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Azriel (Early summer-ACOWAR)

Azriel had been through this before. 

Not even a year had passed since his brother and High Lord had returned to them after 50 years of captivity. And now his High Lady, who had saved Rhysand from Amarantha’s clutches, was in another kind of prison. 

She was serving as spy at the Spring Court while the rest of the Inner Circle set about scheming to defeat Hybern once and for all.

But now they had Feyre's two elder sisters under their care, and all were at a loss of how to help them. 

Azriel had met Nesta and Elain when they were still human. Nesta had been cold, commanding, challenging, ruthless. If Azriel was being honest, she fucking scared him. 

But Elain had been…intriguing. 

Azriel found he had difficulty forgetting her soft melodic voice, her deep brown eyes. He told himself it was only curiosity, because she was Feyre’s sister and a genuinely kind person. 

No matter that she was the most ruinously beautiful person Azriel had ever laid eyes on.

No matter that she had looked at him and he had felt her see beyond his carefully constructed mask to the male below. 

No matter that the curves of her face clung to his memory like dew on morning grass long after he had left the realm below the Wall. 

Because she was a human. And that was an iron engagement ring on her finger that had been given to her by another. A human man who despised the fae. And now…now she was fated to another by some twisted sense of cosmic humor.

Though he was barely conscious when the sisters had been thrown in the Cauldron and changed against their will, Elain’s screams had pierced his heart. 

Nesta’s and Feyre’s had been horrible to witness as well. But something about the terror in Elain's voice that had once so gently spoken to him clawed at his instincts to protect. 

He had been unable to though, poisoned and bleeding out, and that helplessness still haunted him. 

He had been so incapacitated that no one had even noticed how he had tried to raise his head at Elain’s screams, had tried to crawl towards her to protect her. No one noticed, because he hadn’t even moved. But he had tried.

And now here they were, staying in the House of Wind in the aftermath of that awful day. They were high fae, immortal, and devastated. 

Nesta wore her anger at the situation like armor. Azriel did not mind avoiding her at all costs. 

But…he found himself worrying about Elain. 

When they had left Hybern’s kingdom, both he and Cassian had been injured thoroughly enough that Rhys and Mor had taken the sisters to the House of Wind and had left Azriel and Cassian to be healed. 

As soon as he was healed enough to function, Azriel had taken to the skies to scout for any threats to the sisters, and then had set up a system of spies around the House to keep watch and report on any suspicious activity in the area.

He would not let their safety be compromised again. 

Azriel despised himself for laying there on the floor in Hybern in a puddle of his blood, barely able to lift his head, while Feyre and her sisters endured the unthinkable. 

He had failed them all, and he would not fail them again. 

He had not been to visit them since they were left at the House of Wind. If he was being honest, he was too unsure of what to say to them, how to talk to them.

Talking had never been a strong suit for Azriel. He much preferred listening.

He supposed he could listen, if either sister needed to talk. He cringed slightly at the thought of listening to Nesta’s rage. 

Azriel understood rage, though, and possessed no shortage of it himself. So he supposed the least he could do was listen. 

It had been a week since the sisters had moved into the House of Wind when Azriel had decided to check in on them. Without Cassian. 

According to Rhys, Cassian seemed to only make things worse when he interacted with Nesta, driving her anger to untold levels and delighting in it. 

So it was a warm summer morning when Azriel flew up to the House to check on the elder Archerons alone.

Azriel flew to the balcony and entered the dining room, knocking on the glass door so as not to startle either sister. 

It was eerily quiet in the House. Azriel walked through the dining room, purposefully shuffling his feet even though he could do so without making a sound. 

He made his way to the wing where the sisters were staying, sending shadows to scout ahead of him to find them. 

A shadow reported that Nesta was in the sitting room and Elain in her bedroom. 

Azriel sighed knowing he could not reach her bedroom without passing Nesta. 

He gave a soft knock on the sitting room door before opening it slowly. Nesta was sitting in an armchair idly blowing on a mug of tea. She looked as severe and beautiful as ever. Moreso in fact, now that she was high fae.

Her gaze shot to Azriel as he announced himself. 

Before he could speak, Nesta narrowed her eyes at him. 

“They said you were alive,” she said drily. 

Azriel bowed his head slightly. “I've survived much worse,” he said in answer. Nesta just stared at him.

“I was just checking in with you and your sister. How are you finding the House?”

Nesta looked at him with ire. 

“We're stuck here on top of a mountain after our lives were stolen away.”

Azriel cringed inwardly. It was a stupid question, he supposed. 

Nesta continued. “Elain won't leave her room or stop crying. She hasn't eaten more than a bit of bread each day and barely drinks. She has not spoken to me since we've arrived.”

Concern flooded through Azriel. Elain hadn't spoken for a week? And that she was barely eating or drinking… Why he felt such worry for a female he barely knew, he wasn't sure. 

But Azriel understood hopelessness and despair. If he could save another from it, or even offer some friendship in the darkness, shouldn't he?

“May I go check on her?” He asked, sounding carefully casual. 

Nesta stared at Azriel for long seconds with a discerning look that might make a weaker male wither. Azriel held her stare, wearing a neutral expression on his face. 

“Fine,” she said, and turned back to her tea. “Good luck,” she muttered as he walked past. 

Azriel nodded at her and walked towards the kitchen. 

He stopped to pour two cups of tea with the still hot water Nesta had boiled, and then made his way to the bedrooms.

He tracked Elain’s honey and jasmine scent, so much richer now that she had been turned fae, to one of the doors which was hanging ajar.

Azriel cleared his throat loud enough for Elain to hear and nudged the door open.

Elain was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at her palms as they rested in her lap. She did not even glance up at his entrance.

The first thing Azriel noticed was the sheer emptiness that emanated from Elain, like she was a void in space. Her eyes were glazed over and sallow. Her hair hung limply around her shoulders over the cream-colored dressing robe she wore. Her limbs seemed to dangle lifelessly and for a brief terrible moment Azriel thought he had found her in death and she may be about to slump over to the floor. 

But he saw Elain's chest lift in a shallow breath and relief flooded him. 

The second thing that Azriel noticed was the physical change wrought by the Cauldron.

Elain as a human woman had already been the most beautiful person Azriel had ever laid eyes upon. As high fae, even in her worrying state…well, Azriel thought he might just be fucked. 

Her lips, though dry and grayish now from lack of food and drink, were more luscious, her cheeks more rounded. Her hair was more golden, somehow, and her eyes…they were such a rich, deep chocolate color that Azriel thought he could fall into them and never emerge. 

Stop it right fucking now, Azriel ordered himself. Elain was off limits, for so many reasons. The most important of which was that Elain was not alright. She was at her most vulnerable and didn't need a sorry bastard panting over her. She needed to feel safe and heard. 

So Azriel cleared his throat once more and said in the most gentle voice he possessed, “Good morning, Elain.”

Her eyes finally lifted at the sound of his voice. Her empty expression and posture did not change, but she looked at him, at least. 

“May I come in for a moment?” He asked. 

Elain just stared at him holding the two steaming cups of tea at her threshold before giving him the barest nod of the chin. 

Azriel dipped his head in thanks and strode in. He placed the mugs on the windowsill and, noting Elain's still unchanging posture, decided to drag the two chairs framing the desk in the room towards her. 

He wordlessly placed one beside Elain’s legs at the foot of the bed and placed the other in front of her. 

He carried the mugs to the first chair and placed them atop it, using it as a makeshift table. He sat in the chair opposite her place on the bed’s edge.

Elain looked at him blankly. 

Azriel swallowed. He only realized in that moment that he did not know what he planned to say to Elain upon checking on her. 

So he didn't speak. Azriel just picked up his mug and sipped his tea, looking back at her. His eyes flicked to her mug in acknowledgement but he did not offer it to her, did not insist she drink. 

He simply drank his tea with one long leg crossed over the other, his ankle resting on his knee. 

Elain watched him for several minutes before reaching for the other mug. Azriel’s gaze followed as she held it close to her face. She closed her eyes and took a deep inhale of the fragrant steam. 

Azriel had chosen a lavender chamomile blend for its relaxing properties- one that he often drank himself after particularly stressful missions. 

After a few deep breaths Elain opened her eyes again and took a slow sip of her tea. 

Her gaze remained vacant but she cradled the cup in her hands and spoke for the first time. 

“I flew,” was all she said. Her voice, gravelly from days of disuse, was as flat and lifeless as her eyes. His shadows twirled down his arms slightly in response to her voice.

Azriel recalled their first conversation at her dining table in the human realm. 

“Can you truly fly?” She had asked him, curiosity and wonder in those chocolate eyes. 

So now Azriel looked to her and asked, tilting his head, “And was it frightening?” (Is it not frightening? She had asked him. To fly so high?)

Elain only sipped her tea once more, gazing at the expanse of his wings, and then answered, “No.” 

Azriel nodded. And then he didn't know why, but he told her, “Nothing used to scare me more than flying.” 

Elain said nothing but watched his face and sipped her tea, so he continued. 

“I was…not allowed to fly for most of my childhood.” Elain’s eyes drifted to the scars covering his hands. She did not know this piece of his history, but he saw her mulling it over.

“Most Illyrians learn to fly in swaddling clothes, around the time they learn to walk. I did not learn to fly until adolescence, and it was Rhysand and Cassian themselves who taught me.” 

Elain toyed with the ghastly iron and diamond ring on her finger as she listened. 

“Truth be told I was…terrified. I had never been in the skies. And the shame of it, the betrayal to my instincts…it all made it so much worse. Even after I learned to fly with confidence, I was still terrified for years.” 

Azriel quieted to sip his tea. This story didn't really have an ending, anyway. 

Elain scanned his wings again. “And are you still terrified?” she asked, and Azriel heard just the smallest hint of that soft melodic voice he was so drawn to beyond the Wall. 

“No,” Azriel answered. “Not anymore. Now flying just makes me feel free.”

Elain studied him then, her eyes a bit clearer. She held his gaze for long moments without moving at all. 

“But you're not really free, are you?” She asked finally, her voice sounding faraway.

Azriel felt his blood chill and he swallowed. He hadn't expected to be so…disarmed. So unfurled. 

He swallowed again but said nothing. 

Elain spoke once more.

“I am glad you survived, Azriel.” It was the first time he heard her speak his name, and it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. 

Stop it you stupid fucking idiot. She needs a friend right now.

Azriel quirked a corner of his mouth up in a small smile. “As am I, Elain.” 

She did not smile back at him. Instead her gaze fell to her hand, to that ring she still wore. 

Did she still wish to marry the human? 

Of course she did. She loved him. She would probably always love him. 

“When were you to be married?” Azriel asked her gently. 

Elain’s voice was so quiet when she answered he barely heard her. “In a fortnight.” 

Mother above. He fought the urge to say he was sorry. Instead he only nodded. 

Elain’s gaze drifted out the window to the clear skies. 

“Is this to be my life now?” Elain asked in a distant, dreamy voice. Azriel waited for her to continue.

“Sitting in a stone keep atop a mountain, with nothing to hope for, for the rest of my immortal existence?” 

Something in Azriel yearned to take her hand then, to offer her some comfort that words could not. But he gripped his mug instead. Elain had just had her life ripped away from her by the violent touch of leering males. He would not do her further damage by touching her without invitation.

But Elain looked like she needed to be held, and gods above, his body was screaming to do so.

Instead, Azriel asked her, “What do you want your life to be now?” 

Elain continued to stare at the sky. Azriel waited for long moments but she did not answer him. 

A single tear slid down her cheek. 

Azriel’s hand twitched with the urge to brush it away. He swallowed. 

“Would you like some time alone?” He asked her, not wanting to intrude. 

Elain's desolate eyes slid back to him. She shook her head slowly. 

“Alright,” he said, his heart cracking just a bit, and leaned back in his chair. 

After a few minutes of silence Azriel said, “I didn't get a chance to have breakfast this morning. I'll be right back.” 

Elain didn't answer as Azriel exited her room and made his way to the kitchen, shadows trailing his footsteps. 

Nesta had vacated the sitting room, presumably now in her own bedroom or the library. 

Azriel opened drawers and cabinets and scrounged up a bowl of cashews, a small basket of scones and jar of jam, and some strips of cured elk meat. He placed everything onto a serving platter along with a knife and padded his way back to Elain's bedroom. 

Elain had seemingly not moved an inch while he gathered the wares. 

She watched him as he replaced the two mugs on the chair beside her with the laden platter. Azriel allowed his shadows to whisk away the mugs. 

“I hope you don't mind,” he said casually. “I grew hungry.” 

Elain just looked at him. So Azriel reached to the plate and picked up a handful of cashews. Elain watched his hands as if in a trance.

When he popped a couple of the nuts into his mouth with nimble, scarred fingers, Elain’s eyes fluttered closed and her lips parted slightly, and just for a single moment, a flicker of peace crossed her face. 

Azriel tilted his head, studying her reaction. When she opened her eyes a moment later, he held out the handful of cashews to her. 

To his surprise, she took one. Her cool, smooth fingers grazed his as she did, and he forcibly ignored that. 

Elain took a deep breath and gingerly placed one of the little cashews into her mouth, chewing and swallowing with grace. A tear escaped her eye as she ate the nut. Azriel wondered what was stirring her so but he followed suit, relief flooding him that she was eating. 

He could offer her this, at least. Quiet company and cashews and few words. 

They quietly ate the nuts, and then Azriel spread jam on a scone. He saw Elain eyeing the cured meat on the platter and the corner of his mouth kicked up. 

“Please, help yourself,” he gestured to the food. Elain dipped the barest of nods and then plucked a small piece of the meat from the plate. 

Azriel watched as she took a bite and seemed to savor the flavor. 

His shoulders loosened ever so slightly once more.

A light wash of color had returned to Elain's face from the tea and her eyes were a bit clearer. 

She looked at him.

