Lucien’s gaze softened at the sound of her laughter. He shook himself from his trance and excused himself. “I should wish the High Lady a Happy Birthday. Excuse me.”

Elain sighed, realizing that breaking the bond and hurting Lucien was going to be harder than she thought. She hated to admit it, but Lucien had become her friend. She watched him walk away. As she entered the living room, she caught Azriel’s eye from across the room. The party’s noise swelled around her, but she felt strangely detached, caught in her thoughts. He gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod, silently asking if she was alright. She nodded, grateful for him and eager for the day she could embrace him without fear.

---

Snow blanketed Velaris, making the City of Starlight glisten with white flecks of light. The dark night sky contrasted sharply with the clean sheets of snow. Elain stepped outside to the front of the house, relishing the chill air that cooled her hot cheeks and sweaty neck. Inside, the party was in full swing, with laughter and the clinking of glasses echoing around the fire.

Elain called upon her powers and saw that Cassian and Nesta would arrive in moments. She shuffled her feet, smiling at the patterns forming in the snow, when Cassian’s booming voice sounded from down the road.

They came into view, nearing the front of the house. Elain stepped forward but halted when Cassian turned to Nesta and kissed her passionately. She paused, frozen like ice, trying not to be noticed. They separated, and Cassian encouraged Nesta to head inside.

Nesta stood alone for a moment, glaring at the front window that revealed the same merry group from last year, celebrating the holiday.

Last year, Nesta had been an utter disaster. Elain prayed she would behave this year. With a sigh, Nesta headed inside, and Elain followed quietly, unnoticed.

___

Nesta lingered in the foyer, staring towards the lively party down the hall. She started at the sound of Elain shutting the front door and whirled on her.

“Happy Solstice,” Elain said flatly.

Nesta looked her over with her menacing gaze. Elain shuddered but refused to cower before her sister.

“I'm surprised you showed. Did Feyre pay you, like last year?” Elain jabbed.

“No,” Nesta replied, shame evident in her tone.

Elain sighed, realizing Nesta was in a moderate mood. She glanced over her sister’s shoulder at the party within. “Please don’t upset Feyre. It’s her birthday, and in her state—”

“Oh, fuck you,” Nesta snapped, then choked.

Elain blinked. Nesta blinked back, her mind racing to find a way to remedy her outburst.

Then Elain burst out laughing. She bent over, clutching her stomach, howling. Azriel appeared in the hallway, checking on the commotion.

Nesta was in shock and felt the pressure of the audience. “I—I’m sorry,” she said.

Elain realized she missed her sister and even her biting wit. “You’ve never said such a thing to me!” She laughed again. “I think that’s a good sign, isn’t it?”

Nesta stared, confused, but nodded. Elain linked their arms and guided her to the party. They brushed past Azriel as they headed into the room. Azriel gazed at Elain as they passed. When she returned the look, electricity sparked in the air, so much so that Nesta concealed her knowing smile as they entered the madness.

___

The inner circle had a night of unforgettable merriment and celebration. Feyre blushed and hid her face when Elain and the twins brought in an enormous three-tiered cake, forcing the group to sing to her. Rhysand sang the loudest, his deep voice carrying through the room. Cassian was the social butterfly of the night, dragging Nesta from person to person, catching up and laughing. Nesta strained to play nice, but she couldn't deny that she enjoyed the music and merriment. Amren and Varian cuddled up on the loveseat all night, eyeing one another and eager to return to their bedroom in the city. Mor and Azriel danced and grazed the dessert table often, while Lucien and Rhysand drank and laughed at the fools everyone inevitably made of themselves.

The time arrived for exchanging gifts. Nesta and Elain sighed, dreading this part of the merriment. Nesta hated receiving gifts, especially since she got none for anyone. Elain, on the other hand, was anxious about whether everyone would like the gifts she had painstakingly chosen, but most stressful of all was the gift she knew she would receive.

Mor began, handing out her gifts, and the room erupted in laughter at the horrible findings she bestowed upon everyone. Rhysand and Feyre's gifts were wonderful and extravagant, eliciting cheers and more laughter as everyone passed around their presents. Elain set aside her new bewitched cookware that Feyre had personally created for her when Lucien approached.

"For you, Elain. Happy Solstice," Lucien's voice shook slightly as he handed her a small box.

Elain smiled politely, hiding her caution. "Thanks, and this is for you," she said, handing Lucien a small present. She tried to ignore the genuine surprise on Lucien’s face; this was the first solstice gift she had ever given him.

Lucien watched intently as Elain opened hers first. Inside the black box were elegant pearl earrings. Elain schooled her face into neutrality. She thought they were gorgeous but far too romantic of a gift. She thanked him in a small, neutral tone, causing his brows to furrow.

"You're welcome. They were my mother's," he shared.

The tidbit made her feel even worse, but she returned a smile. "They're beautiful. Thank you. Go ahead and open yours."

Lucien hesitated, wanting to hear more, but listened and opened his gift. He slid off the lid and smiled at the jeweled fox staring back at him.

"Is this supposed to be me?" he laughed.

Elain smiled, "If you'd like it to be."

"Thank you. It's a great blade," Lucien inspected it, holding it up to the light. He brushed the blade and slipped it into his belt, where the weapon would live.

He stared lovingly at Elain as she brushed her thumb longingly over the pearl earrings. The room seemed to warm from the tender moment.

From the corner, Azriel’s shadows bobbed. He shuddered, silencing them as he attempted to avert his gaze. Nesta, standing on the outskirts, saw the scene clearly.

She moved silently to the shadowsinger, placing her hand on his shoulder. "If it hurts you this much, why did you come today?" she whispered.

"I don't understand what you mean." Azriel gave her a sly smile. "I'm here to spend time with those I care about, my family, and to celebrate the birth of my High Lady, of course."

"Is the effort worth it?" she purred.

"Yes." Azriel vowed, "I'd endure anything for those I love."

"I see," Nesta murmured, considering.

Azriel shuffled in his pocket and pulled out a small gift.

"Is that for Elain?" Nesta asked.

"No, it's for you."

Nesta stared, confused, and took the gift. "I didn't get—"

"I know. I don't mind," Azriel said, smiling.

Nesta looked to Cassian, who was watching from the corner of his eye while chatting with Lucien. She opened the gift to find a small silver sphere.

Azriel’s scarred hand took the sphere and pressed the top, causing a small light to shine. "It's a light to illuminate your books when you read at night. It hovers so you can read without squinting all the time," he chuckled, recalling her furrowed brows when he caught her reading in the library and around the house.

Nesta squealed and embraced him. "It's brilliant!"

The embrace drew everyone’s attention. Azriel, caught off guard, shrugged his shoulders and hugged her back, a warm smile spreading across his face. The room erupted in applause, pleased to see that even Nesta, the ice queen, could be softened by the holiday spirit.

Cassian, watching from the sidelines, exchanged a knowing look with Rhysand. "Well, would you look at that," Cassian murmured, a hint of pride in his voice. 

Rhysand glanced at Azriel, then at Elain, noticing both had final gift hidden in their pockets. His expression softened into a thoughtful line as he clinked his glass against Cassian’s shoulder. “To unexpected moments,” he murmured.

Chapter Text

It was one in the morning when Nesta excused herself to bed, her footsteps echoing softly as she climbed the staircase. Cassian, Lucien, and Mor followed Nesta’s lead, their laughter and whispered conversations echoing as they drunkenly stumbled upstairs to their bed chambers. Amren and Varian, along with Feyre and Rhysand, had excused themselves hours earlier, likely to enjoy each other before bed. The house grew dim and quiet, exhausted from the merriment of the longest night of the year.

The living room was a mess of confetti, wrapping paper, and glasses. Rhysand had sent the staff home early to enjoy the holiday, leaving the house in disarray. Elain sighed, setting the wine glasses she collected into the kitchen sink. She resolved to tidy up in the morning when she had more energy. But before heading for bed, there was one final task she had to do. She dug the small gift from her pocket and tiptoed towards the living room, though her steps sounded thunderous within the empty floor. She emerged from the dark hallway under the stairwell into the foyer and saw him.

Azriel stood rigidly, staring up the winding staircase, the angle exposing the sharp line of his jaw and the fall of his hair. Azriel’s eyes flickered to Elain, though his body remained as still as a statue. Her breath caught, and she fumbled, almost dropping the gift in her hands.

“I…” He watched her swallow. “I thought you went to bed. I was about to leave this for you on your pile of presents.”

Azriel approached her, wafting the air with his scent of mint and sea salt. Her mouth parted, unsure what to say. “I would never leave without saying goodnight,” he murmured.

Her blush came quickly, warming her cheeks uncomfortable. She took his hand and placed the present. “Here.”

Azriel unwrapped the box, glancing at the card that read, To keep me close while you are away, and then opened the lid.

A silver compact mirror nestled in the velvet cushion. Confused, he held it up to the light, revealing a small letter E etched into the metal.

“Open it,” Elain said, setting the box aside.

Azriel tried not to look at his scarred hands as he carefully opened the compact. It parted, revealing a pitch-black mirror with small yellow orbs hovering through the darkness.

“It’s a view to my garden. All you can see right now are the fireflies because it’s so late, but in the daytime, you’ll recognize it. You can even see me tending it if you time it right.” Azriel’s eyes softened, gazing at the treasure in his palm.

He cleared his throat, but the silver still shimmered in his golden eyes. Leaning in, he kissed Elain’s cheek tenderly. “Thank you. To have someone to return to, someone as lovely as you...I am unworthy.”

Elain’s brows furrowed, prepared to scold him yet again for his self-deprecation, but was distracted by shadows dancing around them, full of glee. He pulled a small velvet box from the shadows. With a cautious glance, he opened it for her.

Elain sucked in a breath, tickling his hand. There in the box lay a golden necklace. The chain was simple with an amulet holding a small thimble-sized purple and green stripped stone. The stone sparked, as if beckoning Elain closer. She leaned in ever so slightly, feeling the stone vibrate. Its vibration grew stronger and stronger until Elain realized.

“Is that a—”

Azriel nodded with utter seriousness. There in the amulet rested an activated fluorite stone. Though dainty, its power called to Elain with great hunger, calling to someone with the gift to wield its power.

Elain raised her hand to her lips. “How did you—?”

Azriel smiled. “Must I always remind you? I am the spymaster of this court.” He pulled the necklace from the box and turned Elain around. She gathered her hair, exposing her neck to him. “And I’ve also been known to be very convincing,” he murmured against her neck as he clasped the necklace into place. He kissed her neck before stepping back to allow her a moment to take in the sensation of the necklace.

Elain clasped the stone in her fingers, breathing in rhythm with its vibrations. A vision blasted in her mind, as clear as if she were in the room. She saw Rhysand rise from his bed, leaving Feyre sleeping under the covers. 

Azriel’s shadows whirled to his ears, no doubt conveying the same warning.

“I should go,” Elain murmured, but made no move to leave. The necklace sparked and Elain saw Rhysand shutting his chamber door behind him.

“Yes,” Azriel murmured, taking her cheek in his hand and stroking his thumb along her soft lips. Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes fluttered, fighting the need to roll back.

Elain moved closer, lifting her head up to him. He breathed, sending his scent directly to her tongue. Her eyes shut, and her lips parted in a silent plea. The necklace sparked. Rhysand marched down the hall nearing the staircase.

“Now we’ve done it,” he whispered. The necklace sparked. She cringed from Rhysand’s glare at the top of the staircase. Her eyes were locked with Azriel’s golden irises, though she saw Rhysand as clearly as if the Mother had bestowed her another pair of eyes.

Bed. Go now, the shadows whispered, speaking directly to her for the first time.

Azriel nodded, encouraging her to hurry. Elain turned and swiftly headed to her room.

Once she was out of sight, Azriel turned to meet Rhysand’s furious gaze.

My office. Now, Rhys barked mind to mind.

Azriel groaned and begrudgingly headed upstairs, each step heavier than the last. realizing the night was far from over.

___

The voice of the High Lord resonated as Rhys banished Azriel. “Get out!” Rhys hated enforcing his power on his brothers, but in this case, he had no choice. They had been idiotically reckless. He could ignore their glances, their secret touches, even that undeniable scent, but bearing witness while Elain’s mate sleep doors away? He could no longer stand aside. In his study, he tore into Azriel and ordered him to keep away from Elain. Azriel wouldn't comply, but Rhys knew his brother well enough to know he would ensure they weren’t exposed again.