“Are you married?” She asked suddenly. Azriel started at the question, surprised, and then barked a short, dry laugh. 

“No,” he answered. “I have never been married.” 

“Why not?” 

Because I've been in love with the same female for five hundred years who would rather take strangers to bed than look at me for too long.

She asked it with utter sincerity, as if Azriel was not a terrifying monster made of shadows and hatred and death. As if he did not taint everything he touched with his own stained soul. 

“I suppose I have not met the right person,” he answered neutrally.

Elain considered, scanning his eyes. 

He realized in that moment that he had not dwelled on Mor's affections or his feelings for her since they returned from Hybern. He loved her. He always would. But perhaps he could finally, finally move on from wanting her. Perhaps the passing of time had finally freed him from that particular torment. 

“It hurts you,” Elain said, watching his face carefully. "That you have not found that love." She saw too much. She stripped him bare with those deep chocolate eyes, and read under his words. 

It was unnerving, but not in a bad way. No, it was unnerving in a…relieving way. 

Azriel spent so much of his time under his carefully constructed mask, revealing nothing of his inner workings. Keeping them so locked deep within himself they felt like lava churning, threatening to erupt in a deadly burning explosion.

But Elain seemed to be able to see beyond his mask with little effort. It removed some of the pressure Azriel kept on his tight leash. 

Maybe for that reason, Azriel chose to answer her honestly. 

“It did, for long years.”

“But no longer?” 

“I believe I am on my way to being freed from that pain.” 

Elain ate a few more cashews, tenderly placing them in her mouth with those pale, slender fingers. 

“I hope that is true,” she said after some time. Azriel did not know how to respond to that, so he only inclined his head. 

“So you do not have a…mate?” She looked down at the last word, discomfort no doubt at her own situation flitting across her face. 

“No,” Azriel answered gently. Elain nodded, lost in thought. 

“But my sister and Rhysand are mates,” she said, considering. Azriel nodded. 

“And they are in love,” she continued. It wasn't a question, but he nodded again. 

“Deeply,” Azriel answered. “I've never seen anyone love someone as much as my brother loves Feyre, or as she loves him.” 

Elain nodded. “That's good,” was all she said. 

Azriel swallowed. He knew she was considering the mating bond that had been thrust upon her seconds after she took her first new breath. Maybe she was wondering if her own bond would lead to such love as her sister found through hers. 

She looked to the ring on her finger once more.

“But I…love someone…else,” she said meekly. 

Azriel nodded even as his stomach inexplicably dipped at her words. 

“I know,” he said softly. And then, feeling rather useless, he added, “It's okay, Elain. Nothing has to be figured out right away. You’ve been through something traumatic. I wouldn't worry yourself about the mating bond right now.” 

Elain did not react to his words, so he pressed on. “You are safe here. I have spies surrounding this House and in all seven Courts. If you're worried about…Lucien,” it was an effort for Azriel to say his name, “coming for you, he won't make it one step past our Court borders. He will have to answer to me.” 

Elain looked at him with wide eyes. Azriel cleared his throat. 

“That is the job I do for this Court. I help protect our people with my network of spies and when…unwanted visitors threaten who we aim to protect, I…deal with them.” 

Azriel tried to fight the shame that filled him at the words. Once Elain knew what he was, what he did, he was certain that she would no longer find comfort in his company. 

But Elain looked at him with openness and curiosity and then said softly, “Thank you.”

Azriel inclined his head in answer. 

Elain ate some more cured meat in silence. She closed her eyes to savor the taste and Azriel felt something settle in his chest at the sight. 

He took some more bites of his scone. 

“Feyre told me you enjoy gardening,” he offered after a few moments. 

A distant, empty look filled Elain's eyes. 

“I did,” she said tightly. Maybe it had been an ill-advised course, to ask about her hobbies before she had been turned. 

Azriel cleared his throat. 

“My mother kept a garden,” he said quietly. Azriel never spoke of his mother, though she meant more to him than any other living being on this planet. 

Speaking of her allowed too much pain and shame and fear and hatred for what had been done to her to flood him. But it felt right, somehow, now. Necessary.

“I was…kept away from her, for most of my childhood.” Elain glanced to Azriel's scars again without any pity or revulsion on her face. Only tired curiosity. 

“But when I was allowed to see her for brief periods of time, I would often sit with her in the tiny patch of garden she kept outside her living quarters.” Elain tilted her head, listening. 

“I did not often have a chance to speak with others or to learn about the world, so I would ask her about the plants. Their names, their uses, everything. I learned quite a lot from her.”

“Oh?” Elain asked, and Azriel swore he saw the tiniest glimmer of life cross her eyes. He nodded.

“What was your favorite plant she grew?” She asked him. 

Azriel hesitated for a moment before answering. 

“Jasmine.” 

Elain only nodded. He couldn't tell if she was aware of her own sweet, floral scent of jasmine. Often fae were so accustomed to their own scent that they hardly noticed it, although he didn't know if the same was true for newly-made fae.

But he had spoken honestly. 

He had loved the jasmine the most. 

“Why jasmine?” She asked. 

Azriel considered. 

“I always enjoyed the fact that they looked so delicate, but were in fact hardy flowers. Beautiful to gaze upon, but they grew towards the sun with unrelenting demand.” 

Elain stared at him as if seeing him for the first time. He held her gaze, wondering what she was thinking but not daring to ask. After a small eternity, Elain just answered, “Yes.” 

Azriel didn't know what that word held, but he asked her, “What is your favorite plant?”

Judging by the fine, barely noticeable pale scars on Elain's fingers, he assumed she grew thorned roses quite often, but something told him that they were not her favorite. 

Her gaze grew distant again. 

“Common ivy- hedera helix.” 

Her answer surprised him. “And why is that?”

Elain twisted the ring on her finger.

“Ivy is so common, most don't think twice about it. It chokes out life around it without anyone noticing until it's too late to stop. It is wild, impossible to tame, and greedy for resources from the earth. But everything it touches becomes infinitely more beautiful. A brick cottage covered in ivy, the towers of an estate with crawling vines. Nothing is quite so stunning as that.” 

And Azriel didn't know what the fuck to make of that. He didn't know what to make of her.  

Elain, it seemed, kept much hidden under the surface. Just as he did. 

Azriel finished his scone and brushed crumbs off his hands. 

“I should take my leave,” he said gently, sensing that his visit should come to an end. Nesta might be growing suspicious about how much time had passed.

“But should you ever wish to see the gardens at the Townhouse, I would be happy to accompany you.” 

Elain only nodded at him as he stood and moved his chair back to the desk where he had found it. 

“Azriel?” She asked him, and his heart again squeezed at hearing her speak his name. 

“Yes?”

Elain fidgeted slightly in her seat on the bed. 

“Would you…would you stay just a little bit longer? If you're not too busy?” 

Something about the hesitant way she asked, as if this simple request could be any sort of nuisance or bother, sent a hairline fracture through Azriel’s chest.

And he also felt…relief. He wanted to stay longer, to sit in the company of this puzzling, otherworldly female with such kindness in her heart and loss in her eyes. 

“Of course,” he answered softly, and pulled his chair back in front of her. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

And Azriel was overcome with the drive to pull Elain into his arms, to stroke her hair and promise her she would be alright.

But instead he asked her, “Why aren't you talking to your sister? Don't you want her company?” 

Elain looked like she may cry again and Azriel wondered if he had fucked up. 

This is why you shouldn’t talk, dumbass.

“She's always so angry,” Elain said quietly. “She was like that before but now…it's like a stormcloud around her.”

Azriel knew what she meant. Nesta was difficult to talk to, difficult to be around. 

“She's worried about you,” he said gently. “That you're not eating or drinking, talking.” 

Elain’s gaze drifted to her lap and she said nothing. 

“When will Feyre return?” She asked after some time. 

Azriel took a deep breath. He assumed this question would come. 

“I'm not sure. Rhysand thinks soon. She seems to be well, though.” 

Elain only nodded. He wondered if she wished Feyre were here with her. 

“Are you closer with Feyre than you are with Nesta?” 

She shook her head. “No, Feyre was always…we were awful to her.” 

Her eyes welled up again. Azriel could not imagine Elain being unkind to anyone.

“She kept us alive for years, putting herself in danger again and again. We did nothing to help. She and Nesta were always at each other's throats, and I just…” 

Her eyes filled with guilt and shame. “I always wanted Nesta to be proud of me, to approve of me. So I never stuck up for Feyre. Or myself.” 

Azriel’s heart was breaking more with every word. He wondered if perhaps Elain was a very lonely person indeed. 

He had no comforting words to offer her regarding her sisters. So he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and just looked at her. He normally pinned people with his iciest stare, but now he willed warmth into his eyes. Comfort. Something he was not used to doing, but it felt necessary at the moment.

She stared right back at him. 

He had not met many people who didn't shrink away from his gaze. 

His shadows started curiously swirling towards her but he coaxed them back, not wanting to scare her. 

She didn't even notice them. Instead she said, “You have very beautiful eyes, Azriel.” 

He felt a warm blush creep over his cheeks and hoped she didn't notice. He cleared his throat. 

“Thank you,” he murmured. She tilted her head and studied his eyes further, and he let her. 

“They're like a sunlight dappled forest in autumn. So many colors.” 

Azriel let a small smile curl on his jaw. “And yours look like a steaming mug of rich hot chocolate on a cold winter day.” 

Elain just blinked at him with those huge doe eyes.

And then, very quietly, she murmured, “My father’s eyes.”

“Your father’s eyes?” Azriel asked.

“Yes,” she answered. “My sisters…they have my mother’s eyes.” Azriel could clearly see the piercing grey-blue of Nesta and Feyre’s eyes in his mind. “But my eyes…”

She trailed off, so Azriel finished for her. “They are your father’s eyes.”

She nodded. “Do you have your mother’s eyes or your father’s eyes?”

She asked like she genuinely cared. Azriel chose to offer her another truth.

“My mother has eyes as dark as midnight. I have my sire’s hazel eyes. But he was no father to me.” 

And just a little bit of life came into Elain’s face then. The most he had seen all morning. 

“Well, if he was cruel and good for nothing else, at least he gave you those beautiful eyes.”

Azriel huffed a surprised laugh. “Yes,” he agreed. “At least there is that.” 

Elain didn't laugh or smile back though. She just stared at him with those rich, depthless eyes caged in thick, dark lashes. A well of warmth, indeed. 

Azriel fell back into silence. He plucked up two slices of cured meat and offered one to Elain, popping the other into his mouth. 

Elain took the slice but just held it in limp fingers, gazing at it distantly.

Azriel counted the minutes that she stayed like that. Six entire minutes passed. He was not uncomfortable with the silence. He was never truly in silence, anyway. Not with his shadows. 

He was not uncomfortable, but he was worried. He had never seen someone sit so still, so unfeeling, for such a long while. 

Elain’s trance seemed to end as two rivers of tears slid down her cheeks. Another twitch of his hands. The little slice of meat tumbled from her fingers.

Do not touch her. Do not touch her. But do something.

“Elain?” He asked tentatively.

She raised her wet, desolate eyes to him. “I'm so tired,” she whispered. Azriel’s heart clenched. He nodded at her. 

“I'm so tired,” she repeated. 

And Azriel thought he might go to that dungeon in his father's keep for another eleven years if he could fix this for Elain. 

He swallowed. “Why don't you lay down? I can tell Nesta you're napping.” 

“I can't fall asleep,” she whispered. “The sounds. They're all so loud. Raindrops, footsteps, the wind blowing past…it starts to feel like they're all coming for me.”

Fresh tears slid down her face. 

What the fuck do I do. Nesta. Get Nesta.

“Can I retrieve your sister for you? Maybe she can…” 

He trailed off as Elain started shaking her head. 

“She will sit here and force me to eat and drink and be so…loud. Please. Just…please…”

Azriel moved then, unable to watch her suffer so hopelessly. He did not touch her, but he stood and pushed his chair away slightly, and then knelt in front of where she sat at the edge of the bed. Close, but not touching. Eye level with her. 

“How can I help, Elain?” He asked, with as much gentleness as he could possibly conjure. 

She closed her eyes and took in a shaky breath. 

“Would you just…would you stay? Until I fall asleep?”

Azriel kept his expression neutral even as relief overtook him. Relief and something else that he wasn't willing to face. 

“Of course,” he murmured, and moved to sit in an armchair beside the fireplace. 

Elain watched him until he was settled, his legs comfortably crossed and his shadows skirting his wings, and then she moved, gliding like a ghost.

She stood and rounded her bed, pulling down the covers. She shimmied under the blankets and pulled them all the way up to her chin, over her shoulders. 

She looked so small there, cuddled up in her bed. And Azriel realized it probably didn't feel like her bed in the least. 

He just watched her, a faint, comforting smile on his face. She watched him back with those ethereal eyes, dry from tears now.

“Thank you,” she murmured quietly. Azriel nodded in answer. “It is no trouble.” 

She was so still. Most fae were, but Elain’s stillness was preternatural, otherworldly. 

She spoke again in a soft voice that was already becoming slowed with oncoming sleep. 

“Would you…would you come sit with me again? 

She needs someone. She needs someone to see her.

“I would be honored,” he answered. He gave her a small grin. “I enjoy quiet company as well. And cashews.” 

Elain's face kept its morose visage in place, but Azriel could have sworn one corner of her mouth lifted ever so slightly.

“And…would you mind leaving the food? After you go? Cashews…they’re my favorite.”

Azriel bowed his head from his seat in the armchair. “Of course.”

“Thank you, Azriel,” Elain murmured to him quietly. He turned to gaze out the window. He watched the clouds drift by for a few minutes, not wanting to just stare at her while she tried to sleep.

By the time he looked back at Elain, her eyes were closed and her chest was rising and falling in a deep, steady rhythm. She looked peaceful for the first time since he had walked into the bedroom. Azriel felt a sigh of relief escape him at the sight. 

He stood from the armchair silently and took one step closer to Elain. Yes, she definitely had a bit more color in her cheeks and lips. A lock of hair was stretched across her forehead and falling over a closed eye. 

Despite his better judgment, despite his repeated orders to himself not to touch her, Azriel used one tender, scarred finger to sweep the curl off Elain's face and back into place behind her ear. 

And then he turned and noiselessly made his way out of the room. 

As Azriel flew back down to the Townhouse, breathing in the fresh, crisp air around him, he thought about Elain savoring those cashews, drinking that mug of tea, speaking so ethereally and beautifully of ivy on bricks. 

He thought about how her skin felt cool and soft in the brief moment it had touched his. 

He thought about how she was asking him in her own way, with tentative words and pleading eyes, to be someone who could just see her, sit next to her, dwell in the quiet with her. And he could do that. He would do that. 

The next day, Azriel sent three baskets of cashews to the kitchen at the House of Wind.

Chapter Text

Elain (Late summer- ACOWAR, before the battle of Hybern)

Elain walked amongst the rosebushes in the Townhouse garden, gazing at nothing.

Nesta and Elain had moved into the Townhouse at Feyre’s demand one month ago, and Elain found she much preferred being down here, close to the earth. 

Regardless, most days Elain felt as if she were floating, moving through time and space with very little to hold her there. Her mind felt foggy and distant, save for when those flashes of color and images barraged her without warning, and she didn’t know what to make of them. 

Her head swam with those images, haunting her. She couldn’t make sense of them, didn’t know why she saw them, and often felt as if she were slowly going mad. 

Elain could hardly sort out the swirling images in her head long enough to speak with others. She could hardly feel clear-headed enough to string two words together or put her clothes on in the correct order.

She moved through the motions of her day not really noticing her surroundings, eating only when a lightheaded feeling told her she needed to or when her sisters watched her expectantly. 

She was aware the others watched her with caution, like a glass doll that would blow over in the wind and shatter into a million pieces, or a trembling fawn who would bolt at the slightest sound. 

They treated her like she was going mad as well, so maybe she was after all. 

Lucien was amongst those treating her so, as he also stayed with them at the Townhouse to Elain’s dismay. 

She could not bear to see his face, to remember seeing him there after her life was ripped from her, claiming her before she even realized she was still alive. 

Elain avoided him at all costs. 

There seemed to be only one person who did not treat Elain as if she were a fragile madwoman, and he was currently sitting in the garden as she walked it. 

Elain looked over her shoulder to where Azriel sat at a wrought-iron table, sipping tea and studying a blueprint or map of some sort. His wings drooped relaxedly behind him and shadows were nestled along his neck and shoulders.

One month ago Azriel had flown Elain down to the Townhouse and had carried her across the threshold before setting her down.

They had not spoken on the flight, but Azriel had held her tightly to him. His arms around her had been a steadying, strong presence, and Elain had felt no fear on that flight. 

She had studied the way his shadows whirled around him in the wind, the way the sun glinted on his cobalt siphons, and the way his deep scars contrasted with his tan skin. 

Those scars covering Azriel’s hands…Elain thought of them often. They were so gruesome, so terrible, and so beautiful. They reminded Elain of the ivy she loved so much, coiling in tendrils over his skin, marking him as ancient and resilient and magnificent as those brick structures ivy so often blanketed.

When Azriel had offered her his hand to show her the garden, the word drifted from Elain’s mouth as if on a phantom wind as she gazed upon those scars… “Beautiful.” 

She could see the stark white scars against his brown skin now, where he held the map before him. 

Azriel, sensing Elain’s gaze, looked up at her. They held eye contact for a few moments before Elain dipped her chin and continued her stroll.

Azriel had been sitting out in the garden with Elain frequently lately. Sometimes he worked, sometimes he read a book, sometimes he simply sat and sunned his wings, head tipped back. 

Occasionally they sat together and exchanged quiet words while they sipped tea. Every so often he walked around the garden with Elain. 

But mostly they just shared the silence and sunshine. 

Elain felt comforted by his quiet, steady presence. Azriel did not pepper her with questions of what she might need constantly, as Feyre did. He did not order her to eat and drink, as Nesta did. And he did not tiptoe around her with worry like the rest of the Inner Circle did. 

Azriel simply existed out in the garden with Elain, and it was exactly what she needed. 

Elain found it difficult to endure meals with the Circle, with their constant banter and joking, drinking and bickering. Azriel, like her, tended to sit quietly at meals, observing rather than participating. That comforted her, too.

Elain began sleeping easier after that day that Azriel had sat by her side when she had asked him to stay. He had come to visit her every week or so, but she hadn't asked him to stay while she fell asleep again. She didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable or burden him with her personal problems. But she felt sleep come easier after that day, anyway.

As if that simple gift he had given her had provided a semblance of safety she could hold onto for weeks after. 

And she was able to eat cashews for a fortnight after his initial visit thanks to his kind and generous gift. They often ate them together during his visits at the House of Wind, sometimes chatting quietly, but mostly in silence.

It provided her such comfort. 

She loved both her sisters dearly, and respected the family Feyre had made here at the Night Court. But her mind was constantly filled with inexplicable sounds, colors, images- Elain usually couldn’t bear to add to it by surrounding herself with others. 

But Azriel wasn't like the others. 

Azriel seemed to know these things about her intrinsically, and he had begun to ask to accompany her out to the garden.

So here they were, sharing the sun and silence once more.

Elain made her way around the loop of rose bushes and approached Azriel at his table. He looked up at her and offered a small smile. 

Elain studied the raven locks curling on Azriel’s brow and neck, the strong, high lines of his cheekbones, his expansive leathery wings and the shadows that coiled around his limbs.

He really was beautiful, Elain thought to herself. The most beautiful male she had ever seen. 

Guilt shot through her at the thought, and she fingered the iron engagement ring, which was now starting to feel more like a scar than a piece of jewelry on her hand.

“What are you studying?” Elain asked him as she approached, taking a chair across from him. 

Azriel nudged the teapot toward her and she poured herself a mug. 

“A map from one of my spies in the Summer Court,” he answered. 

Elain’s brow furrowed. “I thought the Summer Court were our allies.”

Azriel’s brows lifted slightly as she took a sip of her tea. But he seemed to swallow his surprise and shrugged.

“They seem to be. But when Feyre was first working with Rhysand, they caused quite a…disturbance at the Summer Court, and the High Lord of those lands has yet to forgive them. Amren as well. So this is a…precaution.” 

Elain nodded. She enjoyed hearing about Azriel’s work, if only because it took her out of her own mind for a short while. 

Azriel laid the map flat and poured more tea into his mug.

“Can I be honest about something?” Elain asked, thinking about the tiny dark-haired fae female Azriel had mentioned.

“Always,” he answered, bringing his mug to his lips.

“Amren sort of…terrifies me.”

Azriel choked on his tea and brought his mug down, chuckling through a cough. 

Elain had to admit it was a bit amusing- someone so tiny commanding so much fear. But it was the truth. 

Azriel, having mastered himself, responded. “Amren terrifies us all, Elain.” 

Elain felt the corners of her mouth lift in a small smile. Azriel never made her feel ridiculous, or weak, or helpless. It seemed he always knew what to say, even if it was very little. 

“How was your walk around the garden?” He asked.

Elain roved her eyes over the somewhat sorry excuse for a High Lord’s garden. She had never seen a High Lord’s garden before, she supposed, but she expected it to be far better kept than this. 

“I noticed the perfect spot to plant tulips this fall for them to emerge in the spring. Right where one would see a burst of color from the kitchen window.” 

Azriel surveyed her quietly for a few moments before he answered, “You should plant those tulips there, Elain. In the fall, after this war is won.” 

Elain looked down to her tea. “Perhaps,” was all she said. 

Elain did not know if she would ever feel enough peace to garden again. She found peace in the garden, yes. And with Azriel. But putting her hands into the earth, growing something new…she was afraid of what those swirling images in her mind might birth. It didn’t make sense. She knew that. Yet she was afraid regardless.

Azriel didn’t push her, though. He simply sipped his tea and surveyed the garden himself. 

“Do you think it will be won?” Elain asked him, feeling herself slipping dangerously close to the void of nothingness that so often cradled her. “This war?”

Azriel met her eyes then. 

“I don’t know,” he answered plainly. “If we can secure enough allies, if we can get the weapons we need, if time is on our side, then…perhaps.” 

Well, at least he was honest. Elain swallowed and fought the void that was attempting to suck her in. 

She didn’t want to go to that place of nothingness. She didn’t want to forget how to eat or drink or speak today. She wanted to stay here, in the garden with Azriel. 

So she asked for something of him.

“Azriel,” she said, slight urgency in her voice. “Ask me something, please. Something to distract me. I feel…”

She didn’t finish her sentence. She looked at him with pleading eyes.

Azriel swallowed once, but put down his mug and leaned forward on his elbows.

“Alright,” he answered gently, as the void tugged and tugged on the corners of Elain’s mind, beckoning her under.

“What is your favorite time of day?”

The question took Elain by surprise, the sensation pushing the darkness away just an inch.

"Dawn,” she said, already sure of her answer. Azriel nodded, as if unsurprised.

“Why is it dawn?” he asked. 

“The world feels new, and quiet, and full of possibility. Everything is most beautiful at dawn- dew clinging to grass, flowers opening towards the sun, mist hanging low in the air.”

Azriel watched her carefully as she spoke, seeming to drink in her words. 

After careful consideration of them, he nodded. “I’ve been alive for five hundred years and never appreciated the dawn as you do, Elain.”

That void’s blackness ebbed just a little further as she mulled over Azriel’s response.

“Why? What is your favorite time of day?” She asked him.

Azriel looked into her eyes. “The dead of night.” 

Elain didn’t know why, but she huffed a little laugh. The corners of Azriel’s mouth turned up. 

“Well, I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me. Great warrior and Shadowsinger of the Night Court and all that.” 

Elain could have sworn a slight golden blush crept over Azriel’s sculpted cheeks.

She was coming back to herself, to her body, that void being pushed further away. A bit of relief curled in her chest.

“And why is the dead of night your favorite time of day?”

His answer this time did surprise her.

“I spent the first eleven years of my life trapped in the darkness of my father’s dungeon.” Elain’s stomach dropped at the words. She knew only bits and hints of Azriel’s past, small comments made here and there, but she had never pushed him to tell her more. What could possess a father to keep his child locked in a dungeon, she could not imagine. What he must have endured those long years…

Azriel continued. “One would think I would avoid the darkness now, having been subject to it for so long. But the night is comfortable to me. Peaceful. Creatures that most are afraid of come out in the night, seeking sanctuary. They feel peaceful there, too.”

Elain wondered if Azriel was not speaking of nameless monsters people feared, but of himself. If he did not have to endure the fear of others during the dead of night. 

Elain nodded at his words. 

“Another question?” Azriel asked her, as if he could sense that void still pulling on her. Elain nodded again.

Azriel considered for a few moments.

“What did you dream of becoming, when you were a child?”

Elain blinked. She gazed down into her tea again. 

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “When my mother was still alive, she expected me to marry and unburden the family of my care, I suppose. Or perhaps bring them further fortune. I was only ever encouraged to think, act, and look like a highborn lady. I played the pianoforte, I learned to read and write with my tutors, and I attended society events. I was never told I could be anything other than a wife and mother.” 

A pang of guilt swept through Elain at the thought that Feyre did not get that chance to learn to read and write, and that she and Nesta had done nothing to teach her. 

Azriel only watched her, impassive, so she continued. 

“When we lost our fortune, I had no time to dream. I became quite skilled with sewing, as we could not often afford new clothes and ours always needed repairs. I gardened seldomly, only when I could afford seeds and had the time to. I helped keep our cottage in working repair and cooked in my father’s stead, because he was injured. The only thing I ever allowed myself to dream about was falling in love and marrying. Partially because it was something I desired, but also because it was a way out.”

Elain had never admitted any of this to another before, and she didn’t know why she did now. But Azriel just listened, so quietly and thoughtfully, and the words falling from her felt like…a relief. A grounding. He listened to her without judgment or concern, only honest curiosity.

“What did you dream of becoming as a boy?” She asked him.

Azriel kept his cool, collected mask on his face, even as Elain swore she saw something flicker through his eyes.

“I had no dreams as a child.” 

Shame flooded Elain at what an insensitive question it was. Azriel had just told her he was locked in a dungeon for eleven years. Of course he wasn't thinking about becoming a warrior or a blacksmith or an artist. He was just trying to survive. 

Azriel must have seen the guilt on her face because he considered. 

“I suppose I dreamed of freedom.” 

Elain let out a breath. 

“As did I,” she answered. 

Their gazes locked and they simply stared at each other for long moments. 

“What is your favorite dessert?” Azriel asked her. Elain felt the smallest semblance of a smile tug at her mouth. 

“Do you enjoy sweets, Azriel?” She asked him, surprised once again by his question. She couldn't imagine the warrior eating a slice of chocolate cake or lemon tart. 

Azriel grinned a bit, too. “I do enjoy sweets, Elain,” he answered, holding her gaze with intensity. 

And despite everything, despite her doomed engagement and the unfolding war and her stolen life and her daunting mating bond, Elain felt a blush kiss her cheeks. His gaze seared into her in a way none other ever had. It made her feel...disrobed.

She looked down, feeling bashful. 

“Strawberry shortcake,” she told him. 

Azriel grinned a bit broader at that. 

“Strawberry shortcake,” he repeated, nodding thoughtfully. “I have never had that.”

“Really?” Elain asked. “Is it not eaten here?”

Azriel shook his head. “No, I have never heard of it.” After a few seconds he added, “Perhaps I can try it one day with you.” 

Elain fought a blush once more.

“And you?” She asked, curious now. 

Azriel leaned back, considering. 

“Honey biscuits.” 