Azriel had been dealt with, but he was only half of the equation. Rhys brushed his hand through his hair. The duties of the High Lord were rarely easy. He could ask Feyre to speak to Elain, but he needed to elicit fear in her. She wanted them to stop coddling her? Well, it was time to bestow a healthy dose of fear in his sister-in-law. What they had done was dangerous beyond her comprehension, and it was time she understood.

Rhysand glided through the house to Elain's bedchamber. He flung the heavy wood door open wide without touching it, giving no warning or concern for common courtesy.

Elain rose swiftly, gasping when she realized it wasn’t Azriel marching in.

Rhys closed the door behind him, shutting them in. “Elain,” he began, his voice low and steady, though the underlying anger was evident. “We need to talk.”

Elain’s eyes widened, her breath quickening as she took a step back. “Rhysand, I—”

He cut her off with a raised hand. “How could you be so reckless? It could have been Lucien heading downstairs, and not me.”

“I didn’t—”

“You didn’t think,” Rhys interjected, his tone sharp. “And that’s exactly the problem. This isn’t about an obligation to a bond. It’s about your safety and the stability of this entire court. You can’t afford to be selfish.”

Elain’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment and fear. She opened her mouth to speak but found herself at a loss for words.

Rhys took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. “It’s time to make a choice, Elain. Accept or reject the bond.”

Elain swallowed hard, nodding slightly. “I’ve already made my choice… I just can't bear to hurt Lucien in that way.”

“Can you bear Azriel being killed?” Elain sucked in a breath, tears welling in her eyes.

“Lucien would never—”

“Elain!” The room shook as night expelled from Rhys’ form. 

She releases a tearful gasp, causing Rhysand’s voice to soften just a fraction. “I’m not saying this to be cruel, but you must grasp the gravity of your actions. If Lucien doesn’t hear the truth from you, he will believe Azriel ensnared you. The bond can drive men to madness. By law and honor, he will have every right to hunt Azriel down, to exact vengeance for the betrayal. He and his allies will seek retribution, their blades thirsty for Azriel’s blood, and they will not stop there. They will punish this court and its people if we fight back. Is that what you want?”

She shook her head, tears streaming down her delicate face. “Of course not. I’m sorry,” she whispered. The fear Rhys sought to instill was taking root.

Rhys sighed, some of his anger dissipating. “I don’t want apologies. Azriel is my brother, and I do this for him and for you. Handle the bond, or you leave me no choice but to send Azriel away.”

Elain whimpered. “Please don't. I’ll handle it.”

Rhysand studied her for a moment and nodded. He made to leave when he noticed the jewel on her necklace. With a low snarl, he approached, taking the pendant in his hand briefly before releasing it. “Great. A gift from Tamlin. Use this well.” With that, he turned and left the room, leaving Elain standing there, shaking. 

—

The covers felt suffocating as Elain tossed and turned all night, sweat slicking her body. Azriel never appeared, likely sulking at home, tossing in his bed just as she was. Their secret mingling had always felt exciting and mischievous, never had she considered it life-threatening. Azriel had known, tried to protect them. His privacy and shadows were so necessary, yet she had cast him away for it.

Naively, her only fear had been Lucien’s heartbreak. But what if he wasn’t just hurt but enraged? What if he sought retribution? What if he wouldn’t go down without a fight? She couldn’t live with Azriel’s blood on her hands. She wouldn’t.

Her mind raced, conjuring images of Lucien’s fury and the chaos that could follow. Azriel, fierce and unyielding, facing down Lucien’s wrath. The thought was unbearable. She clutched the sheets tighter, her heart pounding in her chest. No, she couldn’t let that happen. She had to make things right to save them both.

__

Lucien awoke to sunlight streaming in through the window. He chuckled, thanking the faerie wine for a sound sleep. This year’s holiday had gone well, much better than he had expected. Elain had been kind. Her speaking to him was already a vast improvement from last year, but he hadn’t expected to receive a gift. He dressed, admiring Elain’s blade once again before cinching it to his hip.

It was time to return home. He looked forward to reuniting with his strangely formed family. Jurian would no doubt be scribbling his plans on intricate maps in the shed. Vassa would be singing, dancing, or perhaps swimming in the lake. She would cheer when Lucien returned, happy to have someone join her as Jurian surely wouldn’t. Lucien rushed downstairs, searching to bid farewell to Elain.

The house was silent with those too drunk to wake. To his surprise, the kitchen was empty. He parted the curtains, searching outside. Through the frosted window, he spotted Elain sitting on the garden bench. Lucien cocked an eyebrow, surprised to see her facing the chill. A thin sheet of snow covered the ground, and she shivered despite wearing her heavy coat and scarf.

Concerned, he quickly made his way outside. The cold bit at his skin, but he ignored it. As he approached, he noticed the distant look in her eyes, her gaze fixed on some unseen point in the snowy garden.

“Elain,” he called softly, not wanting to startle her.

She turned to him, her eyes reflecting a mixture of surprise and sadness. “Lucien, I didn’t expect to see you this early.”

He smiled warmly, trying to infuse some cheer into the chilly morning. “I wanted to say goodbye before I left. Are you alright?”

Elain sighed, her breath visible in the cold air. “I just needed some fresh air, some time to think.”

Lucien sat down beside her, the snow crunching beneath his weight. They sat silently for a while, Elain fiddling with the necklace she was wearing. They sat in silence taking in the beautiful white landscape.

“Lucien?” she whispered, breaking the stillness. “Tell me about your lover. The one you lost all those years ago.”

His eyes widened in shock, “Jesminda?”

“Yes. What was she like?”

Lucien smiled, his eyes softening with the memory. “Jesminda was a trouble maker and cursed like a sailor. We had many adventures together, partly because she couldn’t stand being home for more than a day’s time. She hunted and danced and enjoyed being naked.” He blushed, clearing his throat. “Sorry. I just mean she was wild and full of life. I was lucky to have her.”

Elain gazed became distant as she thought. “She was nothing like me,” Elain whispered.

Lucien stammered, realizing what she had been fishing for. “You’re—”

“Does that bother you?” Elain pushed, “That we are so different?”

Lucien thought for a moment and sighed. “It confuses me.”

Elain nodded, biting her lip as if she wanted to say something more. Lucien didn’t know what to say, the silence between them growing uncomfortably heavy.

“What is it?” he asked gently.

“Nothing.” Elain smiled, shaking her head. “Thanks for coming for Feyre’s birthday. Safe travels home.”

Lucien nodded, standing up reluctantly, realizing he was being dismissed. “Take care, Elain.”

As he walked away, the crunch of snow under his boots the only sound, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his words had brought a deeper sorrow to her eyes. He glanced back once, seeing her still sitting there, lost in thought. 

Chapter Text

Weeks had passed since the Winter Solstice, its events casting a lingering chill over Velaris and Elain's mood. As she stared out of the frosted window, she scowled at her garden buried under snow. Her flowers, crops, and vines lay dead beneath the unforgiving cold. Sequestered indoors, she spent her days overheating in the kitchen. Nuala and Cerridwen watched with concerned gazes as Elain refused to leave, cooking breakfast, lunch, dinner, and an assortment of baked goods all day long.

At night, she would walk through the city to the base of the House of Wind, where Azriel would wait to fly her up—their act of deliberate disobedience against Rhysand’s order. Rhysand knew, of course. He watched but didn’t interfere as long as their relationship remained discreet. However, as the second month passed and Elain made no effort to speak to Lucien, his patience wore thin.

At dinner one evening, Rhysand leaned back elegantly in his chair, his leg crossed and a goblet held up, the picture of ease that didn’t touch his sharp brows. He stared past Feyre to Elain, whose gaze was fixed on her steaming bowl of soup. “And what of Lucien, Elain?” Rhysand purred. “I thought we had an understanding.”

Elain’s voice was distant and cold. “I will handle it. As swift as a blade, it will be done.” Her tone and vacant eyes reminded Feyre of Elain’s early days—the distant gaze, empty eyes, and murmuring of nonsensical rhymes. Feyre shot a pleading look at Rhysand, silently asking him to leave her be. Rhysand set his jaw but obliged, not pressing the matter further.

Elain didn’t attend training, further isolating herself in the house. She hadn’t seen Orla since their Winter Solstice shopping but communicated through conjured notes. Orla begged for a visit, but Elain blamed the weather for her distance. Truthfully, Elain couldn’t face the child while bearing the focus stone, yet she couldn’t stand to leave it behind either.

While lying beside Azriel one night, she asked, “Can another be crafted? One for Orla?”

Azriel shook his head, his expression serious. “It’s too dangerous, Elain. I could never bestow something so powerful to a child. Maybe when she’s older.”

Her heart sank, but she nodded in understanding. The stone was powerful, alive, and wicked. When it rested on her vanity, it would call to her while she roamed the house. From her bedroom to the nursery to the kitchen, Elain felt its watchful eye on her back, like a hunter aiming its bow, poised to strike. When it graced her décolletage, the stone transformed from enemy to ally. It hummed, promising Elain comfort and insights into all her questions.

Flashes of Lucien’s broken face, Azriel baring his teeth and extending his blade, Orla looking out to the white valley, searching, Nesta sparring by day and making love to Cassian by night, and Feyre’s screams invaded her mind. Elain tried to silence the stone, but the visions were relentless.

“Leave it here,” Azriel directed one night, guilt weighing on his chest for bestowing such a tormenting gift.

“It will still call to me. No matter how far I go, it finds me,” Elain cried.

“Not if it’s destroyed,” Azriel said, his hand tightening around the stone.

“No!” Elain pleaded, taking his hand into hers. “Yes, it torments me,” she began, ”but it belongs to me. No other stone will know me the way this one does. I can feel it.”

“Then you must tame it, my angel. Don’t fear it.” Azriel kissed away her tears and clasped the necklace back around her neck.

“Can you feel it?” Elain asked, gazing up at his pained face.

Azriel brushed his thumb over the stone. “I can’t.”

---

Hidden in Azriel’s bedroom, Elain twisted her necklace, watching the flecks of light dance around the dimly lit room. Azriel had left her to shower, battered from a day of intense sparring with Cassian in the training ring. Azriel had led the knife-fighting instruction with the Valkyries, showcasing his mastery of the art. Although he hadn't received a single slice, he had come close, dodging Cassian’s lunges by rolling in the dirt. Elain giggled when he appeared at the base of the steps covered in a layer of orange clay.

Laying in his bed sheets, she impatiently waited for Azriel to return, craving the sensation of his freshly cleaned body pressed against hers. The anticipation made her sigh, knowing he took his time in the shower on a good day. 

She played with the necklace that had so far eluded her control, the stone’s defiant energy pulsing against her skin. The stone felt alive, rebellious, and unwilling to submit. Determined, Elain sat up, the silk sheets rustling around her, and began speaking to the stone. It shuddered and shook like a defiant child, resisting her every command. Setting her jaw, she steeled herself, remembering Azriel’s words that echoed in her mind.

Tame it. Don’t fear it.

Elain breathed, settling her mind into the neutral state she had worked so long to master. The room seemed to silence as the stone roared to life.

The stone sparked, flashing the quickest view of three winged men sitting in a small, dark room. Then it was gone, and Elain viewed the blue interior of the bed chamber.

Why show me Rhys, Az, and Cassian? she wondered.

Orla’s instructions then echoed in her mind.

Close your eyes and focus.

She called to the stone again. It sparked in attention providing another sharp vision. The three winged men sat in a dark shop. The sound of footsteps echoed in the room. In unison, they looked up towards the sound.

The stone stopped, and Elain was again in Az’s room.

What is this? If you want to tell me something, then show me! she screamed in her mind.

Elain leaped off the bed, removed her socks, and planted her feet firmly on the cool tile floor. She swished the necklace around her neck with a flurry and clasped it in place. The stone illuminated again, vibrating progressively as if charging up from Elain’s warmth.

The stone lifted, pulling Elain upward. She clasped it into her hand, and a light flashed brightly, causing her mind to silence and her ears to ring.