And despite herself yet again, Elain swallowed a laugh. Azriel raised a brow at her reaction, which made a true giggle escape her lips. 

“I'm sorry,” Elain laughed. 

Azriel’s mouth twitched at her amusement. “What is it?” He asked her.

“It’s just,” she chuckled. “Honey biscuits are rather a…a youngling snack, are they not? A snack for a hungry toddler stomping his feet?”

Azriel chuckled a bit himself then, smiling truly. Shadows flitted around his head as if in response to his laughter.

"Yes," he answered, leaning back and crossing his arms. "I suppose they are."

Elain giggled once more. She imagined Azriel munching on honey biscuits in a secret Spymaster lair and laughed harder still.

"But can you deny their perfection?" Azriel asked her with an amused smile.

"No," Elain answered, shaking her head with a smile of her own. "No, I cannot."

Azriel's smile seemed to falter as he gazed at Elain's face.

"That's the first time I've heard your laugh.”

Elain felt her smile fade and she looked down at her hands. Had it truly been so long since she had laughed?

As if Azriel realized he had made a mistake, he gave a quick shake of his head and cleared his throat.

He looked as if he was preparing to end the conversation with an excuse to rise from the table, but Elain did not feel ready for it to end just yet.

She needed this little slice of peace, this lightness to chase away the void, just a little bit longer.

So she thought up another question.

"Do you prefer coffee or tea?"

Azriel seemed to relax again. "Tea," he answered without hesitation. He looked to her for her answer.

"Agreed," she stated.

He looked up at the cloudless sky. "What season do you prefer?"

"Spring, when all is new."

Azriel nodded. "Like the dawn," he noted. "I sense a theme here."

Elain offered a small smile. "And yours?" She asked.

"The winter."

Elain rolled her eyes- a gesture she had not made since her human days- and asked, "Why does that not surprise me? The nights are longest in wintertime."

Azriel grinned sheepishly, but added, "And it is beautiful. I love the snow."

Elain hummed her agreement. "I used to love the winter best as well, actually. The sun glittering on the snow, fresh fallen flakes clinging to eyelashes... But when we lost our fortune and nearly starved, the winter became something to fear. All was scarce in winter- food, warmth, daylight, coin, even love for each other, it seemed. We bickered the most in winter."

Azriel nodded thoughtfully. Then he answered, "Perhaps one day you will appreciate the beauty of winter again, without the threat to your wellbeing."

"I hope so," was all Elain said in return.

Elain didn't know what drove her to her next question, or why she asked it even though it was likely not appropriate. But for some reason she wanted to know.

"Have you ever been in love?"

Azriel met her gaze, and then his eyes drifted down to the ring on her finger.

"Yes," was all he said.

Well, that was fair. She had asked a prying question.

He looked like he was weighing his next question carefully.

"And are you in love, Elain?"

Elain's gaze also drifted down to that iron ring.

"I don't know," she answered, barely audible.

Guilt immediately crept over her at the admission.

Azriel only tilted his head at her in silent question.

"I...it's all become so..." She couldn't find the words.

"Fucked," Azriel supplied.

Elain blinked at him, and then looked down at her hands again.

"Yes, it has."

She took a deep breath before continuing.

"I loved Graysen when I was taken and turned. I thought of nothing more than returning to my life with him. He was- is- a good man. At least, I thought he was… He loved me, of that I am certain. But I have become what my betrothed hates above all else. What he has dedicated his life to hunting and killing. He would rid the earth of the fae kind if he could. Could a good person truly want that? And now I have been somehow bound to another against my will, bestowed with a bond that is meant to usurp even the strongest love, so I hear.”

Azriel remained unmoving, listening intently. Elain felt a need to get it all off her chest, to someone who would not push or judge, so she did.

“I have been taken from the human lands and don't know if I can ever return. And now war is upon us, and I don't know if we will survive or if there will even be a human realm to return to. And beyond that...I am changed. Not just to this body, but...something within me has changed. My mind and heart are not what they used to be, and I fear he would no longer love them even if I did not have this body." 

She took a deep breath once more as she finished voicing all the ways her life had been upended, all of her fears.

Azriel was listening to her carefully, unblinking. His hazel eyes were boring into hers with glimmering intensity. He blinked a few times before answering.

"That is all very fucked, Elain."

A shaky laugh escaped Elain even as she felt her eyes well with tears.

"It is, isn't it?" She asked, twining her hands together.

"I don't know why I still hold onto any hope. He will not want me this way, and I cannot return to my life below the Wall. I have no life there anymore."

Azriel surveyed her, his face giving nothing away.

"Having hope is a beautiful thing, Elain," he said in answer. "Hope may save us all one day."

Elain nodded as a tear from each eye slid down her cheeks. Azriel's gaze tracked their trails down her face. She blinked them away.

"He would be a fool to not want you as you are, anyway," he murmured, slight color blooming on his cheeks once more. 

She dipped her chin. Even though Elain felt hopeless and desolate in that moment, acknowledging her failed and impossible engagement, the void threatening to suck her under had been banished, at least for now. 

She knew it would return to claim her, to show her things she did not understand. To make her feel mad again.

But at this moment, in the garden with Azriel, she felt a brief reprieve. And she still did not want it to end.

“Alright,” Elain said. “I have another question for you.” 

“Alright,” Azriel echoed, a faint grin returning to his beautiful face. 

Elain considered for a few moments.

“What kinds of books do you like to read?”

Azriel leaned back and crossed his arms, frowning slightly.

“Do you not read?” Elain asked him, knowing full well he often sat in the garden and read in her company.

Azriel quirked a brow at her.

“I read,” he said simply. She waited for him to continue.

“I have to read many texts for my work, about the histories and politics of the various courts and realms on the Continent.” Elain nodded, listening. “But what I enjoy reading- for fun- are stories about regular people.” 

Elain cocked her head. Azriel shrugged slightly.

“I have never been a regular person, or surrounded by any. I like to read about how people think and speak and act when they are simply…people. I find it fascinating.”

Elain was feeling very fascinated herself by that answer. 

“And you?” he asked. “What do you read?”

“I read about plants and botany of course, as there is always more to learn,” she answered. “And I enjoy adventure novels. I used to imagine myself going on grand adventures as a girl, likely because I knew I never would. I was not destined for that life, and my mother made that very clear. So I always enjoyed reading those stories and pretending my life was something else entirely.” 

Azriel watched her carefully. He seemed to weigh his next words, deliberating whether or not he should say them. 

“Maybe this is the start of your grand adventure, Elain.” 

Elain felt a small, sad smile cross her face. She supposed in a twisted way, it was. 

“Maybe,” she said quietly. “Perhaps it will have a happy ending, as all those novels did. Eventually.”

Azriel looked at her for a long moment, his eyes scanning her face. 

“Perhaps,” was all he said in response. 

The next morning Elain awoke to a small leather pouch and folded note outside her door. She unfolded the paper curiously. A short note was penned in slanted, understatedly perfect script.

Perhaps you could plant some strawberries. I haven’t been able to banish strawberry shortcake from my mind. I would love to try it one day.

The corner of Elain’s mouth lifted in a half smile. Elain opened the little leather pouch and gingerly shook it over her hand. Several tiny golden seeds tipped out into her palm.

A week later, Elain donned a sage dress and planted strawberries in the garden, the Shadowsinger seated nearby in the sun.

Chapter Text

Azriel: Autumn (Before ACOSAF)

The Shadowsinger of the Night Court could not banish the Seer from his mind.

Since he had walked out of Hybern’s army camp with Elain in his arms, and then she had slain the king with his own blade, Azriel felt a swarming need within him for more of her. 

He felt just a hint of hope, just the smallest tendril of something between them since the war had been won.

He sat in the garden she now tended, watching her as she worked. Elain had grown impossibly more beautiful in the months since the war. Her skin was kissed with gold from her time spent constantly gardening in the sun, and the freckles on her face and shoulders had darkened from a peachy color to light brown. 

Elain had regained the weight she had lost in her despair. Her face was full and bright, and her body suggested enticing curves. He tried not to dwell too much on secretly envisioning those. 

Although he knew she was still plagued by visions and nightmares, or often didn’t sleep at all, as he didn’t, a measure of joy and peace could still be seen in Elain’s chocolate eyes. Her golden brown hair was heavy and full and shining. It glimmered in the autumn sunshine as Elain floated through her garden. 

It was her garden, now. Elain had taken to tending to the Townhouse garden as soon as they had all settled back down after the final battle, and she had made it into something truly exquisite. Her careful planning and labor had transformed the garden into a resplendent oasis of flowers, fruits, and greenery. 

Azriel and Elain still spent much time in the garden together. They were well and truly friends now, Azriel thought. They seemed to share a secret language of looks and gestures that none of the others were privy to, and Azriel very much enjoyed that.

He and Elain had never needed words to connect with each other, but he did also enjoy talking with her. She was clever, kind, and thoughtful. She constantly surprised him with her understated humor and curious mind. And she had a way of looking at and speaking to Azriel that always made him feel stripped naked. The sensation would normally make him squirm.

But with Elain, he only felt intrigued and compelled to experience more. 

And Elain had such a beautiful, whimsical way of speaking, like an ancient goddess of the moon and earth with her lyrical words.

Watching Elain now, Azriel wondered if he was in her thoughts as much as she was in his. He was sure they were friends, but he didn’t know where he stood on…other fronts.

She no longer wore the vile engagement ring, which relieved Azriel to no end. He never asked her about it, but he hoped she threw it into the icy depths of the Sidra. Lord Graysen was on his torture and kill list- that he knew. One misstep as their ally and he would cut the bastard down himself. After breaking each finger. And removing his balls. And slicing through some non-vital organs.

Azriel knew how to make it hurt. And for Elain, he would make it hurt. 

Lucien had also been scarce since the war, thank the Mother. He, too, may be their ally, but Azriel wouldn’t mind if he never saw the male’s face again. At least he was giving Elain space, now. When he did sometimes appear in Velaris, Elain always seemed to revert to the shell she had threatened to become in the months prior to the war. 

Azriel fucking hated to see it. 

The way she tensed, quieted, shrunk into herself around the male. And no one seemed to notice or care, no matter that she had told them outright that she had no interest in Lucien.

He fucking hated that, too.

He wondered if Elain was bothered by the fact that her family seemed to ignore her wishes. She kept so much hidden under that beautiful face, he knew.

It didn’t matter if Elain was no longer bound to any other males, Azriel supposed, because he would never be worthy of her. She deserved to be with someone that could match her light. That would fill her with more joy instead of the dark depths of hatred and shame he lived within. The fact that Elain would even spend time with him was a gift itself, and one he did not want to squander, however little he deserved it. 

For the few minutes or hours he spent with Elain, Azriel did not feel quite so burdened by his darkness. He felt a measure of peace with Elain that no one else’s company granted him. He could put aside curious thoughts of what more Elain could be to him to keep experiencing that comforting peace in her presence.

He was experienced in unrequited feelings, at least. He knew what it was to want and want and not be wanted in return. He was comfortable with it, even. Azriel had always been unwanted. It seemed it was what he was born to be, so this was no new kind of torture.

And yet, Azriel could not seem to stay away from Elain. He could not stop watching her, caring for her in little unnoticeable ways, tracking what made her laugh and when she had hard days. 

He could not stop wondering what her hand might feel like held in his own, or how the silken strands of her gold-brown hair might feel between his fingers. 

The single kiss on the cheek she had offered him after Hybern’s army camp haunted him, the sensation lingering on his skin like spiderwebs on a pane of glass.

As Elain approached him now, basket in hand, Azriel shook his head to clear his thoughts and slid a bland, inviting mask over his face. Friendly but neutral. He tried to maintain this particular mask with Elain, but her voice and scent and presence often had it slipping. 

“Look,” she called breathlessly as she approached. Her melodic voice was so beautiful. 

“They’re finally ready.” Elain held out the basket to him and Azriel peered inside. He grinned as he saw it laden with ripe, juicy strawberries. He had given Elain the strawberry seeds in a sorry attempt to make her smile when she had seemed so lost those months ago.

The day she had planted them, wearing a sage green dress, she had been so consumed by whatever so often pulled on her mind. She had seemed so lost in the darkness, so ghostlike. So hopeless. It had scared Azriel enough that he had done something he had never done for another living soul save his mother. 

He had sung to her, very quietly, from across the garden. It was a desperate attempt to shake her from that place of void. She had not acknowledged it at the time or since. He wondered if she had even heard it.

“They’re beautiful,” Azriel commented. “What will you do with them?”

Elain offered her own bright grin. “First,” she said. “Try them to make sure they’re good.” Elain plucked a fat strawberry from the basket and sunk her teeth into it. 

Azriel swallowed as her lips enveloped the ripe fruit and red juice broke free from the flesh. Elain closed her eyes and hummed in pleasure. 

Azriel may be professional torturer of the Night Court, but this was special kind of torture. A torture created just for him, it seemed. His cheeks heated and he willed his face to remain neutral.

Elain brought the fruit away from her mouth and licked the dripping juice off her bottom lip with a pink tongue. Mother save him. 

Azriel cleared his throat. “Good?” He managed to ask.

Elain held out the half-eaten strawberry to him, raising her brows in invitation. 

Azriel hesitated. Eating the berry that she had bit into seemed so intimate, so close. Elain’s lips and teeth had been on that fruit seconds ago. 

With that thought, he reached out his hand and took the strawberry, biting off the rest of the fruit below the green leaves. 

Sweet juice exploded into his mouth. It really was fucking delicious. 

Azriel’s grin grew as he chewed and swallowed the strawberry. 

“Agreed,” he noted. “They’re good. Now what?”

“Now,” Elain said with a mischievous note to her voice. “We make strawberry shortcake.” 

Azriel raised his eyebrows at Elain. She had taken to cooking and baking constantly with Nuala and Cerridwen, and everything she made of course had been impeccable, beautiful, and delectable. 

Azriel had never been included in her time in the kitchen before.

“We?” He asked her carefully.

Elain nodded. “You told me you gave me these strawberry seeds so you could try my favorite dessert. The least you could do is help make it.” Elain’s eyes glittered as she spoke. 

Azriel unfolded his legs and rose to stand, stretching his wings. He watched Elain’s eyes track the movement of their leathery expanse. 

“I suppose that’s only fair.” 

Elain beamed at him, and Azriel’s heart stuttered. 

“Let’s go then,” she said, and brushed past him towards the house.

Azriel attempted not to watch the swish of her hips beneath her lilac gown as she led the way in. 

He tried, but he failed.

The Townhouse was empty today, with Cassian in Windhaven, Nesta training with Amren, Mor on the continent, and Feyre and Rhys meeting with Jurian, Vassa, and Lucien in the human lands.

Nuala and Cerridwen were nowhere to be seen, either. 

Elain led Azriel to the kitchen and he watched her sling a simple apron around herself, tying it at the neck and waist. He just stood there trying not to stare too hard at her as she then maneuvered her magnificent hair into a perfect braid without even looking, tying it off with a scrap of linen she took from the pocket of the apron.

Elain grinned and beckoned him behind the counter, washing her hands at the sink and signaling for him to do so, as well.

Azriel followed, sliding the siphons off his hands. 

As he scrubbed his hands with warm water and soap, Elain asked him, “Have you done much cooking or baking?”

Azriel turned the water off and dried his hands.

“Cooking, yes,” he answered. “I am often away on long missions by myself for the Night Court, so I cook for myself. I actually quite enjoy it.”

Elain’s eyes lit at that, and hell if it didn’t do something in Azriel’s chest. He cleared his throat and continued.

“But baking, no. I haven’t baked since I was a child, when Cassian and I both lived with Rhysand and his mother at the Illyrian training camp.”

Azriel’s heart ached as he remembered his brother’s fiery, kind mother who treated him like her own blood-born son. 

“I used to enjoy baking with her. Cassian and Rhys were always so…loud.” 

Elain giggled at that, arranging ingredients and tools on the counter. 

“Sometimes I just needed a break from all of that, and I would spend time with Rhysand’s mother. His sister, too, when she came to visit. We often baked cakes and pies together.”

Elain gave him a warm smile. “I have no doubt Cassian and Rhys would gobble them up as soon as they came out of the oven,” she quipped.

Azriel chuckled and nodded. He didn’t like to dwell on that time in his life- the first time he felt any sense of security, belonging, safety. Those feelings came with too many wretched partners. Anger, hatred, despair, at what had been done to Rhysand’s mother and sister. And at where his mother had been, what she had been experiencing.

But those memories- baking with those two gentle yet fierce females- he cherished those memories.

Azriel cleared his throat. “Alright, Elain. Let’s make strawberry shortcake.”

Elain held up a finger for him to wait and padded away without a word to the pantry. She reappeared moments later, holding out a buttercup yellow, frilly apron to Azriel. It did not go unnoticed by him that the one Elain wore was plain, wheat-colored and without lace.

He raised his eyebrow at her. 

Elain rolled her eyes. “Do you want to get dough and flour and fruit juice all over those fancy leathers?” she asked. Should he tell her how often his leathers and armor were splattered in blood, dirt, and entrails?

Despite himself, Azriel let out a chuckle, shaking his head, and took that damn frilly apron from her. The tie barely reached around his waist, but at the dazzling smile that spread across Elain’s face as she surveyed him, Azriel did not mind one bit how ridiculous he might now appear. 

Her smile could dim the stars themselves.

“Alright,” Elain said brightly. “Now that we’re ready, the first thing we need to make is the dough.” 

As they began measuring and mixing ingredients, Azriel tried to ignore the instances where their fingers brushed as Elain handed him things.

He attempted not to look at the creamy expanse of her neck, exposed to him beside her braid, or the pulse fluttering beneath it.

He attempted not to watch her lips, round and rosy, as she spoke to him. 

And he really attempted not to gaze at her when she turned her back on him. 

He very much attempted not to imagine what lay beneath the skirts of her dress when she bent to scoop up a fallen spoon.

While Azriel appreciated every facet of a beautiful body, he was ultimately an ass male, through and through. And he thought imagining Elain’s ass might just kill him. Not to mention it was not appropriate. They were friends. Just friends. So he really attempted not to. 

He tried, but he failed.

Elain instructed Azriel to melt butter while she finished the pastry. He began heating a large hunk of butter on the stovetop and became distracted watching Elain deftly slice up her own little cubes of butter. 

Elain wielding a knife so precisely should not have affected Azriel the way it did. It was altogether perverse. But there he was, his breath quickening through flared nostrils as he watched her wrist flick that blade and cut through that butter over and over.

Thwunk thwunk thwunk went the knife. 

Thwunk thwunk thwunk went his heart. 

Thwunk thwunk thwunk went his c-

No. No. No.

Azriel tried not to imagine Elain cutting up that butter with his blade instead of that kitchen knife. 

He knew he failed as his heartrate quickened even further. 

What in all the gods above was the matter with him?  

How much godsdamned butter did she need? When would it end? 

His thoughts were cut through by the smell of burning and Elain elicited an alarmed squeak. 

Fuck. Azriel had let the pan burn on high heat on the stove, distracted by Elain's smooth, pale fingers slicing through butter like she was slicing through the entrails of an enemy. Cool. Collected. Calm. Focused. Determined. It was…so attractive. 

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU.

Elain hurried over to remove the butter from the stove because Azriel was so fucking distracted by being distracted by Elain that he hadn't managed to. 

He mentally kicked himself directly in the balls. 

“Shit. Sorry,” he said hurriedly, and sent a shadow to throw open the window for the smoke to escape. 

Elain looked at the brown burned mess in the pan and then up at him with equal parts worry and amusement. 

“I thought you said you cooked often,” she said with slight exasperation. 

Not only are you a fucking demented freak that she will never want, but now you also look like a godsdamned fucking imbecile. 

He cleared his throat. “I do,” he said slightly hoarsely. “I got distracted and forgot to turn the heat down.” 

Elain looked at him sidelong, still clutching the handle of the pan away from herself. 

“You are the most focused person I have ever met, Azriel. What could possibly have distracted you that much?” 

Watching your perfect hands slice through cubes of butter in a way that was making me semi-hard because I'm a literal monster. 

He needed something to do with his body. He retrieved another saucepan and plunked some more butter into it, making sure to turn the heat to its lowest setting. He cleared his throat once more.

As always, Elain’s presence made him be honest in a way he simply could not resist nor explain.  

“You slice butter rather well,” he said, fighting a rasp in his voice. He stirred the butter with a wooden spoon. 

“I was…admiring your skill.” 

Elain's cheeks flushed. “It's butter, Azriel,” she said, fidgeting on her feet. “It is a decidedly easy substance to slice.”

Azriel said nothing as he desperately tried not to feel like a stupid fucking idiot. Stars and moon and gods above, this female had him unraveling in the most disarming ways. 

A wry smile broke across Elain’s face. Oh, he knew that look. She was about to mock him.

“Is there not the same saying here above the wall? Sliced through it like butter? ”

He truly did not know what to say to move past this moment. He reached to take the burned saucepan from Elain’s grasp to put it in the sink. To have something to do with his hands.

It was…a bad idea. His fingers grazed hers on the handle and a spark shot all the way up his arm, making a wing twitch. He quickly turned and strode to the sink, placing the pan down, and then walked back towards the stove. He wondered if Elain had felt those sparks, too.

His eyes drifted to her fingers and he just stared at them. He immediately was attempting to shut out images of those fingers moving on the skin of his arm, his chest. He wanted to look away from them, but he couldn't. 

He tried not to imagine what their fingers might look like entwined, his brown skin and stark scars contrasted with her creamy, smooth skin. He failed. 

“The butter looks good,” she said in a higher pitch than normal, and stepped closer to turn off the heat. 

Azriel blinked a few times and willed his head to clear. 

“Right,” he said, and turned to scrub the burnt pan while Elain worked the cold butter cubes into the flour mixture with her hands. He knew he absolutely could not watch her do that.  

He focused on his task until he heard Elain dump the dough out onto the floured surface of the counter, and he finally turned back to look at her.

Elain rolled the dough out with a confident hand, and Azriel admired her freckled forearms flexing as she worked the dough into a thin sheet, folding and rolling. Folding and rolling. 

Elain possessed a quiet strength he knew most did not notice. The fact that she wanted to create- in the garden and in the kitchen- despite all that she had been through, was wondrous indeed. She was not only beautiful, but she made beauty, and wanted to share it with all those around her. 

It left Azriel momentarily disgusted with himself. He created nothing except pain, shared no beauty with the world. Azriel only destroyed. He killed, and tortured, and spread hurt in the world.

It was as if his very existence was working against what Elain so ardently poured into the world. 

She would never want him for that very reason, he knew. The fact that she could even stomach being around him was surprising. 

These very thoughts often kept him up late into the night, wondering when Elain would realize what a monster he was, how unworthy he was of feeling her warmth, her light. He feared the darkness within him would choke out that light, and that was something he could not endure. Would not endure.

But Azriel tried to banish those thoughts now, watching Elain so deftly working that dough, confident in her ability to create beauty in the world. 

Elain looked at him over her shoulder. “What do you cook then? When you're not burning down the kitchen?” She asked. Azriel sent her a flat look that made the corners of her mouth twitch. “What do you make when you’re away on your missions and fending for yourself?”

Azriel came to stand next to her, leaning against the counter. He frowned. “Nothing so pleasant as the meals you make,” he answered, and she smiled shyly. Her shyness endeared Azriel to no end, because despite his title in the court, his powers, his strength, his experience as a warrior, Azriel was indeed a rather shy person himself.

“I usually make simple, filling food to fuel my missions. Rabbit stew, oats in the morning, mushroom rolls, roasted root vegetables.” Elain started wrinkling her nose at the list and Azriel chuckled. “I know that all doesn’t sound too exciting.” He paused for a moment. “Because it isn’t,” he said drily.

Elain laughed lightly then too, and looked up at him with a grin. “Maybe I’ll have to teach you how to make some more enticing meals.”

Azriel attempted not to think about what enticing meals Elain could offer without having to cook anything at all. 

Fucking hell. He should slap himself in the damn face.

But he answered, “Maybe you should.”

Elain shaped the dough into thick rounds and motioned to Azriel. 

“Now you can spread the butter on them.” 

Azriel raised his eyebrow at her. “You didn’t trust me to do the shaping after the stove incident?”

Elain huffed a laugh. “That’s my favorite part. I can’t let you do everything.” 

Azriel grinned and used a spoon to spread melted butter on the surfaces of the rounds.

“Perfect,” Elain offered as he finished, and then placed them carefully on a tray and carried them to the oven to be baked.

Azriel attempted not to watch and imagine as she bent, her back to him, to slide the tray into the hot oven. He failed.

Elain turned around and surveyed the space. 

“Now we must clean,” she sighed. “A good baker always uses spare time to clean their workspace.”

Indeed, the kitchen had become quite messy, with flour strewn over the countertops and measuring cups and spoons flung about. Egg shells lay broken beside the empty bowl where Azriel had mixed the dough.

He just shrugged. “I’ll wash, you dry?” he asked her. Elain smiled and took up a place by the sink, towel in hand. 

Azriel carried dirty dishes to the sink and turned on the hot water. 

They began to wash and dry in a steady, comfortable rhythm. Working in silence next to Elain felt natural. Sharing the silence with her had always felt natural.

The way she offered him a small, shy grin every time he handed her a dripping dish or utensil made his heart flutter. He tried to ignore it.

You godsdamn pathetic bastard.

After a few minutes Elain looked at him curiously, in the midst of drying a wooden spoon. 

“I asked you once if you had ever been in love.”

Azriel’s heart lurched at her sudden question. This was certainly not what he had expected her to ask. He cleared his throat to say something in response but Elain baldly asked, “It’s Mor, isn’t it? Who you are in love with?”

Well, shit. Straight to the chase, then. 

Azriel cleared his throat as he felt color spread across his cheekbones. He didn’t know how to have this conversation with her. With anyone. He knew the others noticed his…behavior around Mor, but no one in centuries had ever dared to ask him about it outright.

At any rate, his feelings about Mor had changed over the last few months. He would still die and kill for her, as he would for anyone he cared about, but he no longer ached when he was in her presence. He was no longer distracted by her voluptuous body, her bright voice. He somehow now felt…comfortable around her. And he felt nothing but relief from it.

Elain was waiting for his answer.

He cleared his throat again. “I had feelings for Mor, yes.” He watched her reaction carefully as he spoke. Her face barely changed but he could have sworn he saw a brief flicker of disappointment in her eyes. “But I do not any longer. Those feelings have…faded. Changed. I think of her only as a friend- as family- now.” A fumbling answer, but the truth.

Elain nodded, thinking it over. “But you two were never…together?” she asked him carefully. 

Azriel swallowed. Dangerous territory. But Elain deserved his honesty.

“No,” he said flatly. “No, Mor never wanted me in that way. I wished it so for centuries, but it was unrequited. I feel only relief that those feelings are now gone, on my part.” 

Elain frowned a bit at that. “For centuries?” She asked. “So you never…saw anyone else?”

Azriel felt his cheeks heat further. This was the last conversation he wanted to be having with Elain at this moment, but he didn’t blame her for her curiosity. They were friends, after all.

Azriel, having finished washing the last dish, moved away from the sink and began to clear up the strewn ingredients around the rest of the kitchen. 

He didn’t look at Elain as he answered, “I have had lovers over the centuries.” They weren’t exactly lovers, as no love was shared between him and those he had bedded, but he didn’t want to say, “I fucked other people while I pined pathetically over Mor for five hundred years” to Elain, so he settled on “lovers.” 