The vision unfolded, happy at first. Nesta and two friends sat in a warmly lit room in their pajamas, behaving like children—jumping on the bed, throwing pillows, reading dirty books aloud, and eating like there was no tomorrow. Music buzzed, and laughter filled the space. Elain had never seen her sister so free and light.

Then shadows crept up the stairs to the door. Three winged men touched the door, ready to break it down. Elain gasped, realizing they were strangers.

Elain’s eyes widened, though she couldn’t escape the vision. The stone was in control and would not release her until the vision was complete.

The women sighed, laying down, ready to call it a night. The lights went out, and the silence of sleep filled the room. Suddenly, the heavy door was forced open and shattered. The men pounced, eliciting horrible, angry screams from the women. They fought and kicked, landing some solid contact, but the attack was too sudden. They were tied and knocked out one by one.

Elain’s scream finally left her mind and sounded from her mouth, though she was still frozen under the stone's control.

The water from the shower ceased, and lumbering steps raced up the hall.

The necklace still sang in her palm, and Elain remained within the vision. The men hoisted the women over their shoulders and carried them out of the shop, disappearing down the harsh, snow-filled street of a rugged mountain town.

---

Cassian heard Elain’s scream from the kitchen. He raced up the stairs to Azriel’s room, barging in just as Azriel emerged from the bathroom, sopping wet and holding a towel around his waist.

They scanned the room, their gazes locking on Elain. She hovered an inch off the floor, her eyes completely white, and her necklace floated upward, shimmering with a strange, eerie light.

Cassian rolled up his sleeves, prepared to pull her down, when Azriel yelled, “No, don’t touch her!”

Hearing his voice, Elain’s head turned toward him. Azriel’s eyes widened, meeting the soulless gaze of his beloved. He shook off the worry and stepped closer. “Elain, my angel. Can you hear me?”

Elain gasped softly, too soft a sound for the demon hovering before them.

“Come back to me, Elain,” Azriel commanded.

Slowly, Elain lowered her feet to the ground. As soon as her feet hit the solid surface, her eyes rolled back to their place, and the glowing aura around her faded. She wavered, stumbling drunkenly. In unison, they lunged, catching her before she fully fell to her knees. Crouched, she came to and began looking around the room eagerly.

Once she met both their eyes, her tears overflowed, and she cried, “They took them! Nesta and two others!”

Cassian jumped up, wild, enraged anger burning in his eyes, barely masking the stomach-churning panic. His fists clenched at his sides, muscles taut and ready to spring into action. Azriel’s gaze hardened, his mind honing in on the situation.

“Who took them, Elain?” Azriel asked urgently.

“Illyrians. They’re taking them,” she replied, her voice trembling.

Cassian's eyes blazed with fury and panic. "Where?!" he demanded.

“The Blood Rite,” Elain whispered, her words echoing hauntingly in the room.

Cassian stormed out, his footsteps thundering like war drums. With each step, his mind raced, envisioning the horrors Nesta would have to face.

Azriel turned to Elain, his shadows swarming. “We will get them back,” he vowed with menacing determination.

Chapter Text

Cassian and Azriel took to the sky, their wings cutting through the biting air as they dashed toward Windhaven. But they were too late. The house where Nesta had stayed was ransacked, a chaotic mess of overturned furniture and shattered belongings. Her scent, faint but unmistakable, trailed toward the largest mountain, toward Ramiel. As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, they picked up Elain and convened at the River House. Rhysand and Feyre were waiting, their faces shadowed with the weight of tragic news: nothing could be done. By the honor of Illyrian tradition, Nesta would have to survive the Rite on her own.

As the sun rose, Cassian, like a caged bear, roared and paced maniacally in the business wing of the River House. The uncertainty of what Nesta and the Valkyries would face was unbearable. Yet, what was worse was the knowing. He and his brothers had survived the Blood Rite, having faced cruel challenges, murdering several brothers, all to barely live to tell the tale.

“They are Valkyries. They passed the qualifying test. They can face this, Cass,” Azriel said coolly in the wee hours of the morning.

Cassian roared again, hating the rules of this horrid game, especially since some Irates had force them into it. He petitioned Rhysand and Feyre for hours, searching for loopholes or any way to drop in and get them out.

“They were forced! Those Illyrians' days are numbered. I hope they survive the Rite so I can get my hands on them. You are the High Lord, there has to be something you can do!” Cassian barked, shaking the walls of the River House.

Brushing a hand calmly through his hair, Rhysand sighed. “There’s nothing I can do, Cass. The Rite is protected by Illyrian law. Anyone who attempts to enter or leave before its completion will be hunted down and killed.” He weighed Cassian with a glance. “Whatever scheme you may have, scrap it. You are forbidden to enter.”

From rage came despair. After hours of shouting and pacing, Cassian fled to the living room, where he lay grumbling loudly to himself.

Elain worried for Nesta. If Cassian and Azriel were concerned, she knew it was bad. Cassian loved her sister, and she couldn’t bear to see the warrior’s despair. She slipped away unnoticed into the kitchen. Her necklace whirled and illuminated in her clenched hand. She should fear its power, having just had it take over her body, but now, with all she had learned about the Rite, she was angry and ready to command it to bend to her will.

The stone whirled and flashed. In her mind, she beseeched it to find Nesta. She could feel its pull as her mind’s eye soared to the mountains. She found herself hovering above a sea of sleeping Illyrian warriors, each adorned with armor and terrifying weapons. A rose-colored fabric shone like a single bloom in a field of black armor. Elain gasped. Nesta lay in her pajamas among the sleeping warriors.

Elain focused, realizing each moment was precious. Sensing the weight of her phantom body, she swiftly lowered herself down onto the floor, kneeling next to her sister’s sleeping form. As still as death, she lowered her face to hers and breathed, “Wake up, Nes.”

Nesta’s brows furrowed as Elain retreated out of sight and into her mind. A moment later, Nesta’s eyes opened wildly. She lifted herself up on her elbow and scanned the grounds. With a look of dread, she realized where she was. Stealthily, she rose and dashed for the nearby woods.

Elain watched as her sister began her quest to locate her friends. The Illyrians wouldn’t wake for another few moments, giving Nesta a head start. Elain returned to herself, feeling the necklace’s buzz go silent. The kitchen materialized around her. Azriel approached, having been watching over her the entire time.

“Good news?” he asked intently.

Elain sighed, catching her breath. “She’s okay…for now.”

The crisp snow crunched beneath her boots as she paced through the garden. The day was clear, the sun peeking through the clouds. Her white garden, which she so despised, was far more enticing than another moment in the house with Cassian. Rhysand had chosen today to reveal the bargain he and Feyre had made: if Feyre died, Rhysand would die. One would not live without the other. Elain was shocked but not surprised. Rhysand’s severity and desperation these past few months now made more sense. Cassian was enraged and had been scolding both Rhysand and Feyre for the past hour.

Unable to endure another moment of it, Elain donned her heavy coat, wool pants, and boots, and faced the horrible cold. Swiping snow off her bench, she sat and soaked in the silence and began praying to the Mother.

May the Valkyries find each other and return safely. Save Feyre and Rhysand. Bless the prince of the Night Court.

Her necklace awoke but fell silent as the side door slammed. Cassian ran to her, cheerful as a schoolboy.

“You can seeinto the Rite?!” he said, lifting Elain into his arms and dancing around. Elain shot Azriel a look, and he winked back. Azriel smoothly approached, stepping between the two and placing his warm palm on her chilled cheek.

“Rhys gave us an assignment. Would you care to join us?” he asked, smiling, knowing all too well this had been a long-time dream of hers.

“Please, Elain,” Cassian asked over Az’s shoulder. Cassian’s eyes were a silent plea. She was his window to Nesta, his only assurance they she was alive.

Elain looked between the two of them and sighed. “Alright,” she replied, suspicious that her true purpose on this mission was to calm Cassian.

Shivers ran up her spine as Azriel murmured in her ear, “Good, because I’m going to need your help.” He lifted her into his arms and took off into the sky.

It was night when they settled camp in the mortal lands. The canopy of trees shielded the clearing from snow, making the forest warm. Their fire illuminated the two tents the boys had fashioned. Elain blushed, realizing one was for Azriel and her to share.

Eris had been kidnapped by the mortal queen Briallynn. Rhysand sent Azriel and Cassian on this rescue mission to get him back. He suspected she might have one of the items of the Dread Trove or be very close to finding it. Azriel would travel through the shadows to see what he could learn.

Tonight, though, they would rest. "Nothing good can be found in the dark," they had said. Elain sat on a fallen log facing the fire when Cassian sat by her side. Azriel stood watchfully dressing their tent. 

Elain peered at her sister’s lover, his eyes glistening with anguish and worry. Tonight was the first night of the Rite. Many Illyrians died from lack of shelter or poor concealment. Some simply succumbed to the harsh elements, yet here they sat, warm by the fire, an uneasy contrast to the dangers Nesta faced.

Elain smiled shyly, clasping her necklace in her hand. With the other, she outstretched her palm to Cassian. He smiled kindly and took it into his, his grip firm and reassuring. The air around her whirled, and Cassian watched in awe as Elain closed her eyes, beseeching the stone to find her sister once again. The vision appeared in her mind as clear as a reflection. As she watched, she murmured aloud what she saw for Cassian.

“I see Nesta jumping into a river. There’s a Valkyrie floating away. She’s saved,” Elain whispered.

“What color hair?” Cassian asked urgently.

“Black.”

“Emerie,” he said proudly.

“Nesta carries her. They’re warming by a fire, in a cave. Safe.” Elain’s eyes fluttered and came into focus.

Cassian wiped the corner of his eye and kissed Elain’s cheek. “Thank you.”

Elain nodded and stretched to hide her discomfort.

“Ready for bed?” Azriel asked, his voice gentle as he approached them.

Elain nodded and rose. As she headed to the tent, Azriel walked past her to sit by Cassian. He gave her a reassuring look and murmured softly, "I need a moment with Cassian."

Elain nodded as she concealed herself in the warmth of the tent. The soft glow of the fire casting flickering shadows on the canvas walls. She could hear the low murmurs of the men outside, their voices a soothing hum against the backdrop of the night. As she settled into the nest of blankets, the steady rhythm of their conversation lulled her to sleep.

—

Elain lay atop a bed of blankets, her arms resting above her head, her hair fanning out like a reverse waterfall. She was moments from sleep when the tent zipper sounded. Azriel appeared, shirtless and smiling, his presence filling the small space with warmth. His hair fell on his forehead, relaxed from its usual slicked-back style, making him appear like a younger version of himself. The sight of him, so different from his usual composed demeanor, brought a small, tired smile to Elain's lips.

He crawled over her allowing his hand to trail up her side, tickling her hip to her shoulder. Elain took in a sharp breath glancing to the front of the tent. 

“Don’t worry” Azriel purred as he straddled her, “Cass is taking a walk”. 

Elain gave him a challenging look.

Azriel nipped her neck as his hands slide under her gown to her bare back. “Plus, he owes me one”.

Elain giggled, knowing Cassisan likely owed Azriel hundred of moments of privacy having been enjoying many an evening with her sister.

Elain reached for the seem of her gown, manuvering it between their bodies and off over her head. Her bare skin revealed, awoken the mountain of Azriel’s inseam. 

They lunged for one another, rolling and bucking their hips in unison as the fire cracked. A moment later, Az’s pants lay deflated by Elain’s ear. The tent shifted back and forth, drowning out the sound of forrest critters with low moans. In complete uninterupted bliss, they made love into the night. 

—

The next morning, the camp stirred to life under a pale dawn. Cassian awoke early and was busy by the fire, stirring a cauldron of oatmeal. The smell of the hearty breakfast filled the crisp morning air, mingling with the scent of pine and earth. Elain emerged from her tent, her cheeks still flushed from the company she kept through the night.

Cassian noticed and grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Good morning.”

“Morning” Elain said blindly taking a bowl unable to meet his eyes. 

Azriel emerged from the tent, appearing unusually relaxed. His posture, typically so rigid and disciplined, was now loose and easy. He served himself a generous portion of oatmeal, his casual demeanor turning Elain blush vibrant red.

Elain, eager to shift the focus, asked, “What’s the plan for today?”

Surprised, Azriel, turned to her. “Are you ready?” 

Elain nodded, her heart quickening. “Yes.”

Azriel handed her her necklace from his pocket. She had left it in the tent along with her nightgown. Her blush that had begun to cool, returned hot to the surface. 

“We don’t know where Eris is. My shadows are searching, but I’ve heard nothing. Can you use your powers to locate Eris? We need to exactly where he is.”

Taking a deep breath, Elain closed her eyes and concentrated on the stone. The world around her faded as a vision began to form in her mind’s eye. At first, she saw Lucien, his face alight with laughter and warmth. He gazed over a table of maps and spoke to a man who she realized must be Jurian. 

Realizing the stone was being defiant, she angrily pushed the image away, squeezing the stone with renewed determination. Wrong Autumn Prince. Reveal the elder brother. Reveal Eris to me.  

Slowly, a new scene emerged. Elain saw Eris being dragged into the queen’s castle. The image was clear, every detail sharp. She could hear Briallyn and her henchmen discussing their plans, their words coded and secretive, careful not to reveal much detail.

The vision faded, and Elain opened her eyes, the weight of her discovery heavy on her mind. Azriel and Cassian watched her intently, their expressions a mix of concern and anticipation.

“Eris is in the queen’s castle,” she reported, her voice steady despite the lingering frustration. “He was taken there two nights ago, but they will move him soon. They were very cautious not to mention where or when. They suspect spies.”

Azriel’s eyes darkened with resolve. “We need to move quickly.”

Cassian nodded, his jaw set with determination. “We’ll scout the castle, gather as much information as we can, and make a plan to extract him before they move him again.”

"We’ll surveil from the sky. Elain, the castle is not far, but I need you to watch over the camp. I need you to keep safe here," Azriel said hesitantly. He wasn’t fond of giving Elain orders, but he knew that if she was near, he wouldn’t be able to focus on the mission at hand.

"That’s fine. Stay safe," she replied, smiling to mask her fear for his safety.

Azriel nodded, pride swelling in his chest. He was proud of Elain—proud of her for honing her skills, her bravery, and her understanding of her role within the team. Her humility and dedication evident in every action.

As Cassian and Azriel took off into the sky, Elain watched them disappear into the clouds. She tidied up the camp and then sat near the fire, the warmth seeping into her bones. Her focus stone glistened as she turned it in her hand, its pulse dancing erratically and out of rhythm, begging for use but refusing to be tamed.

Chapter Text

The trees shuddered in the chill breeze, shaking wilted leaves to the forest floor. Elain lay across a fallen tree, following each leaf as it cascaded to the ground, her mind as restless as the winter wind. Three days had passed, each more uneventful than the last, and the weight of her inaction weighed heavily upon her. She sighed, feeling utterly useless when so much had gone wrong.

Cassian grew more worrisome by the day, pleading with Elain to check on Nesta’s progress. Nesta had found Emerie and Gwyn. The three were alive and united but not faring too well. Madja had practically moved into the River House, working tirelessly with an irritable Rhysand on a plan to safely birth his son. The cure was the key to not only saving the prince but the entire royal family of the Night Court.

By day, Azriel and Cassian surveilled the castle while Elain attempted to glean information from her stone. The stone was undeniably powerful but even more defiant. She begged the stone to reveal Eris, to show his whereabouts and future movements. Each attempt brought flashes of disturbing sights: Orla alone in the valley of foxtails, tears streaming down her round face; Rhysand looking utterly broken as Feyre’s shrill screams echoed; Lucien paddling restlessly in a vast lake. Each sight disturbing in its own way, yet none of Eris.

Elain sighed, closing her eyes, enjoying the cool wind brushing through her clothing. The sudden warmth of a kiss pressed against her forehead as Azriel joined her on the log. Elain smiled, shifting to her side to wrap her arms around his waist.

“Not fretting again, are we?” Azriel asked with his devilish side smile, his voice sending chills down her spine.

“Maybe,” Elain smiled. “Perhaps another distraction will clear my mind,” she said, her gaze lingering on his mouth.

Azriel's eyes lit up, remembering the sensation of their entangled forms from the morning. He leaned in, nuzzling her neck and whispered, “Happy to distract you,” before biting her neck playfully. Elain yipped, laughing while pushing him away.

Their laughter quieted by a deep grumbling cough. “I’m still here, you know,” Cassian said, plopping to the ground and shoveling lunch into his mouth with the enthusiasm of a man starved.

“Almost ready?” Azriel asked while scanning his belt. They both dawned their fighting leathers, geared for another day of surveillance.

Cassian nodded, his eyes gleaming with the hope that today would bring some action. Elain sighed, spinning her stone in her palm, hoping for the same. 

“You’ll learn to command it soon enough. Don’t worry,” Azriel said, golden flecks sparking in his kind eyes.

“Be careful,” Elain smiled half-heartedly. 

“I will.” Azriel kissed her swiftly before marching over to Cassian.

“I’ll be careful too, Elain. Don’t you worry,” Cassian said, rolling his eyes but smiling warmly. Elain chuckled while waving, as they took to the skies. 

As the sound of wings faded into the distance, Elain snapped her necklace around her neck. The stone buzzed quietly compared to her racing heart. She closed her eyes, willing the stone to show her something useful today. The cold wind howled through the trees, eerily echoing through the clearing as if to warn, Be careful what you wish for.

___

Elain dragged her bedding out of her tent and onto the forest floor. She balled up her and Azriel’s clothing along with a blanket and pillows forming a cozy platform. With a satisfied scoff, she sat on her makeshift throne. Crossing her legs and stilling her mind, she pushed away all her frets, focusing solely on Eris. 

“Show me Eris.” she commanded her stone.

Her stone vibrated, and light radiated as her mind darted away from her stilled body. She had only looked upon the Autumn prince a handful of times and wasn’t fully confident in the image of him she had crafted in her mind. Still, she focused. A flash and she was watching the Autumn prince approach her sisters, extending a hand. Flash. She watched Eris spin Nesta masterfully across the ballroom floor. He was easy to spot in the crowd, with his bright, fiery red hair. A shade all too familiar. Flash. An intricate wooden door opened, releasing a wall of steam. The steam cleared, revealing Lucien emerging from a shower, his red hair clinging to his muscled bare chest. Flash. Feyre smiled, taking Elain’s hand, tears falling from her face as she said, “Tell him I love him.” Flash. War raging on a vast battlefield. Flash. Elain peered down at her hand grasping Truth-Teller right before driving it into the King of Hybern’s neck. Flash. Blood pooled in her palms as she released the dagger.

Elain returned to her body with a loud, frustrated groan, snatching the necklace off her neck. Birds ran from the trees at the sound. 

“Why won’t you help me!” She threw it aggressively across the clearing. “Useless stone!”

Elain growled in frustration before settling back into her seat. I had power before the stone, I can do this without it, she scolded herself.

Her head throbbed as she felt for her powers. She hadn’t utilized them without the stone’s assistance since Azriel bestowed it. She was rusty, but at least her powers didn’t force such horrors on her.

She steadied her breath as best she could before pushing her mind outward. “Show me Eris,” she whispered.

Her mind traveled slowly through the world. There, from afar, she spotted Briallyn and Eris leaving the castle at sunset. They rode on horseback with a cavalry, unhurried and unbothered. Eris rode by her side, no crown in sight, nor shackles or chains.

A sharp spasm bolted through her head. Elain flinched as her mind retreated. She fought it, needing to see more, but her vision continued to fade away. Gasping, she grasped at anything she could.

The Queen. The Crown. Eris. The Prince of the Autumn Court. Red blazing hair.

Elain held firm, halting her mind’s retreat. It changed course, unveiling a new vision. There in the mist appeared a gothic home off a vast lake. She recognized it, having seen it in many visions. Lucien marked along the gravel heading to the back of the house. Elain’s mind throbbed having honed in on the wrong target. She groaned in defeat, releasing the hold on her mind, ready to return to her body. As she relaxed, to her surprise, she felt her feet touch the graveled ground. Her boots crunched as her weight settled. Lucien reeled, turning toward her. His furrowed gaze softened once he spotted her.

“Elain?” 

Elain gasped, realizing she had materialized. Quickly, she took off in a sprint in the opposite direction. The gravel slid beneath her steps, slowing her pace.

“Elain, stop! Are you alright? Please!” Lucien shouted, running after her.

Elain raced on, unsure where she would go. He reached her, grasping her shoulder as she cried out, wanting nothing more than to be back at camp. Suddenly, they were moving, and in an instant, they slammed onto the forest floor, feet apart from one another.

They groaned, propping themselves up. Lucien surveyed the camp, chuckling to himself. “You didn’t tell me you learned to winnow.”

“I didn’t,” Elain breathed in disbelief, scanning the clearing and noticing she had landed back on her bedding, just as she had left it.

“Well, congratulations. You wanted to get away from me so badly that you achieved your very first winnow,” Lucien said, brushing off his tunic and rising to his feet.

Elain pushed off the blanket to rise when her hand bunched around her nightgown and Azriel’s sweatpants. Her eyes widened, and her throat grew dry.

“I guess I should say, you’re welcome,” Lucien teased, approaching and extending a hand.

Elain took it and rose, subtly kicking the blanket away with the back of her boot, praying he wouldn’t notice. She dragged Lucien toward Cassian’s tent across the clearing.

Lucien arched a brow as he was pulled forward. “Are you alright, Elain? What were you doing at the lake?”

Elain’s mind raced, plotting how to get Lucien away before he scented Azriel on her. “You should go.”

“What?” Lucien scoffed, pulling away from her grasp.

“Go, Lucien! I didn’t mean to see you. It was a mistake, and I just want you to forget it happened and leave,” Elain begged desperately.

A shadow scurried from the corner of Elain’s eye before Lucien grasped her shoulders, holding her in place.

“What’s going on, Elain?” Lucien demanded, hunching his head to meet her gaze. “You brought me here, and you have the—” The fire in Lucien’s gaze slowly dimmed until it grew cold. His nose flared as his gaze moved from her face to the tent behind her. Without a word, he released her and slowly stepped away, his eyes never leaving her tent.

“Lucien, I—” Elain’s voice cracked as her hand covered her mouth.

Lucien’s eyes lowered to the ground. “You what?”

Tears pooled in her eyes as she shook her head, not knowing what to say.

“I didn’t ask to be your Mate either, Elain,” Lucien said coldly. “But I trust the Cauldron enough to give it a chance. You’ve never given this a chance.”

Elain sucked in a ragged breath, the weight of his words pressing down on her. “There’s no love between us, Lucien,” she whispered.

“Not yet,” Lucien murmured.

“I’m nothing like Jesminda,” Elain cried. “We can barely tolerate one another. What kind of life is that?”

“You haven’t even tried, Elain!” Lucien roared, pointing disgustedly at her. “You don’t have to try when it’s the right person. Can’t you remember?” Elain explained desperately, “A love that’s not tried, but captures you. As wild as a woman who enjoys being naked or as haunting as a man who lives in the shadows.”

Lucien’s eyes clouded with memories. He shook his head and warned, “Whoever he is, he will never love you as I would.”

The air stirred as Azriel and Cassian winnowed into the clearing. “Get away from her!” Azriel growled, hunched in a fighting stance, Truth-Teller extended in his grasp.

“Both of you back off!” Cassian marched forward, arms extended to separate them.

Lucien’s eyes immediately honed in on Azriel, realizing the scent. His face grew red in primal fury, betrayed by what had transpired right under his nose.

“Back off, Cass,” Azriel sneered, his shadows whirling angrily at his shoulders.

“Stop this! Both of you!” Cassian shouted.

“This is between us, Cassian.” Lucien pulled the jeweled fox blade from his belt. “Mated, I call the duel.”

To Elain’s horror, Cassian stepped away, horror filling his eyes.

Rhysand’s warning echoed in her mind. Make a choice, Elain.

Lucien lunged at Azriel, whose blade collided with his, casting a spark in the air.

“Stop!” Elain cried, but they continued.

Lucien extended his blade forward, aiming for Azriel’s neck.

Can you bear Azriel being killed?

Azriel darted in time, lunging for Lucien’s ankle.