He dared to glance up at her and saw a crimson blush blooming on her face. 

“Oh,” was all she said in response. Azriel briefly wondered if he could pretend he received a mental order from Rhys and simply fly out the window. But that would not be fair to Elain. 

For a moment they stood in awkward silence, usually so comfortable between them. But Elain spoke again as she began rinsing the strawberries she had picked at the sink.

“I was with men, before Graysen,” she said shyly, focusing too intently on the strawberries before her.

Azriel swallowed. He truly did not know how to navigate this conversation. “I see,” was all he said, rather stupidly. 

“Not many,” Elain amended. Her face was the color of a blazing sunset now. 

Oh my gods, say anything, you fucking idiot.

“May I help with those strawberries?” Azriel asked, trying to spare them both from further embarrassment.

Elain cleared her throat and nodded. “They need to be cut into flat slices,” she advised. 

She handed him one paring knife and held another herself, placing a wood cutting board between them. 

Elain’s elbow brushed his wing as she moved to slice a berry, and Azriel shuddered at the contact. Elain’s throat bobbed but she pretended not to notice the contact.

Azriel searched for something else to say to her to move past this awkward moment.

“When did you learn to bake?” He asked her, and was relieved at the soft smile that bloomed on her face.

“My tutor taught me,” she said. “Marla. My parents were not often present in my childhood, before…everything. My father and I were close, but he was often away on business trips.” 

Sadness gleamed in Elain’s eyes, and Azriel knew she was still mourning the recent loss of her father. The father who had found his strength and showed up for daughters with an army, only to die at the hands of the King moments before Elain stabbed him with Truth-Teller. Azriel squeezed her wrist briefly in comfort and she gave him a small, sad smile. 

“And my mother,” she continued. “Well…I’m sure you have heard from my sisters that she was not a kind or gentle woman.”

The fact that Elain was both kind and gentle despite an absent father and cold mother was not lost on Azriel.

“She cared more for her fortune and social standing than she did for us, anyway, and never failed to remind us of the ways in which we were not living up to her expectations.”

Azriel felt rage wash through him at the thought of a mother being so cruel to her daughters, especially one as sweet and caring as Elain.

“So she often left us in Marla’s care, who taught us everything from our letters and numbers to household chores. Marla became my best friend. Feyre was young and wild- reckless. She spent most of her early days running through the streets with the neighborhood boys, chasing cats.” 

Azriel grinned at that, not surprised at all that his High Lady had been such a child.

“And Nesta…she sat through the lessons, wanting to live up to our mother’s desires. But she was not my friend as children. She often found small, incessant ways to torment me, probably just to feel some control. And she dominated my mother’s time when she was home, spending countless hours scheming about suitors and riches with her.”

That, too, did not surprise Azriel, though he was glad Nesta had seemed to find some sort of kindness in her heart since then, as well. Even if she kept it hidden deep. 

“And you?” He asked her, their pile of strawberry slices growing.

Elain glanced up into his eyes. “Marla became like a mother to me,” she answered, a bit sadly. “I was often alone, and she was generous and caring with me, so I clung to her.” Azriel’s heart squeezed at that. Elain had survived a lonely childhood just as he had, then.

“I often requested extra lessons from her to pass the time or have some company, and she treated me like her own daughter. She was the one who taught me how to properly clean clothes, read maps, braid my hair, arithmetic, everything. Baking was my favorite subject to study. It always made me feel peaceful, centered.” 

Azriel nodded, drinking in her voice and words. He could listen to her talk forever.

“Marla and I would spend countless hours in the kitchen, baking everything from meat pies to breakfast rolls. But…” a sadness spread over Elain’s face then, despair clouding her eyes. 

“She died. Shortly after my mother did, from an infection that spread to her brain.” 

Azriel’s stomach turned. Elain had lost an adopted mother, just as he had, he realized. He stopped slicing the berries and dared to rest his hand gently atop hers. Shadows caressed her hand and wrist in comfort.

“I’m sorry, Elain,” he said sincerely. She nodded solemnly and let his hand rest upon hers. 

After a few quiet moments she surveyed their work. 

“Alright,” she said. “The berries are ready.” Azriel slid his hand off hers and missed the contact instantly. She scooped the strawberries into a bowl and mixed them with an alarming amount of sugar.

The kitchen was beginning to fill with the divine scent of butter and sugar from the baking pastry. 

“The last piece we need to make is the whipped cream,” Elain said as she plucked up a whisk, her voice still filled with melancholy memory. 

“How do you make whipped cream?” Azriel asked, wanting to distract her.

The corners of Elain’s mouth twitched. “You whip the cream,” she answered drily, pointing the whisk to a bowl of fresh, cloudy cream.

Azriel chuckled. “Fair enough.” Elain’s smile twitched just a hair wider. 

He plucked the whisk from her fingers, gently poking her cheek at her teasing. She blushed once more.

He had never touched her in such a casual, comfortable manner and briefly wondered what possessed him to do so in that moment. 

Azriel sauntered over to the bowl of cream and began stirring it vigorously with the whisk. Elain approached his side and dumped in some sugar as he whipped.

Azriel stirred, and stirred, and stirred. He had trained as an Illyrian warrior for five hundred years. He could wield a shield that weighed the equivalent of a human man. He could sling a fallen soldier over his back and run with him, if he had to.

And yet, whipping this godsdamned cream was making his arm scream in protest. He whipped and whipped and whipped and still it did not turn into the thick substance he expected. 

“Gods above, Elain,” he complained, as she just stood there watching him. “How long does it take to whip cream?” 

Elain giggled. “It takes a while,” she answered unhelpfully. Azriel’s arm was starting to feel like jelly. 

“You do this every time you bake with whipped cream?” 

“Yes,” Elain laughed lightly. “It gets easier with practice.” 

Azriel was starting to sweat. Did Elain have arms of pure granite? He paused his stirring and shot a hand out to grip her upper arm gently. 

Elain squeaked in surprise. 

Azriel narrowed his eyes at her and squeezed his hand, indeed feeling rather hard muscles below her soft flesh. 

“What are you doing?” Elain asked in alarm.

“I’m checking to see if you’re hiding enormous muscles under here, because this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

Elain laughed truly then, and the brilliant sound soared through Azriel’s heart. 

He attempted not to imagine his hand wrapped around her arm with their bodies in very different positions, doing a very different activity. He failed.

He dropped her arm and attacked the cream violently once more.

After another minute of stirring, Azriel dropped the whisk and knelt forward to rest his head on his forearms. 

“How,” he panted. “Is it…not…whipped.”

Elain continued laughing and patted Azriel’s forearm in another achingly comfortable gesture.

“Shall I take over for you, Spymaster?” She asked, her voice tinged with spirited challenge. 

Azriel was nothing if not competitive. It was not that he felt embarrassed to be usurped in such a way by a female (as if that could ever be an embarrassment), or that he needed to feel physically strong to feel confident. 

He simply hated to lose a challenge.

He raised his head. “Absolutely not.” 

Azriel met her gaze and then willed smoky shadows to snake across the counter to the bowl. His shadows curled themselves around the whisk and began to stir vigorously in his stead. He raised an eyebrow in challenge.

Elain frowned despite looking impressed at the display. “That’s cheating.” 

Azriel threw her a cocky grin. “The shadows are part of me. It still takes energy to control them. So it’s not.”

Elain’s frown deepened as she considered. “Fine,” she muttered. Azriel grinned in triumph and poked her cheek once more. 

A corner of his brain told him that he was indeed flirting with Elain Archeron, which was a decidedly bad idea, but another corner of his brain told that corner to shut the fuck up. And it did. 

For a moment they just stared at each other. Azriel felt a reckless desire to brush a loose strand of hair from her braid behind her pointed ear. He was seconds from doing so when the oven dinged, making them both jump.

Elain floated away to pull out the hot tray and place it gingerly on the stovetop. 

Azriel kept his shadows whisking, trying and failing not to imagine what might have happened if he had indeed moved closer to her to brush that strand of hair from her face.

He attempted not to imagine how her breath might have hitched as his scarred fingers touched her face.

He attempted not to think about her heartbeat speeding in the pulse on her neck, or if she might have stepped closer to him in turn.

He really, truly tried. But he failed.

After turning off the oven, Elain padded back over to check on the status of the cream. 

“It’s ready,” she said over her shoulder, and Azriel released his shadows, coaxing them back to himself where they joined the others lazily swirling around his shoulders. Elain watched them in fascination.

"What do they say to you?” She asked him curiously. 

Azriel ran a hand through his hair. It was always difficult for him to explain his shadows to others.

“Everything,” he answered. “I can command them to report on where others are and what they are doing. They warn me of danger. They…suggest courses of action.” Elain’s brows were rising at his answer. 

“But they are a part of me. They’re just magic that comes from me and returns to me.” 

Elain tilted her head. “You hear what no one else does.”

Azriel met her gaze. “You see what no one else does.” 

She blinked at him, as if she had never thought of it that way. 

Azriel tried not to imagine slowly untying the neck of her apron, then. He truly did.

He tried not to imagine running gentle fingers across the side of her throat as he did so. 

He tried not to imagine her eyes fluttering closed at the contact, or what her throbbing pulse would feel like under his fingers. 

He did try. And failed.

But Elain cleared her throat and looked away. 

“We can’t put the cream onto the pastry while it’s still hot, so we’ll have to wait for it to cool.”

Azriel nodded. “What shall we do while we wait, then?”

Elain looked at him once more. “Do you have anything you need to do? Don’t you have…work?”

Azriel grew fidgety, wondering if she was trying to rid herself of him for a few hours. Had he overstepped with her? Made her uncomfortable?

“I do,” he said carefully. “But I have been enjoying spending time with you today. If you’d like some time alone…”

Elain shook her head, her cheeks brightening again. “No, no. I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t want to…monopolize your time. I’m sure you’re very busy and important. Warrior and Spymaster and all.” 

Azriel’s mouth twitched as a small, stupid rope of pride coiled in his heart at her words. “You’re busy and important, too,” he answered. “Baker and gardenmaster and all.” 

And stars above, gazing upon your magnificent fucking face for the next few hours is something I could not possibly deny myself of.

Elain only shook her head and rolled her eyes at him. 

“Fine,” she said. “I wanted to show you something anyway.” 

Elain made her way to the family room and he followed her, curious. She beckoned him to sit on the sofa and then said, “I’ll be right back.” She headed up the stairs towards her bedroom.

Azriel sat, trying not to imagine what the inside of her room looked like. What Elain did in her room during long hours of the night.

Did Elain lay in bed and think of him, as he did her? 

Was he ever in her dreams, as she had started to creep into his? 

Did Elain sleep with her shining hair fanned out behind her, or tied in loose braids?

What kinds of sleepy, contented sounds did Elain make with those unbelievable lips as she climbed under her soft blankets and sheets at the end of a long day?

Did Elain wear a modest nightgown while she slept, or something far more sinful?

What would Elain look like sleeping in nothing more than Azriel’s favorite cotton leisure shirt?

What would those seemingly luscious thighs look like peeking out from under the long hem that fell just over her ass?

He mentally jabbed himself in the eyes.

And he attempted not to imagine. 

And, yet, he failed.

After just a few moments that felt like an eternity of Azriel's imagination running wild, Elain came padding back with two leather-bound books in her hands. 

She sat next to him on the sofa and wordlessly held the smaller of the two out to him.

“What’s this?” He asked her, taking it and examining the cover.

She smiled shyly. “You said you enjoy books about normal people. Well, this is a novel written by a human about a human father and son. If you want to read about normal people, this is probably as normal as it gets. It is rather simple, but beautifully written. I found it in a shop in town.” She looked down bashfully.

Azriel’s chest tightened at the realization that she did indeed think of him when they were apart. That she remembered their conversations and thought about what he may enjoy. 

“Thank you,” he said warmly. “I would love to read about a very normal father and son, and find out what they may do together.” 

Elain gave him a timid smile. 

“What’s that one?” Azriel asked, nodding to the book Elain still held. 

“This one is for me,” she said plainly. “It’s the adventure novel I’m currently reading.” 

Azriel grinned, heart warming as he realized she was asking him to sit and read with her while their baking cooled. He propped his feet onto the ottoman before them and nestled back into the cushions, raising his wings over the back of the couch. 

Elain sat near him, but with enough space between them that they weren’t touching. She grinned back at him and cracked her book open.

Azriel did as well, and the pair began to read in silence. He was content to sit near her, enveloped in her warmth and soothing scent. 

Eventually Elain propped her feet up on the ottoman as well, and their ankles rested against each other casually. Intimately casually.

Azriel found he did very much enjoy the book Elain had selected for him, even if humans truly confounded him in some of their habits and beliefs. 

Elain was an altogether endearing reader, gasping and giggling and scoffing out loud at various points. Azriel grinned every time, delighting in seeing her so enthused. She even read a few especially dramatic or humorous lines out loud to him, and Azriel reveled in her soft melodic voice reciting the prose. 

Azriel’s shadows had crept down his shoulders to his arms and hands, and tendrils were now snaking across the few inches of space between them. A shadow swirled up Elain’s ankle where it touched his and Azriel swallowed, wondering if he should draw it back. But Elain just peeked at it and kept reading.

Between Elain leaning over to show him excerpts of her book and their scattered chatting, the pair had ended up moving closer to each other, so they were thigh to thigh and arm to arm. 

Elain’s delicate scent cradled Azriel’s senses like a lullaby. He felt peace in that moment, sitting pressed up against Elain, reading in silence, enveloped in her scent. Peace like he had never known before. 

And then Azriel realized that he may very well be fucked, indeed. 

A couple hours of reading and sharing warmth later, their pastry was ready. 

Azriel mourned the contact of having Elain brushing against his side, but very much appreciated the view of her leading him back to the kitchen.

He mentally punched himself in the throat this time. 