One must draw blood from the other.

The sounds of clanking steel rang through the clearing. Each ring was a warning that each moment could be either’s last. Elain thought quickly, remembering the plan she had crafted after Rhysand’s warning on Winter Solstice. There was no time to hesitate; it was now or never.

Elain sprinted between them. As she approached, she closed her eyes, fearing the sharp slice of a blade. Firm arms enveloped her, guiding her away from the tussle. Seeing her approach, Azriel disregarded the duel, quickly enveloping her to shield her from Lucien’s blow. 

Lucien staggered back, halting his killing strike, as not to wound Elain. Gaining their balance, they all looked wildly to Elain.

“Elain, are you mad?” Azriel murmured sternly. “Never do something like that again. Please,” pain clear in his face. 

“I’m sorry,” Elain said calmly, kissing Azriel’s scarred hand before taking away Truth-Teller, “but I will not allow either of you to die on my behalf.”

Azriel’s brows furrowed, but Elain gave him a pointed glance, beseeching him to trust her.

He allowed her to move toward Lucien, though his stance was alert and watchful.

Lucien stiffened at her approach.

“Give me your blade, Lucien,” she demanded.

Lucien glared at Azriel, clenching the fox blade tighter.

“Fine.” Elain raised  Truth-Teller to her neck. The men stirred, but she tilted the blade. “Another step, and I slice. Neither of you will die for me. I couldn’t live with it, so I simply won’t.”

“If it’s not today, it will be another,” Lucien said darkly to Azriel.

“No, it won’t,” Elain said firmly. “Give me your dagger, Lucien. Give it now, or I’ll cut. I mean it.”

Elain extended her free hand. Lucien hesitated but conceded and offered her the dagger she had gifted him. Elain swiftly grasped the dagger by the blade, slicing deeply into her palm. She gasped in pain and released the blade, as blood bloomed across her palm.

Lucien looked horrified, his face pale as he watched the blood drip from Elain’s hand. Azriel and Cassian immediately tensed, ready to avenge her, but Elain spread her arms, keeping them at bay.

With a steady breath, she looked to Lucien, her eyes locked onto his. The blood from her palm now coating her fingers. “I release you, Lucien,” she said softly, yet with unwavering resolve. “I pray you find a love that’s true and bewitching. Our bond is broken.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with finality. Lucien’s eyes widened, the reality of her words sinking in. The air around them seemed to ripple with the force of her declaration. Anguish and heartbreak were clear on Lucien’s face. The air stirred around them as the wind howled. Lucien and Elain’s eyes fell shut, the bond linking them forcefully snapping apart. When they opened their eyes, they felt lightheaded and weary. They fell, Elain caught in Azriel’s arms and Lucien collapsing to his knees.

As Lucien steadied himself, he looked up to see Azriel cradling Elain tenderly. The shadow singer's expression was one of fierce protectiveness and love as he scanned her wound. He whispered sweetly to her, distracting her from the stinging of her palm. Her chocolate-doe eyes called to his, and a soft smile graced her full lips when his eyes met hers.

Lucien’s breath hitched, his vision blurring as he witnessed them with clear eyes. For the first time, he saw them. For the first time, he understood.

Chapter Text

Packed up, Elain crossed the clearing, retrieving the stone she had cast aside in her anger. Defiant though it was, it had shielded her from sight. If she had been more patient, perhaps the bond-breaking would not have been so brutal. She sighed, her heart heavy as she made her way to the gilded fox blade Lucien had left behind.

When the bond snapped, Lucien rose from the forest floor, his eyes filled with anguish. “Sorry, Miss Archeron, for having wasted your time,” he whispered, glancing at Elain a final time before winnowing away. The blade, still stained with her blood, lay abandoned on the ground.

Azriel had pulled her into his arms, his kiss fierce and liberating. He, too, was freed—free to love her without the constraints of politics or propriety. Elain was unmated, free to love as her heart desired. She should have felt elation, but unease gnawed at her soul. She gathered her belongings, preparing to return to the River House, to leave this clearing, to leave Azriel, needing desperately to be alone.

“What’s wrong, Elain?” Azriel's voice was a tender whisper, filled with concern.

“Nothing,” Elain forced a smile, though it did not reach her eyes. “I just need to be alone for a while. Eris and the queen move tonight. Be wary. He didn’t look like a prisoner.”

Azriel nodded, his hand rubbing the back of his neck with hesitation. “Are you regretting your choice?”

“No,” Elain replied firmly. "I just wish it didn’t cause such anguish.”

Azriel watched her, his face stoic as his shadows bobbed around his shoulders. He bit his cheek before asking, “May I take you home?”

“No, I can manage on my own,” she said. With her necklace tied around her neck, the dagger in hand, and her bag slung across her back, she focused, picturing the grand entrance of the River House. The sound of the Sidra’s gentle flow and the soft mist it carried filled her mind.

“Be safe,” Azriel called softly.

“You too,” she whispered before the world shifted around her as she winnowed home.

Elain arrived back at the River House, moving silently and swiftly to the library, locking herself within. The room, lined with towering shelves of ancient tomes and softly glowing lanterns, offered her a sanctuary of solitude. She curled up by the hearth, weeping, her sobs echoing through the vast, silent space. The walls, as if attuned to her heart's desires, contained her cries, concealing them from those about the house. Hours passed, the weight of the day pressing heavily upon her chest. She longed for bed but couldn't summon the will to move.

As night fell and the moonlight cast silver beams through the windows, a gentle knock sounded at the door. Elain called to enter, rubbing her eyes in a futile attempt to reduce their puffiness. Feyre stepped in, visibly uneasy, her pregnant form casting long shadows in the dim light.

“Elain,” Feyre began her voice a fragile whisper that barely disturbed the quiet. “I need to talk to you.”

Elain stood, rushing to her sister’s side and guiding her into the room. Feyre’s lip quivered, and her hands trembled in Elain's grasp, the sensation chilling Elain to her bones. “Feyre, what’s wrong?”

Tears streamed down Feyre’s face, glistening like fallen stars. “Rhys and Madja have torn through all the records of medicine, no non-illyrian mother has survived a illyrian birth.”

Elain’s heart fell to her stomach. “Feyre—”

“I can feel it, Elain. His wings are scraping my womb, and it’s only a matter of time.” Feyre drew in a sharp breath. “Nothing can be done, and I will die. And if I die, Rhysand dies. I would have never made the bargain had I known.” She blubbered, tracing the intricate tattoo atop her heart.

The room seemed to shrink around her, the weight of Feyre’s words pressing down like a vice. “There’s still time, Feyre.”

Feyre shook her head, her tears falling freely, sparkling in the dim light. “I’m going to use all my power to save him,” Feyre said to her belly, “but he’s going to be alone in this world. He will lose both his foolish parents.”

Elain’s eyes filled with tears. “No, Feyre. Don’t talk like that.”

“If I don’t make it,” Feyre continued, her voice breaking, “Rhysand and I want you and Azriel to take him as your own. Do this for me, Elain.”

Elain’s voice caught. “Feyre, stop this now.” Her sister had presented her greatest fear before her—a fate she had desperately avoided looking into—a fate Azriel fought so adamantly to shield her from. 

“Promise me, Elain!” Feyre’s desperate screech echoed in the warm, hearth-lit room. "I can rest easier knowing he will be cared for,” she whispered, her eyes pleading.

Her sister, ever so powerful and cunning, even as a human, stood on wobbling legs, face gaunt and weak. Her belly, bold and protruding, though she had months until labor. Elain had not wanted to see, but it was evident that what Feyre said was true. As her son grew stronger, she grew weaker.

Unfeeling, Elain nodded. The enormity of the promise was an unbearable weight pressing down on her lungs. “I promise.”

A tickle crawled up her forearm. Glancing down, Elain watched in horror as an Illyrian band branded its mark just before her elbow. The design, black and claiming on her pale skin, contracted the promise.

Feyre’s tears streamed down her face as she kissed Elain on the cheek, hugging her tightly. The sisters embraced as the glow of the fire danced across the walls. In her arms, Elain sang a silent prayer to the Mother to spare her sister and the prince growing in her womb.

“His name is Nyx.” Feyre pulled away, smiling through her tears as she took Elain’s hand. “Tell him I love him.”

Elain’s chest tightened, air unable to fill her lungs. She had seen this, one of the horrible visions from the stone at camp. The stone was powerful, defiant, but true.

“I will. Excuse me.” Elain fled the room, gasping for air. She darted into the freezing night, sucking in the chill air to fill her lungs. The Mother had bestowed too many horrors and demanded too much for Elain in a single day. She ran along the icy river walk as if running from her fate. The cold bit at her skin, her breath visible in the frosty air. She ran until she hunched over, catching her breath. This portion of the Sidra was overgrown with dried roots cascading down the bridge. The darkness and misting river were ominous in the night, a single street light weakly lighting the path. Suddenly, a quiet pitter-patter sounded down the walkway. Elain stepped back, eyes widening as the sound grew stronger. She prepared to scream when she saw a small shadow emerge from the fog. Orla shifted the hood off her head, her fur coat black under the dim light. 

She scanned their surroundings with a sneer. “You shouldn’t be out alone this late.” 

A wild, relieved laugh escaped Elain as she ran to the child. She held Orla tightly, the warmth of her coat wonderful in the terrible cold. “Orla, I’ve missed you so much.”

“Miss you too, Elain. Let’s get out of here, though,” Orla said, wincing in Elain’s tight grip.

Orla revealed the farm's coordinates, and Elain winnowed them there on her own. They retired to bed, and Elain fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

The next morning, Elain and Orla sat in the warm grass of the farm, sunlight casting a gentle glow over the fields. The scent of earth and livestock filled the air, soothing Elain’s frayed nerves.

“I’m sorry for being away so long. I had some business to settle,” she murmured.

“I know,” Orla chuckled, tapping the side of her eye mischievously. “I’ve been watching.”

Elain pinched her playfully.

Orla shook her head, her eyes wise beyond her years. “I understand. Being a seer comes with certain burdens.”

The child looked at Elain’s necklace, the stone gleaming softly in the morning light. “How are you handling your stone?”

Elain scoffed. “I’ve yet to master it. Obviously, I still require your teachings.”

Orla giggled and took the stone into her palm. Its power ignited between them, glowing with a soft hue Elain hadn’t encountered before. An idea bloomed clearly on Orla’s face. “It refuses to yield to one, but perhaps it will for two. Is there something you want to see?”

Her heart called out to the two she loved most dearly. Both in terrible danger. “I need to know that my sisters will survive their fates.”

Orla’s eyes darted from the stone to Elain. Her brows lifted in wicked excitement. “That’ll work. Shall we?”

Elain nodded, matching Orla’s determination. She grasped Orla’s hand over the stone. Together they closed their eyes and focused.

“Nesta,” Elain whispered.

Lavender smoke enveloped them, transporting them to a vast mountain. Nesta stood, baring her teeth at a group of Illyrian warriors. Up ahead, two Valkyries ascended the mountain. Elain winced but watched as Nesta took down each warrior one by one. Orla cheered, punching the air playfully. The Valkyries reached the summit, waiting for Nesta. When the final warrior fell at her hand, Cassian winnowed before her. He took her into his arms, and they kissed passionately. Orla winced while Elain covered her little eyes.

“Let’s go,” Elain whispered, smitten. They retreated from the vision, comforted that in Cassian’s care, her sister and the Valkyries would survive the Rite.

“One down, now the other,” Elain assured, squeezing the focus stone.

“The High Lady,” Orla revealed.

Lavender smoke enveloped them, transporting them to Feyre’s bedroom. The scene before them was one of profound struggle—Feyre birthing and dying, her face contorted in pain. Elain flinched, but Orla’s hand in hers was a steadying anchor.

“We’ll get through it together,” Orla assured her.

Elain watched her future self at Feyre’s side, blotting her forehead with a cool towel. Her gaze darted desperately to the doorway.

Suddenly a form entered the room, glowing in golden light and halting time. They watched, amazed, unbelieving of the miracle working before them. When the glow disappeared, Feyre held Nyx in her arms, the baby cooing and babbling happily. The vision began to fade as a clock struck seven times, the sounds fading with each chime. Unsaid but somehow known, the date swirled in Elain's mind as she returned to her form at the farm.

Her irises rolled back in place as she became ever-present. “I have to go,” she said, rising and racing down the meadow.

Orla danced, releasing a carefree cheer. She jumped and cupped her hands, shouting wildly after her. “You’ve got this, Elain! I believe in you! Show no mercy!”

Chapter Text

Her feet flattened the soggy soil of the damp garden as she dashed inside, hoisting up her skirts. Each step pulled earth from the wet ground, the remnants of the melted snow clinging to her boots. The pristine white marble foyer seemed to hiss in protest as her muddied footsteps sloshed up the stairs, leaving a trail of dark, murky footprints in their wake.

“Nuala! Cerridwen!” Elain shouted, her voice ringing through the grand, empty hallways like a clarion call. She sprinted down the corridor to Feyre’s chambers, her heart pounding in rhythm with her hurried steps. From the opposite entry, Rhysand turned the corner, his posture composed and hands clasped behind his back. His violet eyes were serene until they met Elain’s frantic gaze.

“It’s time,” she managed to say, the words barely escaping her lips before she pushed open the heavy wooden door and entered her sister’s room.

Rhysand’s face fell, a rare glimmer of fear darkening his violet eyes. It was too early; the baby wasn’t supposed to arrive for months. He rushed in after Elain, his voice booming through the halls, “Get Madja. Now!”

Feyre and Rhysand’s room was vast and regal, the very essence of grandeur. Elain searched, but Feyre was not in her usual seat. A clamor from the back corner drew her attention. Elain turned towards the lavish bathroom and spotted Feyre, crouched over in anguish, her hand braced against the wall. Painful breaths hissed through her teeth like the wind through ancient trees.

Elain quickly moved to her side, looping an arm around her sister to support her. “Something’s wrong!” Feyre cried, pulling her hand from her abdomen. Flecks of blood freckled her palm, as crimson as the roses that once bloomed in their mother’s garden.

“Feyre, darling,” Rhysand whispered, his voice breaking with dread, the words a fragile thread of hope.

Focused, Elain took her sister’s trembling arms and hooked them over her shoulders, guiding her towards the bed. “You’ll survive, Feyre. You and the baby,” Elain declared, her voice filled with a stern conviction that brooked no argument, a command to the very fabric of fate.

Rhysand’s eyes bore into hers, searching for any glimmer of truth in her words. As they gently laid Feyre on the bed, she groaned and curled into a ball, her body a fragile shell around the life within.

“She will?” Rhysand murmured to Elain, his voice barely audible, too afraid to hope, yet too afraid to surrender to despair.

Feyre let out another anguished grunt, a sound that echoed the nightmares that haunted Elain’s sleep. The dread she felt was mirrored in Rhysand’s eyes, as if they both had been plagued by the same dark visions.

The door burst open as Madja entered, her presence a mix of calm authority and urgency. Nuala and Cerridwen followed, carrying a basin of water, their faces pale and anxious like spectral attendants.

“Step aside, child,” Madja commanded, her voice firm and unyielding as the ancient oaks. Elain retreated to the corner, her eyes flicking to the ornate clock on the wall. It was five o’clock, and the shadows in the room seemed to lengthen and deepen, casting an eerie pallor over everything.

Feyre gasped, her breaths coming in sharp, squealing bursts, as Madja traced a hand over her swollen abdomen. “His wing sliced the womb,” Madja declared, her voice heavy with the gravity of the situation, each word a tolling bell in the silence.

Elain’s heart pounded, a cold dread settling over her like a thick fog. The room felt darker, the air thick with tension and fear. She watched as Madja worked, knowing that things would get much worse before they got better. 

—

Azriel and Cassian moved like shadows behind Briallyn and Eris, the strange landscape around them shifting with each step. The air was thick with smog, the ground echoing eerily underfoot, reminiscent of the bleak middle lands. The two warriors exchanged glances, still unsure whether Eris was under the crown's control or had turned traitor. For Azriel, one thing was certain—trouble awaited them. Yet, it was his curiosity that propelled him forward, driving him to uncover the mastermind behind this dark play. The cast of characters was as strange as it was unnerving: two Illyrians, the heir to the Autumn Court, and a mortal queen.

Through the mist, a lake materialized, its waters unnaturally still. Eris halted, but Briallyn, cloaked and smiling with sinister satisfaction, glided forward, her steps eerily slow as she approached the water’s edge. A sharp breath hissed through Eris’s teeth as he stood rigid and cold, his body betraying the tension he felt. Briallyn continued until she hovered over the lake. With a swift motion, she removed her hood and let it fall to the ground—revealing that no one was wearing it.

It was a trap.

Azriel and Cassian moved back to back, their eyes scanning the clearing as they prepared for the inevitable. An ambivalent voice rose from the lake, its deep, calm tones sending a shiver down their spines, chilling them to the bone.

“Cass, run!” Azriel shouted, grabbing Eris and winnowing away in a flash.

Cassian tried to follow, but he found himself rooted to the spot, his muscles locked in place. He gritted his teeth, pouring every ounce of strength into moving, but it was no use. A low chuckle echoed through the clearing, drawing Cassian's eyes to Briallyn, who now stood behind a tree, the crown gleaming atop her head. Cassian was helpless, ensnared by her power.

Azriel’s feet touched down hard at the entrance of Mor’s grand estate, an angry roar ripping from his throat. Mor dashed down the marble stairs, her nose scrunched in irritation.

“Why’d you bring him here!” she groaned.

Azriel scanned the grounds, but Cassian was nowhere to be seen. “They have Cass.”

“Who?”

“Briallyn. Koschei. It doesn’t matter. He needs help!”

“There’s no helping,” Eris rasped, his eyes wild and haunted. “They have the crown.”

With Truthteller gripped tightly in his hand, Azriel grabbed Eris by the collar, pressing the blade against his throat. “What happened? If you lie, I will know, and you will lose your head. Speak, you bastard.”

A pained smirk crossed Eris’s face. He glanced at the blade, then at Mor, who stood with her arms crossed, impatience clear in her eyes. “They captured me about a week ago. I’ve been under the crown’s power, moving from place to place. I didn’t know where I was or how long it’s been. I haven’t broken our alliance.”

Azriel shook him; his brows furrowed in suspicion. “How—”

“Look at me!” Eris pleaded, his voice cracking. Dark circles bruised his eyes, and his skin was dirty and unkempt, a stark contrast to the pristine prince he once was. But it was his eyes that told the truth—they moved sluggishly, out of focus, as if weakened by ancient magic that had stripped him of control.

Slowly, Azriel released him, the blade lowering. “Where did they take him?”

Eris’s gaze dropped. “The Blood Rite. This… this was all for Nesta. It was all planned—the kidnapping, the Rite, Cassian. They want the High Lady’s sister.”

Azriel sighed, stretching his neck as he tucked away his dagger. The sky was painted in shades of pink and orange, far more beautiful than the grim lake they had escaped. There was less than an hour until sundown. One hour left of the Rite. And Azriel could do nothing but wait, hope, and pray that his brother and the Valkyries could survive a few more moments on Ramiel.

"Az," Mor called grimly, "We have another problem."

---

“The child is trapped in the birth canal. He won’t survive the constraint much longer,” Madja announced, wiping sweat from her brow.

Feyre gasped, her grip tightening on Rhysand’s hand on her left and Elain’s on her right.

“Save him, Madja,” she cried, desperation thick in her voice.

“My lady, you will bleed profusely. You won’t survive it,” Madja warned, her eyes flicking to Rhysand. “You must consider severing the child to save the mother.”

“No!” Feyre snapped, her voice filled with fierce determination.

“Feyre—” Rhysand began, tears pooling in his eyes.

“Get him out now!” she cried, her voice breaking.

Tears streamed down Rhysand’s face as he buried his head in Feyre’s hair, unable to bear the thought of losing her. His skin was uncomfortably hot, the room stifling, the tension unbearable. But then, almost unnoticed, a soft warmth bloomed on top of his hand. He glanced up to find Elain’s hand resting gently atop his. She captured his gaze, nodding with quiet assurance, her words echoing in his mind.

You’ll survive, Feyre. You and the baby.

---

Cassian touched down on a steep mountain slope, the frost biting into his skin as the wind whipped viciously across his face. He knew this place, having conquered it with his brother many moons ago.

“Cassian?”

He whirled around, his heart leaping at the sight before him. There was Nesta, standing amidst a cluster of dead warriors, her gaze locked on him. Though she was battered, exhaustion etched into her features, she was the most gorgeous creature he had ever laid eyes on.

He rushed to her, capturing her mouth in a fierce kiss, squeezing her tightly against him. She sighed with relief, nestling into his warmth. She had survived the Rite. She was alive and safe in his arms. Or so he thought.

A dark chuckle sounded behind him, sending a chill down his spine. Braillyn stepped forward, the crown gleaming atop her head. Cassian’s eyes widened as sharp pinpricks crawled up his neck, his muscles growing heavy as if weighed down by iron.

His arms began squeezing Nesta tighter and tighter.

“Cassian?” she cried, her eyes widening in alarm as she looked up at him. His eyes were glassy, and he didn’t ease his grip.

Braillyn chuckled again, capturing Nesta’s attention.

“Why are you doing this? Why don’t you want peace?” Nesta demanded, her voice shaking.

“What I want is retribution. What I want is power. What I want is the Trove,” Braillyn cooed, her voice laced with eerie serenity.

“I don’t have the Trove here!” Nesta snapped, struggling against Cassian’s tightening hold.

“You can summon it. The objects will answer to you. And you will hand them to me,” Braillyn said, her smile widening.

Cassian fought against the crown’s power, his voice barely a whisper as he managed to push out a single word. “Don’t.”

Braillyn shot him a surprised look, and his mouth snapped shut. Yet the glassiness in his gaze had cleared.

“You will trade me the Trove for your mate’s life. Summon the Trove, and let us be done with this mess,” she commanded, her tone dripping with false sweetness.

Nesta gazed into Cassian’s eyes, then stared down Braillyn. “No.”

The sneer dissipated from the queen’s lips. “Then I shall convince you.”

Cassian’s grip tightened around her throat, lifting her off her feet. Nesta fought desperately, but she was powerless against his strength.

“If you kill me, you’ll never find the Trove,” she rasped, her voice strained.

“There are other ways, child. And I grow bored,” Braillyn sneered.

Nesta looked into Cassian’s eyes, his body imprisoned by the crown’s hold, but his eyes shone with fear, pain, and love—a love for her that was unrelenting.

“You’ll never collect the Trove. Never,” Nesta called out, returning Cassian’s loving gaze.

The queen bit down on her lower lip, releasing an aggravated groan. “So be it. Kill!” she commanded.

Cassian pulled a knife from his belt, his hand trembling as he held it over his head, poised to strike. His hand shook furiously, fighting the magic that ensnared him. He met Nesta’s gaze, her eyes filled with love and forgiveness, prepared to take the blow. But Cassian could never harm her. With a final surge of defiance, he plunged the knife into his own chest, the blade tearing into his skin, piercing his heart. The queen had commanded a kill, but did not specify whom.

Nesta roared in agony, the mating bond shuddering under the blow. She bellowed, letting her magic rage, releasing every ember of power she had. The fire consumed Braillyn, erasing her from existence.

Cassian collapsed, the crown tumbling to the ground, freed from the queen’s control.

The hour struck, and Azriel and Mor appeared before them.

Their relief was short-lived as Mor pushed forward, her voice urgent, “It’s Feyre."

 ___

“Feyre, darling! Don’t close your eyes. Look at me!” Rhysand shouted, his voice trembling as it echoed through the house.

Tears streamed down his face as he looked desperately to Elain. She had promised they would survive—Feyre and the baby both. But now, as he watched Feyre’s strength waning, he felt the cruel sting of doubt. Was this some cruel joke? A false comfort in their darkest hour?

Sweat beaded on Elain’s neck, her breath shallow as she glanced at the clock, watching the seconds tick by. She knew what was to come—had seen it in her visions. She had faced it head-on, certain they would survive. But what if she was wrong? The weight of that possibility bore down on her, tightening her chest.

She rose to her feet, her gaze fixed on the bedroom door, willing the moment to arrive, forcing herself to be ready for what was to come.