Friend. Friend. Friend. 

Elain arranged the cooled pastries on a platter and moved to check on the berries. They were now dripping with thick, sweet juice after sitting in the sugar for hours.

Elain wiggled her eyebrows at Azriel and reached into the bowl to pluck one out. Sticky red juice coated her fingers and one rivulet dripped down her wrist. 

She popped it into her mouth as her lips became coated in the thick red substance as well. 

This was worse than the fresh strawberries. So much worse.

“Mmm,” Elain hummed. “They're perfect.” She held out the bowl to Azriel. 

He knew he was one hundred kinds of stupid to do so, but apparently Azriel had no self-control around Elain. 

Because instead of taking fruit out of the bowl, he reached out and caught the dripping juice that had now reached her forearm. He dragged the pad of his finger slowly up, up, up that red rivulet all the way to her wrist, across her palm, and to where it began on the tip of her finger.

And then Azriel, Mother spare him for being so fucking shameless, brought that gathered juice on his finger to his mouth, and looked into Elain's eyes as he licked it off. Slowly. 

A blush painted Elain's face like a sunset as she watched Azriel lick that juice from her arm into his mouth. 

Azriel felt his pupils dilate as he watched Elain’s do the same. 

“Delicious.”

And then Azriel truly hated himself in that moment. He wanted to just leave Elain alone. He wanted her to be able to shine that brilliant light of hers everywhere, for it to not be eclipsed by his darkness. He wanted Elain to be free of his destructive presence. 

But something about Elain Archeron called to Azriel, and it was a call that he could not ignore.

A call that possessed him.

A call that kept him up late into the night, wondering if she thought about him, too.

A call that caused him to imagine all sorts of shameful things.

A call that bade him hold her gaze while he licked juice from his finger that had been dripping down her arm not moments before. 

Elain swallowed as she held his gaze for a moment, and then she let out a nervous little high-pitched laugh and bustled off towards the pastry.

Gods, Azriel really, truly hated himself. She was absolutely not going to ever want to spend time with him again after he acted like such a fucking shameless lustful brute.

He was shaken from his thoughts when Elain waved him over and said, “It’s time for the last step. We have to put it all together.” 

Well, she wasn’t kicking him out of the kitchen yet. Azriel cleared his throat and sauntered over next to her. 

Elain showed Azriel how to layer the whipped cream and strawberries onto the pastry, and he mimicked the steps. 

At the end of it, they had two truly delectable looking cream-and-strawberry pastry towers. Strawberry shortcake. Azriel grinned, despite himself.

“So, this is Elain Archeron’s favorite dessert?”

Elain smiled bashfully. “It is, and once you try it you will agree that it vastly outranks your honey biscuits.”

Azriel chuckled. “I don’t know if anything ever will, Elain. They are perfect.”

Elain shook her head, still smiling. “Try it and tell me I’m wrong, Azriel.”

She reached into a nearby drawer and extracted two forks, holding one out to him. 

He took it and they each sunk a fork into the dessert.

Azriel chewed his bite of their creation slowly, watching Elain carefully as he did so. As she chewed her own bite, she was looking at him with such hope, such excitement, and something else that Azriel was too much of a coward to confront. 

He swallowed and locked eyes with her.

“Elain,” he said. “This is better than honey biscuits.”

Azriel lay in bed that night with the taste of sugared strawberries on his lips and thoughts of Elain Archeron in his mind.

Chapter Text

Elain (Winter- ACOFAS)

As fall bled into winter, Elain found herself with more time on her hands once the garden was prepared for the change in season. She set about baking and cooking every day with Nuala and Cerridwen, and enjoyed their company above all others’ (except, of course, a certain shadow-wreathed male who had invaded her days, her thoughts, and her dreams).

Besides working in the kitchen, the three females often spent time relaxing together. While the twins were mostly silent around the rest of the family, they opened up around Elain. They were actually quite tenacious, with wicked senses of humor and sharp tongues. 

On this particular frigid winter day, just a week after Solstice, Nuala, Cerridwen, and Elain were lounging in the sitting room of the Townhouse, sipping tea and playing a card game the twins were in the midst of teaching Elain.

Although none may expect it, Elain loved to play games. She found them distracting and engaging and she had a secret competitive streak that emboldened her while playing any manner of game. 

This particular game had Elain doubled over in laughter. It involved asking a series of questions based on the card drawn, and the drawer had to either answer truthfully or give up a card, thus losing a point. 

Elain hated to lose a game. So she had chosen to answer all of the twins’ questions on her turns, regardless of the fact that they were getting more and more ridiculous by the minute. 

Nuala’s last three questions had consisted of,

“How many men have proposed marriage to you upon first sight?” (The answer: 4.)

“What body part would you remove from Lord Graysen given the chance?” (The answer: his left ball, because he proclaimed that was his favorite for some godsforsaken reason.)

And,

“What’s the most annoying thing about the High Lord?” (The way he always finds lint like it’s his job, Elain had answered, eyes leaking tears of laughter.)

Elain had tried to come up with challenging questions for the twins but she had no idea whether they were answering honestly or not. She supposed that was due to Azriel’s spy training with them. 

As Nuala and Cerridwen bickered over Cerridwen’s most recent turn, Elain’s mind drifted to the Spymaster for the thousandth time. She could not stop thinking of him.

She could also not stop reliving the feeling of Azriel’s finger languidly stroking up her arm, collecting that strawberry juice. Of his heated, dark gaze as he swept his finger all the way across her palm and then lifted it to his mouth, licking that juice away with a lazy tongue. Of his dark, beckoning voice. “Delicious.” 

Elain’s cheeks heated at the memory and she shook her head slightly as if to clear it. 

Nuala raised an eyebrow at her. She cleared her throat. “What?” She asked innocently. 

The twins exchanged glances. “What were you thinking about?” Nuala asked.

Elain’s cheeks reddened even more. “Nothing,” She answered, looking at the cards in her hand for a distraction. 

Cerridwen narrowed her eyes at Elain, clearly suspicious. She knew the twins saw and heard much more than they let on, working closely with both Azriel and Elain constantly. But she also was aware that there was nothing going on between her and Azriel besides friendship.

No matter that he had stirred a feeling in her core when he licked that strawberry juice into his mouth, holding her gaze. A feeling that she hadn’t experienced in what seemed like eons. 

No matter that his beautiful face, those luscious lips, those scarred hands, had started appearing in her dreams. 

No matter that when he had thrown his head back and laughed at her Solstice present, Elain had felt a warmth spread through her chest that felt like home. Like safety. Like peace.

No matter that he knew her better than anyone else in her life, innately and with little effort. He knew he did not need to speak in her presence, but also knew exactly what to say when he chose to. 

No matter. Because Azriel had not looked at her or spoken to her as he had since the time they baked together, and Elain was beginning to wonder if she had imagined any heat between them at all. If it was wishful thinking, or just a lapse in judgment on Azriel’s part. 

Why would he want a young, broken woman who was fated to another? He wouldn’t. 

So no matter. There was nothing for the twins to know.

“It’s your turn,” Nuala said, shaking Elain from her thoughts. She cleared her throat. 

“Right,” she said with feigned brightness. She drew a card and sighed. Two questions.

Cerridwen let a serpentine smile spread on her face. “First question,” she stated aggressively. “What were you thinking about just now?” 

Elain blew out an exasperated breath. “Really?” She asked incredulously. 

Cerridwen only raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms, waiting. 

They always knew when she was lying. Elain did not want to lose this game. She lowered her brows and rose to the challenge. 

“I was thinking about my friendship with Azriel.” 

Nuala and Cerridwen exchanged an annoyingly meaningful look. Elain rolled her eyes but could feel her face burning in embarrassment. 

Nuala opened her mouth to say something that would undoubtedly make Elain cringe, when she was stopped by a familiar clearing of the throat. 

Elain’s heart nearly fell out of her ass. She squealed- squealed- and jumped to her feet, a hand flying to her chest as she swung her head to the sound.

Fucking Azriel was sitting, looking comfortable as ever, on a chaise in the corner of the sitting room, leafing through a stack of letters. 

He looked perfectly at ease, his wings in a relaxed position, his ankles crossed, shadows resting along his neck. 

Elain was still gasping for breath. “How long have you been sitting there?!” She whisper-screamed at him. 

The corners of Azriel’s mouth twitched but he didn’t look up from his stack of letters. “Long enough to know exactly how your first kiss went,” he answered coolly. 

Elain’s face went up in flames anew. That had been at least forty-five minutes ago. 

Nuala and Cerridwen seemed completely unsurprised and unconcerned that he had been sitting there for so long listening to them.

“What-” Elain began sputtering. “How did- why-” Her blush deepened to the color of rubies as a stupid, smug smile slid across Azriel’s face.

He finally looked up at her and her heart stuttered at his beautiful eyes meeting hers. Like a sunlit dappled forest in autumn. 

“You three were having so much fun. I didn’t want to interrupt.” 

Elain sighed in exasperation again and whipped her head to the twins. “Did you know he was sitting there?!”

Cerridwen raised an eyebrow. “Of course,” she answered nonchalantly. “He walked right in and sat down.” 

Nuala only shrugged in agreement. Elain gaped and turned back to Azriel. She could have died of embarrassment. 

“Why-” she said, crossing the room towards him. “Are you-” she snatched the pile of letters from Azriel’s hands- “so quiet, ” she seethed, and smacked him on the arm with the stack of letters. 

Azriel just chuckled and tucked his hands behind his head in an infuriatingly arrogant male gesture. 

“I believe you had another question to answer,” was his only response, nodding towards Elain’s forgotten cards on the floor. 

Elain frowned at him and crossed her arms. “I’m not just going to keep playing in front of you!” She exclaimed. “This was a private game. Others were not meant to hear our answers.”

Nuala and Cerridwen were being completely unhelpful, just sitting and casually watching the conversation unfold. 

Azriel raised an eyebrow. “You’re playing in the middle of the sitting room.”

Elain narrowed her eyes at him. Damn it. He had a point.

Nuala and Cerridwen were whispering behind her now. Elain whipped her head to them. Nuala was shaking her head about something but Cerridwen punched her arm lightly and then stood.

“We need to go to town to get supplies for the kitchen,” she announced, as if they hadn’t just been whispering the plan to each other two seconds ago. 

Nuala sighed and stood as well, giving Elain an apologetic shrug. “Perhaps the Spymaster can finish off the game with you,” she muttered, and then the sisters linked arms and scurried from the room. The wretches.

Azriel chuckled once more and slid off the chaise as Elain huffed in exasperation. He plucked his stack of letters from Elain’s hand and playfully swatted her on the nose with them before letting his shadows magically whisk them away.

He said nothing as he strode to the liquor cabinet and poured a dram of whiskey into two short tumblers. Elain just watched him, still flustered and reeling about the fact that he had been sitting there listening to them play for so long without her noticing. 

Azriel carried both tumblers to where the three females had been sitting and gracefully lowered himself to the floor beside the coffee table. He raised his eyebrows at Elain and held out a glass for her expectantly. 

And he looked so…commanding in that moment. A cocky little grin tugging the corner of his mouth, his dark brow beckoning her in challenge. Leathers straining under his flexed arm muscles. Shadows curling around his ears and hazel eyes glittering. 

How could Elain possibly say no? 

So she schooled her face into cold determination and stomped over to the coffee table, reclaiming her spot across from him. 

Fine. She would play this game with him. And she would win.

She held his gaze and took a long sip of her whiskey. He mirrored her, only stopping when she stopped. 

“Well,” Azriel murmured, his voice like velvet night. “Didn’t you have one more question to answer?” 

Elain harrumphed a grumbled “yes,” and picked up her cards. 

A scarred finger traced the rim of Azriel’s glass as he hummed in thought.

“When is your birthday?”

The question startled her. She had expected him to push her on what she had mentioned- that she had been thinking about their friendship. She had steeled her spine to bring up the whole flirting incident and try to suss out what he was thinking. 

She blinked at him in surprise. “Really?” She asked, eyebrows raising. “You’re going to give me that easy of a question?” 

Azriel raised both his own brows now. “I know a lot about you at this point, Elain. It seems like a crime not to know your birthday.” 

Elain blushed for a different reason now. “Alright,” she answered, with much less edge. “It’s April seventeenth.” 

Azriel nodded and hummed in thought. “And what do you want for your birthday?” 

Elain narrowed her eyes at him. “I answered my two questions. It’s your turn now.” 

Azriel chuckled lightly and drew a card from the pile on the table. 

Damn it. He didn’t have to answer a single question and still got to keep the point. Elain scowled at him. 

“Elain,” he said, voice full of cool amusement. “I had no idea you were so vicious about winning games.” 

She scoffed at him. “I’ve heard the same of you, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel grinned mischievously at her and she felt something curl low in her stomach at that.

“You heard right,” he murmured. And then nodded to the pile for Elain to take her turn.

She picked up a card and rolled her eyes.

“One question,” she said flatly, flashing the card at him.

He grinned triumphantly. Shadows skittered along his wings in glee.

“What do you want for your birthday?” He asked again.

You, to tell me how you really feel about me. 

Elain decided to hedge. “I haven’t thought about it, to be honest. I just received such lovely presents at Solstice- there is nothing else I need right now.” 

Azriel narrowed his eyes at her and snatched the card from her hand, throwing it into a discard pile on the table. 

Elain squawked an offended sound. “I answered truthfully!” She exclaimed.

Azriel only shook his head and took a swig of his whiskey. “You shouldn’t play this game with a Spymaster, Elain. I’ll know when you’re lying.” His voice was so cool and deep, soft and dark, it sent a shiver down Elain’s spine. 

But gods she hated to lose. “Fine,” she ground out. Azriel smirked at her. 

Elain threw back a splash of whiskey and glared at him. He picked up a card and Elain grinned. 

He had to answer two questions. To make him lose those two points, they had to be hard enough questions that he wouldn’t want to answer them. She had to make him sweat. 