“Elain!” Rhysand’s voice cut through the air, filled with desperation as Feyre’s cries of agony grew wilder.

The door flung open, and Nesta, Cassian, Mor, and Azriel entered, only to freeze in place, their faces twisted in anguish at the horrific scene before them.

“It’s time. Go into her mind and take the pain away,” Madja murmured to Rhysand, her voice calm but insistent.

“Feyre, darling—”

“No, Rhys. No goodbyes,” Feyre whispered weakly, the numbness creeping over her body, a welcome relief from the relentless pain.

Madja moved quickly, pulling up Feyre’s shift, her knives at the ready. The room was deathly silent, the air thick with dread as the healer worked with swift, practiced precision. Moments later, the child was removed, wrapped in a small blanket, and placed into Mor’s waiting arms. But the too-small child lay lifeless and silent.

Feyre’s silence mirrored that of her child, and Rhysand’s heart shattered as he roared in terrible agony. Cassian and Azriel rushed to restrain him, their own grief barely contained as they tried to calm him.

Elain, her hands trembling, reached out and took Nesta’s hand, pulling her sister’s attention from the maelstrom of emotions swirling around them. Nesta had been lost in thought, her mind racing, considering the impossible.

Elain nodded to her sister, her voice steady with quiet conviction. “Do it, Nes. It will work.”

Nesta didn’t hesitate. She left the room, only to return moments later, cradling the three elements of the Dread Trove—the mask, the harp, and the crown. The room fell into a hushed stillness as she approached Feyre’s bedside. With a cool, measured breath, she struck the harp, its haunting note reverberating through the air as time itself froze.

The room was bathed in a golden light, frozen in time by Nesta’s magic. Elain took a cautious step, testing the limits of the enchantment, and found she could move freely while the others remained frozen, paused in time. The focus stone at her neck glowed and buzzed against her skin, attuning her to the powerful magic at play.

In the stillness, Nesta wrapped Feyre in her arms, making peace with the Mother, the Cauldron, and, most importantly, with her sister. Elain’s heart swelled with pride as she witnessed Nesta’s walls crumble, allowing the love she had always deserved to finally wash over her. It was a moment of pure grace, a moment that marked the end of their rivalry.

Nesta bartered with the Mother, offering her own power in exchange for the survival of the High Family of the Night Court. The golden glow slowly faded, and time began to flow once more. When it did, Feyre and Nyx lay warm and healthy, united together in Rhysand's arms, just as Elain had envisioned.

Chapter Text

Spring had settled over Velaris, breathing life back into Elain’s garden. Beneath the overgrown willow tree, canopied by vines that wove intricate lattice patterns overhead, Elain lounged on a picnic blanket. The sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting diamond-shaped rays onto the grassy floor. Nyx cooed softly, bundled in a woolen black onesie. His tiny fingers clung to Elain’s, his wings curling inward protectively like a cocoon, keeping him secure on his back.

“Are we enjoying the breeze, little prince?” she sang softly, her voice a gentle melody carried by the spring air.

The High Lord and Lady were engaged in a business meeting—or so they had told Elain. Whether it was truly business or pleasure, Elain didn’t mind; she would accept any excuse to spend time with her nephew. Nyx was still so small, barely a month old, yet his presence had already woven a spell over the entire household and, she imagined, the entire court. Gifts still arrived at the River House, each more lavish than the last, spoiling the child. Feyre and Rhysand beamed with pride, carrying him from room to room, even holding him through his sleep, rather than laying him down.

Nyx was a miracle, a blessing from the Mother herself. His skin was a rich, warm hue like Rhysand’s, his dark hair a soft crown. But it was Feyre’s eyes that shone in his little face—soft blue-grey and filled with curiosity. His wings, delicate and thin, caught the light like stained glass. Elain marveled at him, this tiny prince who had brought so much joy into their lives.

She was so enraptured by the child that she didn’t notice Azriel’s approach until his shadow fell over her.

“He’s so small,” Azriel murmured, his voice soft as a breeze. A gentle smile bloomed on his face.

He sat down beside her, crossing his legs on the blanket. With a tender touch, he lifted her chin, bringing her lips to his. Elain melted into the kiss, wanting to fill her lungs with his scent—mist and mint mingled with the floral notes from her garden.

When he pulled back, his golden eyes sparkled with admiration, tracing the contours of her face as if committing every detail to memory.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words as soft as a caress.

“I love you too,” she replied, her smile mirroring his.

Nyx wiggled frantically, then calmed, pulling their attention back to him. They laughed softly, the sound like music in the quiet garden.

“Is your aunt speaking too much of greenery, Nyx? What’s that you say? You prefer tales of blades and battles?” Azriel teased with a wicked smile.

“Perhaps he would prefer to hear some Illyrian tales,” Elain countered playfully, lifting Nyx and passing him to Azriel.

Azriel stiffened but took the child in his arms. Elain rested her hand on his shoulder, gently guiding him to sway Nyx back and forth. The baby wiggled wildly for a moment before settling into Azriel’s shirt, his tiny form nestling against the warrior’s chest.

Azriel’s posture relaxed, and a relieved smile softened his features. “One day soon enough, he’ll be flying. Hopefully, he won’t be a slow learner like his mother.”

Elain giggled, scooting closer and nestling her head on Azriel’s shoulder, peering down at the child as he slept in Azriel’s arms. “He’s so small,” Azriel murmured again, his voice tinged with a quiet awe.

“You said that already,” Elain sighed, her voice warm with affection.

“Yeah,” he replied, a hint of sadness.

“What is it?” she asked gently.

Azriel chuckled, though there was little mirth in it. “Several things.”

Elain playfully nudged his neck, urging him to continue.

“Stop that. You’ll upset the little flier,” he teased, though his voice was soft. He cleared his throat, the lightness fading. “When I look at this child, I think of a young Cassian, a young Rhysand…even a young me.”

Elain’s eyes widened, her heart hanging on every word.

“We each had different homes, parents, and upbringings, yet we suffered greatly. Each different, yet prisoners to the same fate.” His voice grew quieter, as though he were speaking to some hidden part of himself. “When I gaze upon Nyx, I can’t help but worry that he too will suffer. Perhaps it is what all Illyrians must face.”

Azriel’s brows furrowed as he watched Nyx, who had grown more still in his arms.

Elain gazed upon the shadowsinger, so strong yet cradling Nyx with such tenderness. Her gaze never left his face as she spoke, her words not solely meant for Nyx. “He is so loved, Azriel. No matter what he may face, he has a home and a family to return to. He does not deserve suffering; he is no brute, beast, or monster. Illyrian or not.”

Azriel’s expression softened considering as he brushed Nyx’s forehead softly with his thumb, the child having drifted off to sleep.

—

A knock rattled the chamber door, pulling Elain from the depths of her sleep. She groaned, sprawling out on her massive bed, and pulled a pillow over her head, trying to drown out the noise. But the knock came again, more insistent this time. Dawn had barely broken, and the room was still wrapped in the soft shadows of early morning.

Suddenly, the handle twisted back and forth, someone was trying to get in. Elain bolted upright, her heart racing. The room was warded, allowing only Nuala and Cerridwen to appear, bypassing the door entirely. Feyre and Rhysand could enter, but Rhysand would never bother knocking. Whoever was at the door was not a resident of the River House.

“Who’s there?” she shouted, her voice sharp in the silence.

No answer came, but the door continued to shake. Elain’s hand instinctively reached for the hidden dagger in the top drawer of her nightstand. Wild-haired and sleep-encrusted, she shuffled to the door, dagger poised to strike. With a deep breath, she flung the door open, the wood slamming against the wall.

Orla screamed.

Elain screamed.

“What are you doing here?” Elain gasped, her voice a mix of shock and relief.

“What’s that for?!” Orla demanded, her eyes wide with indignation.

“I... I didn’t— It’s early, and you nearly tore the door down!” Elain stammered, lowering the dagger behind her back.

“I had to see you! And at least I knocked!” Orla giggled, her earlier fear dissolving into mischief.

Elain sighed, relaxing as the tension drained from her body. “What’s up?”

“I want you to meet my sister. She came last night,” Orla beamed, her excitement contagious.

Elain’s smile widened, genuine excitement blooming in her chest. “Really? That’s wonderful! Let me change, and I’ll be down.”

“I’ll get Azriel!” Orla chirped, already scurrying down the hallway.

Elain watched her go, pride swelling in her chest at seeing Orla so at ease, even friendly with the shadowsinger. She hurried to get ready, slipping into her favorite light blue dress after quickly washing her face. As she opened her drawer to put away the dagger, her hand brushed against the bejeweled fox dagger. Its jewels were dull in the early morning light, a stark reminder of the past.

Elain sighed, Lucien’s broken face flashing in her mind—the cold, distant stare he had given her before he left the campsite and returned home, leaving the dagger behind. Rhysand had assured her that Lucien remained an ally, still in contact with Feyre and Rhysand. But he had also warned her that Lucien would not be visiting the River House anytime soon and that it was in the court’s best interest for her to keep away and avoid contact.

Elain had given her word, relieved that her actions had not caused a rift between the courts. She placed the dagger in the drawer, closing it with a finality that echoed through the room.

___

Cuddled in the tiny living room by the hearth, Elain, Meavin, Orla, and baby Aisling nestled together, the warmth of the fire wrapping around them like a comforting blanket. Aisling, with her olive skin and straight dark black hair, was the opposite of her sister Orla, yet when she winced and her eyes fluttered open, the telltale golden hue shone through. Orla bounced with excitement, cooing at her baby sister, her joy infectious.

"Another beautiful daughter, Meavin. Congratulations," Elain smiled.

Meavin’s face softened as she gazed at her daughters. "Two wonderful little monsters," she replied, not even exhaustion muting her sass. 

Orla squeezed her mother in a tight hug, her golden eyes gleaming. Just then, the front door clicked open, and Azriel entered alongside Orla’s father, Cillian. Azriel leaned casually against the wall, the ever-present wallflower. 

"Are you doing all right, my dear?" Cillian asked, nodding hello to Elain.

"Yes, my dear," Meavin chuckled, clearly amused. Cillian had been fussing over her, insisting she rest, but she was content, buried beneath her two daughters in the cluttered living room.

Elain joined Azriel, leaving space for Cillian to sit beside his wife.

"Dad! Aisling is laughing at Mom because she doesn’t have yellow eyes," Orla declared, her voice bubbling with glee.

"Is that so? I don’t blame her. GOLDEN eyes are the best," Cillian corrected playfully, ruffling Orla’s hair.

Elain and Azriel stood against the wall, giving space to the family. Their fingers grazed each other’s, sharing a silent moment of contentment as they watched the scene before them unfold.

"Looks like the farm is going to be even crazier in the years to come," Azriel mused, a rare smile touching his lips.

Elain giggled, imagining Aisling following in Orla’s mischievous footsteps. If she was anything like her sister, Meavin would have two little whirlwinds on her hands.

Azriel kissed Elain’s cheek, his smile warm, though his shadows swirled strangely around him, betraying an inner feeling. 

"What is it?" Elain asked, her curiosity piqued.

"What do you mean?" Azriel responded with a wicked side smile.

"You can’t hide things from me, shadow singer," she teased, nudging him gently.

Azriel’s gaze drifted back to the family before him. For a moment, he was quiet, as if weighing his words. Then he sighed, "It just would be nice to someday—"

"I know," Elain interrupted, her voice soft. She beamed at him and kissed his cheek.

Azriel’s brows furrowed at the strange reaction and was about to probe further when Cillian’s voice cut through the air.

"Come, Azriel. There’s a Day Court matter I’d like to pick your brain about," Cillian said, gesturing toward the door.

Az nodded and followed Cillian out the back door, leaving Elain alone with Orla and Aisling.

"It’s your turn to hold her, Elain!" Orla sang, her excitement infectious.

"It’s about time!" Elain teased, carefully cradling Aisling in her arms. She swayed gently, her dress floating with each movement.

"I love that dress," Orla murmured, her eyes fixated on the fabric. "Can I have it? When I’m big enough?"

Elain gazed at little Aisling, her skin soft and rounded, her cheeks rosy, and her hair shiny like a newborn’s. She looked like a delicate doll. Elain glanced at Orla, remembering how she had thought the same thing when she first met her—Orla, the wild child, bearing her teeth through soft pink lips atop the barn rafters. Now, Orla stood before her, a foot taller and no longer a toddler, but blooming into a beautiful child. She had grown so much this year.

"Big enough indeed," Elain said in a wistful tone, feeling a familiar tingle at the back of her mind. She quickly handed the babe back to a surprised Meavin and took a step back as her stone buzzed against her chest.

The room grew dark as she retreated into her mind. The all-too-familiar lavender smoke swirled into the room. When it cleared, Elain found herself in a beautiful cabin home. The walls were made of golden oak, and a fireplace roared warmly. The door opened, and three children ran to greet their father. Lucien kissed each of them, laughing heartily, his voice filling the cabin with joy. The children, with their fiery red hair, were unmistakably his. After kissing his youngest, he looked up lovingly as soft footsteps approached. Orla appeared, wearing Elain’s baby blue dress. It fit her perfectly, and she looked radiant, a woman now, slender with wonderful curves. Her wild hair still billowed, but it was neatly brushed into a clip, resembling her mother. She gazed upon Lucien with the same love and warmth she had shown today with her baby sister. The mist began to pull, filling the room with a scent not of lavender, but of something else—something Elain knew all too well. The scent of a mating bond.

Elain returned to herself, frozen, wide-eyed, staring at the ground.

"You must have seen a doozy," Meavin remarked, her voice filled with concern.

Orla quickly rose and took Elain’s hand, dragging her out of the house. "We’ll be back, Mom!"

Orla led her down the valley to its center, where they sat among the foxtail weeds, the wind whispering through the grass.

"Lucien? How long have you known?" Elain whispered, her voice barely more than a breath.

"I knew when I had my first vision of him," Orla admitted, her voice steady, though her eyes shimmered with something deeper.

Memories of Orla’s odd comments floated back to Elain’s mind.

Who is the red-haired boy? 

Lucien? 

I like him. 

Do you know him? 

No, but I will.

Memories of her strange fits, her fervent declarations.

We’re safe now, don’t worry. 

What about Lucien?! 

What?

I love him, Elain. He can’t die!

The realization hit Elain like a rock to the head, her thoughts spinning. But if her vision rang true, Orla and Lucien were mated. The bond could be broken with one and reformed with another. It was not a condemnation…but a choice.

"Does your mother know?" Elain asked quietly.

"No. No one knows. I tried to show you, remember? But you got too afraid and ran off," Orla said, her voice tinged with a hint of reproach.

"I thought it was—I just misunderstood," Elain said, setting her jaw.

They sat quietly for a long time, the wind blowing through their hair, the silence filled only with the rustle of foxtails and the distant sounds of the farm.

Orla sighed and rested her little hand on Elain’s. "Elain?"

"Hmm?" Elain responded, her voice soft.

Orla forced a smile, but a tear pooled in the corner of her eye. "You’ve learned all that I could teach you. You faced your fears, saved your sisters, and commanded that stone. Our training is done."

Elain smiled, tears welling up in her eyes. "You were a wonderful teacher Orla."

"And you were a pretty alright student," Orla teased.

Elain scoffed and pulled Orla into her arms. They squeezed each other tightly, laughing and squealing.

“But you better come visit!” Orla threatened through giggles.

"And you better not have a boyfriend until you’re 25!" Elain teased.

Orla gasped, a sound like bells in the wind. "I’m fae, Elain. More like 50!"

Chapter Text

The glow of the city’s gas lamps reflected off the gentle ripples of the Sidra as Elain and Azriel strolled along the riverbank. Azriel’s arm was wrapped around Elain, guiding their unhurried pace. The distant sounds of the night—laughter and music from the downtown clubs drifted towards them. Elain nestled closer, tucking her head into his shoulder, her breath mingling with the cool night air as they made their way back to the River House.

Azriel began to hum, his voice low and soothing, vibrating in his chest against her cheek. The tune was soft and familiar, a melody that seemed to belong to the night itself.

"She's got a heart so true, like a dream in the night, and when she smiles, my world feels right," he sang, his voice tender, each note wrapping around her like a warm embrace.

"You sing pretty well," Elain cooed, her voice a whisper of awe.

"Think so?" he replied, his voice like honey, rich and smooth. "Perhaps I need to write a song."

"About what?" she asked, though her heart already knew the answer.

"You," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, his lips lingering.

"It doesn’t have to be about me," Elain remarked, rolling her eyes.

Azriel stopped in his tracks, his gaze intense as he leaned in close, his breath warm against her lips. "Even if I tried otherwise, any song from me would be about you," he whispered, his words sending a shiver down her spine.

Elain shuddered, her resolve melting as her tongue traced the edge of his bottom lip, tasting the promise of him.

A wicked smile curved his lips as he cupped her face in his calloused hand, drawing her closer. She wrapped her arms around his neck, lifting herself to meet him, their lips brushing in a tender, lingering kiss.

" Her lips so sweet with a kiss goodnight, she's the love I’ll hold forever, in the softest light ," he sang finishing the bridge of the song.

Elain pulled back slightly, her eyes wide with genuine surprise. "Do the others know you can sing?"

"Yes, they do. Too many drunken nights in my youth," he chuckled, the sound deep and warm. "They try to get me to sing from time to time, but I’m rarely in the mood."

"Too shy without the faerie wine?" Elain teased, her smile mischievous.

"Do I seem shy to you?" he challenged, his hazel eyes flaring with a hunger that sent her heart racing. His gaze drifted lower, tracing the curve of her décolletage, exposed by the plunge of her dress. She swallowed hard, the motion not lost on him, yet he remained cool and controlled as his hand traced the line of her collarbone, guiding her strap slowly off her shoulder.

His touch was torturously slow, a deliberate tease that left her breath hitching and her skin tingling. But then, in a swift motion, he lunged, nipping at the soft flesh of her shoulder. Elain yelped in surprise, and Azriel threw his head back in laughter, the sound echoing through the night.

"What a monster!" she shouted, slapping his shoulder in mock indignation before dashing away, her laughter ringing out as she ran. He gave her a head start, a playful grin on his lips, before chasing after her. He caught her just as they reached her garden at the side of the River House. He contained her in a bear hug and lifted her close.

She fought at first but then melted into him, their movements stirring a gentle breeze that awakened the fireflies. They ignited, bobbing around them like tiny lanterns, their glow enhancing the shadows and illuminating the lush foliage around them.

Azriel loosened his hold slightly, stepping back but keeping her hand in his and placing the other on her waist. "Can I have this dance, Miss Archeron?" he asked, tipping his head with a playful smirk.

Elain nodded, allowing herself to be drawn into a slow, intimate dance. Azriel hummed softly, his deep voice gracing their garden with music as they swayed together. The fireflies and shadows spun with them, creating a magical aura that surrounded the couple. Elain’s brown curls twirled with each spin, and Azriel’s strong hands guided her with a tenderness that made her heart swell.

Elain looked up at the handsome shadow singer. His sharp bone structure, neat military attire, and the ever-watchful shadows did nothing to hide the tender lover that shone through his kind eyes and admiring smile. The leader of spies and keeper of secrets was laid bare before her, nothing hidden, only love and devotion in his gaze.

"My angel," she began, her voice trailing off, "I have some news."

"Does this have anything to do with your strange behavior at the farm?" Azriel asked, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

Elain tried to suppress her grin, realizing she had been caught. "Just listen," she said, composing herself.

"Go on," he said gently, slowing their dance to a soft sway in the cool breeze. He began humming again but nodded for her to continue, and he’d be listening.

Elain took a long, measured breath, closing her eyes until she exhaled, preparing to begin. 

“That night, when Nyx was born, the world had held its breath.” Elain's voice was soft as she recounted that night, the memory still sharp with fear and relief. "Such a horrible night for us all, but thank the Mother, everyone was saved. Using the Dread Trove, Nesta bartered her powers for Feyre and Nyx's lives."

Azriel’s brows furrowed, his humming briefly faltering. Elain had told him this before, after the chaos of that night, when all they had left was the quiet aftermath. But something in her tone made him listen more intently now.

"Sparing their lives was not her only request," Elain continued, her voice trembling slightly. "Seeing Feyre's pain, knowing that birthing an Illyrian winged child nearly cost her everything… Nesta knew the same fate awaited her too, if she were ever blessed with a child from Cassian."

Azriel's hum fell silent, the gentle rhythm of their dance faltering. His mouth hung open slightly, eyes wide as they fixed on Elain.

"Nesta asked for an Illyrian womb," Elain whispered, her words heavy with emotion. "A womb that could bear a child from an Illyrian male and live to hold that child. She asked for one for herself… and for me."

Elain recalled the evening she found Nesta waiting in her chamber. The moonlight streamed through the window, casting a soft glow on Nesta's form as she stood poised, looking out over the darkened landscape. There was a quiet strength in her posture as if she had spent hours battling her own thoughts before finally summoning the courage to speak. When Elain entered, Nesta turned and bid her sister to come closer. Taking Elain's hands in hers, Nesta's voice was steady.

"You’ve always been my object of protection, Elain. But in with this new life, you no longer needed me. I didn’t know what to do with myself."

Elain's mind flashed back to the incident that had driven her to seek strength within herself, aid the Night Court, and train with Orla. The memory of Nesta's harsh words casting her out of the House of Wind still stung. But in the quiet of her chamber, Nesta’s confession brought a different kind of pain. A pain rooted in understanding.

"You were mine, Elain," Nesta continued, her voice quivering. "Not just because you are my younger sister, but because you are good. I tried to be better for you and failed miserably. Yet, you loved me despite it."

Nesta’s grip on Elain's hands tightened as her gaze fell upon her abdomen, "Please accept this as repayment for all the pain I’ve caused you."

Elain's lips quivered, tears streaming down her cheeks, yet her smile was radiant, trembling with the weight of her joy. Azriel froze, their dance coming to a halt. 

"We can have a family, Azriel.” She said, her voice breaking.

Azriel’s voice was barely a whisper, choked with disbelief. "Truly?"

She nodded, trying to hold back her tears but failing.

Silver shimmered in Azriel's eyes, his thoughts a whirlwind of disbelief and gratitude. A life marked by suffering, by the belief that he was unworthy of such blessings, was now being graced with this miracle. But this kindness—this precious gift—he would not reject. He closed his eyes, pushing away the doubts, slashing through them with the sharp blade of his resolve. This blessing he would cherish, and if undeserving, he would rise to be worthy of it.

In a burst of overwhelming joy, Azriel lifted Elain into his arms and spun her wildly, his wings flaring out in exuberant celebration. Elain gasped in surprise, then laughed, the sound pure and bright. Azriel shouted with her, their voices mingling in the night air, echoing through the garden. He stumbled, causing them to fall together onto the grass. 

"How did you keep this from me?" he demanded playfully, his eyes shining with love and disbelief.

"I thought you were the spymaster of this court," she teased, a mischievous grin on her face. "I was waiting for the perfect moment to tell you."

They both glanced up at the glowing orbs of fireflies that were kicked up from their fall. They danced around them glowing against the dark night. The willow tree swayed gently, their leaves whispering in tune with the flowing Sidra. Azriel’s shadows swirled below them like shooting stars, making the ground sway like waves. Above, Velaris lived up to its name, the stars scattered across the sky glowing brightly as the half-moon held court.

Azriel’s hand gently traced over Elain’s stomach, pausing below her navel, where the promise of their future lay. "A family," he whispered, the word filled with awe and reverence.

"Our family, my angel," Elain replied, her voice tender as she rested her forehead against his. 

Elain’s soft doe eyes met Azriel’s sharp amber gaze—morning blending with night, nature entwined with shadow, fear conquered by unwavering devotion. Their love was a force both gentle and fierce, unyielding and all-consuming. In that moment, etched in the spaces between their breaths, they vowed to embark on an endless lifetime together. It was a love forged not by fate’s decree but by their own deliberate choice—a bond deeper than any mating bond, not because it was written in the stars but because it was written by their hand.

Azriel swept Elain into his arms, cradling her close as he carried her inside the River House. Behind them, the garden whispered goodnight as the bulb of fireflies dimmed.