Elain tapped her finger on the table, thinking. Azriel only held her gaze and sipped his whiskey, challenge in his eyes. It stoked Elain’s fire. 

She decided to go for a cheap shot first.

“Alright,” she stated. “Since you so surreptitiously decided to eavesdrop about my first kiss, I want to know about yours.” 

Azriel’s face didn’t change. He didn’t seem rattled at all by her prying question.

“Easy,” he drawled. “I was sixteen. Cass and I went dancing. I had only been out in the world for five years, and I went through a period where I…tried to make up for lost time.” Elain’s heart sunk a bit at the sadness and regret etched in Azriel’s eyes. 

“I did a lot of stupid shit during that time of my life when I could get away from the training camp. Anyway, we were out dancing and I had one too many drinks. I had no fucking clue what I was doing but another adolescent fae male started dancing with me, and I kissed him.” 

Elain felt her cheeks catch fire. 

“It was sloppy, and unskilled, but nice. We kissed a few times that night, and then I never saw him again.” 

Azriel’s first kiss had been with a male. That intrigued Elain. Damn it, he was beating her at her own game. He knew exactly what he was doing.

He was looking at her with a completely neutral, unfazed expression on his gorgeous face. 

Elain’s second question was bursting out of her before she could come up with a better game plan.

“You take males and females to bed?” she blurted. She was aware that fae tended to be much less scandalized and much more free when it came to their sexual experiences- probably because they lived so long. 

Azriel raised a brow. “Is that your second question?” He asked, unaffected. 

Elain looked at him challengingly even though she knew she had wasted this round. She simply couldn’t help her curiosity. “Yes.”

Azriel drank some more from his glass. “Yes, I enjoy both males and females in bed. I find pleasure in any beautiful body, regardless of their anatomy. And I believe I am skilled at providing pleasure to both males and females.” He delivered this all with little to no emotion, looking her dead in the eye.

Elain felt like her head was going to explode in fire. She splashed some whiskey down her throat to try to wet her drying mouth but it only served to fuel the fire burning within her. 

She didn’t know how it was possible, but somehow the knowledge that Azriel shared his bed with both males and females only made him more…desirable. Intriguing. Tempting. 

She cleared her throat to say something. “Well that’s…nice. For you. And for those males and females.” 

Ugh. That sounded much more stupid coming out of her mouth than she meant it to.

A tiny smile curled on Azriel’s jaw. He knew he had the upper hand. 

So Elain rolled her eyes and wordlessly selected a card for her turn. She smiled wolfishly at him. No questions. 

Azriel sighed and tossed the rest of his drink back, only to saunter over to the liquor cabinet and return with the whole bottle of whiskey. He refilled his glass and then topped hers off as well, leaving the bottle on the table between them. 

“It’s your turn again,” Elain said, voice dripping with challenging sweetness. 

Azriel cut her a glare and picked up a card. Elain’s smile grew. One question.

She had to make this one hard. Something he wouldn’t want to answer. Apparently he had no qualms discussing his sex life, so Elain steered clear of that. 

If only for her own sanity. 

“What is your biggest regret in life?” 

Azriel’s expression didn't change but a hardness fell over his eyes. He stared at Elain for a good ten seconds, her heart racing, wondering if she pushed him too far already. 

Azriel’s grip tightened around his glass until he finally tossed the card down, forfeiting his point. 

“You're giving up so easily?” Elain asked, trying to lighten the intensifying mood. 

Azriel's face betrayed nothing, his cool mask firmly in place.

“You don't want to hear that story right now,” he answered, a slight tremor in his voice despite his collected visage. 

Elain blanched. “I'm sorry,” she whispered quickly. 

A flicker of recognition flitted across Azriel’s face. 

“Don't be,” he said, voice softening. “You're just playing the game.” 

Elain swallowed. “Do you want to draw another card?” She asked tentatively. 

A crooked grin crossed Azriel’s face. “What, and let you claim that as an excuse when I win?” 

Elain’s mouth dropped open. “Fine,” she said. “I'll take my turn then.” 

She picked up a card. One question.

She flipped it to show Azriel. His smile grew.

He hummed in thought. Elain sipped her whiskey. 

“What is your favorite color?”

Elain gawked at him. 

“Green,” she said seethingly. She didn't know what game he was playing asking her such easy questions. Elain frowned as Azriel’s face twitched with amusement. 

He plucked up a card. “Two questions,” he muttered. 

Elain preened. She could win. 

“What is your family name?”

Azriel arched a brow. “I don't have one. Bastard born, remember? We lose the privilege of a family name.” 

Elain's heart sunk at that confession but she plowed on, pretending to be unaffected. 

“Fine. How many people have you been in love with?” 

Azriel took one solitary second to consider before he answered. “Three.” 

Three? In five hundred years? 

She narrowed her eyes at him to try to stealthily catch him in a lie. 

“Who exactly?” 

Azriel only waved a dismissive hand in the air. “You asked your two questions. Your turn.” 

Elain scowled and picked up a card. Fuck.

“Two questions.” 

A shit-eating grin spread across the warrior’s face. 

He hummed in thought and sipped his drink. Elain followed suit, the whiskey starting to make her head feel lighter. 

“Well?” She asked, tapping her hand on the table with mock impatience. 

Azriel snorted. But then a serious expression fell over his face. He straightened. 

“Are you okay, truly? After Hybern? After what you had to see, and what you had to do?” 

Elain’s heart plummeted. She didn't want to discuss this. 

No, she was not okay. No, she hadn't been okay since seeing her sister and Cassian mere moments before their deaths, choosing to go together. No, she hadn’t been okay since seeing her father’s lifeless figure crumpled on the ground. No, she hadn't been okay since choosing to take a life, to destroy rather than create. She had killed, and she would never be repaired. 

She tossed her card down half-heartedly, a silent admission. No, she was not okay. But no, she wouldn't discuss it now. 

Azriel stared and stared at her, a war evident in his features. And then he moved. 

He slid around the table gracefully until he was sitting kitty corner from her. 

Elain’s eyes welled, beyond her control, as his scarred hand lifted to brush her fingers. 

Her own hand trembled. 

“Elain,” Azriel murmured. 

Don't fall apart. Not now. Enjoy the moment.

Elain shook her head slightly and blinked her tears away. “I'm fine,” she said shakily. 

“I'm sorry-” Azriel started, but she shook her head again more vigorously. 

“Don't be,” she said, voice slightly high. “It's just a game.” 

Azriel’s fingers lingered over hers and her chest burned, longed for her to interlace their fingers and fall into his arms. 

She mentally shook off the desire.

“I'm ready for question two.”

Azriel looked uncertain, but Elain was determined to collect herself and bask in this peaceful moment with Azriel. 

He looked down at her in concern. Elain schooled her face into a smile. “Go on,” she encouraged. 

Azriel slid his fingers off hers and moved back to his place across from her. 

“Alright,” he answered. “Tell me about your best friend.” 

Elain swallowed. He probably expected her to discuss a friend from before she was turned, or Nuala and Cerridwen. Maybe Nesta. But Elain was going to be honest. 

She threw back some whiskey and answered with forced lightness. “He's a generous and kind and thoughtful male.” Azriel met her eyes uncertainly. She continued. “Most who don't know him cower from him. I fear too many think of him as some sort of monster. But beneath his annoyingly good-looking mask is a male better than anyone would expect.” Azriel swallowed. Elain held his gaze. 

His eyes shuttered then, and he looked down at his lap, seemingly unable to confront what she had laid out between them. 

Elain marked her point. 

“Azriel,” she said gently. He looked like he had to force himself to meet her gaze. She offered him a soft smile. 

“It's your turn.” 

He breathed the tiniest sigh of relief at her invitation to move past the moment and took a sip of his drink. 

Elain knew any kind of praise, and discussing such intimate matters, was difficult for Azriel to withstand. Much more difficult than discussing sex, apparently. 

He picked up a card. “One question.” 

Elain grinned at him again. 

She felt a little bad, but she wanted to win. So she threw another intimate question at him, volleying back what he had given her. 

“Tell me about your best friend, then.” 

To her surprise, Azriel didn't grimace. She expected him to tell her about Cassian. As exasperated as he often was with his brother, she knew he loved him more than any other. They had a bond that went deeper than blood, deeper than friendship. 

But Azriel's words surprised her. He met her gaze once more. 

“I haven't known her as long as my other friends. But she is singular.” Elain’s chest squeezed painfully. 

“Everything she touches becomes beautiful. She grows unmatched gardens, and makes equally lovely things in the kitchen.” 

Elain felt a blush claim her face. She swallowed. 

“She has a power and strength that her entire family underestimates, and she wields both with quiet grace. She enjoys the peace and quiet as I do, but she has a gentle sense of humor that always surprises me.”

Elain’s cheeks were positively burning now.

“And apparently, she secretly harbors an unholy competitive streak.” 

Elain scoffed at that but Azriel grinned. “Oh, and she is the most beautiful person in Prythian.” 

Elain nearly fell over. It felt difficult to breathe. She cleared her throat and sipped her whiskey, only to find it empty. She quickly refilled her glass and sipped. Azriel only smirked at her as she flustered about. 

“Forfeit yet?” He asked casually, as if he hadn't just said the most atrociously sweet things about herself she had ever heard.

Elain lowered her brows at him. “Never.” 

Azriel laughed lightly as Elain drew a card. She sighed. Two questions. 

Azriel grinned menacingly. She just continued glowering at him, steeling herself. 

He asked her his question at the same time that she took another sip.

“Was Graysen any good in bed?” 

Elain choked on her whiskey, spewing some down her front and hacking a violent cough. Azriel watched her with a stupid smug look on his face. 

Elain managed to pull herself together and dab a handkerchief over her blouse, glaring at Azriel. He just waited expectantly.

Elain cleared her throat. He wanted her to fold. She would absolutely not give him that satisfaction.

“Yes, he was good in bed.” She seethed. Azriel raised his brows. She stared at him. 

“Don't lie to me,” he said, and she didn't know if she imagined it or if his voice had really dropped an octave in pitch. 

Elain swallowed, her face once again on fire. 

She sighed in exasperation. “Alright. He was fine in bed. He enjoyed it, at least.” 

Azriel’s brows raised even further at that. “He enjoyed it, but you did not?” 

Elain had never even discussed this with her sisters. She cleared her throat. “Is that your second question?” 

Azriel considered. “I want to know exactly why you didn't enjoy it as he did.” 

Oh, my gods. Elain thought she might perish on the spot. But she. Wanted. To win. She gritted her teeth. 

“It was fine. Nice, even. But it was all very…” She struggled to find words that weren't crass or too revealing. It didn't help that Azriel's hazel eyes were burning into her with an intensity she hadn't seen since…the strawberries. She swallowed again. 

“It was all very repetitive.” Azriel choked on air. She pushed on. 

“Boring, I might add. It was the same, every time, and it was always focused on…him. It was over once he was…finished.” 

Elain knew her face was the color of a holy inferno now. But as she watched Azriel react to her words she thought she might have bested him. 

He cleared his throat and his wings twitched. He shifted his seat uncomfortably on the floor, and then threw back a large gulp of whiskey as his shadows swirled around his arms.

“That is…” Azriel began, clearly not knowing what to say. He cleared his throat again and Elain's embarrassment began to ebb. “...unfortunate for you,” Azriel finished with a less-than-steady voice. 

Elain only shrugged. “Everything about Graysen was unfortunate for me,” she muttered bitterly. 

Azriel’s face hardened into something dark and vengeful. 

“He's an asshole. He never deserved you.” 

Elain felt a familiar crushing sadness. She had truly loved Graysen at one point. And he had truly loved her back. At least, she thought he did. But he had turned his back on her so easily. 

“No matter,” Elain answered, trying and failing to keep her voice light. “He left me without a second look, anyway.” 

Azriel’s face darkened further. His chest rose and fell once deeply. 

“I hate that he broke your heart,” he growled. 

Elain smiled sadly but had nothing to say to that. He had broken her heart, and Elain hated it too. 

Azriel gritted his teeth and she watched a tiny war cross his features, like he was deciding whether or not to continue speaking. Apparently he chose to. 

“Anyone who would give you up is a godsdamned fool. He didn't know how fucking lucky he was to have you. If I had been in his position, someone would have had to pry you from my cold, dead fingers to take you from me.” 

Elain blanched slightly. Her heart began thumping more quickly. This was more than flirting, this was…this was something else. 

She looked down at her glass and said quietly, “Thank you, Azriel.” 

He cleared his throat and looked around, as if remembering himself and where they were. 

A rumble worked its way through Elain’s stomach. The whiskey was really getting to her head. She stood suddenly and swayed slightly. Azriel looked at her questioningly. 

“I’ll be right back,” she said. “We’re not done playing.” 

Elain scurried off to the kitchen. If she was going to keep playing this godsforsaken game with Azriel and sipping the whiskey she swore was stronger than usual, she would need some food in her stomach. 

Elain looked out the window. Night was falling. No wonder she was hungry. It had been hours since she had eaten anything. 

Elain piled a tray with savory rolls, a dish of butter, fat blackberries, some flaky smoked fish, and a hunk of hard cheese. 

She turned around, balancing the heavy tray in her hands, prepared to push the kitchen door open with a hip. 

She jumped as she turned to find Azriel just steps behind her. 

“Gods! ” she breathed. “Stop doing that!” 

Azriel only grinned and removed the heavy tray from her hands, just as he had done with her dish of potatoes at dinner only a few days ago. 

 “I’ve got it,” he said, and turned back towards the sitting room without another word.

Elain just sighed and followed him back to the coffee table, where Azriel set the tray down and nodded at the food appreciatively. 

“I was hungry,” Elain said, shrugging sheepishly. Azriel just buttered a roll and tore off half in one huge bite. Elain giggled and popped a blackberry into her mouth. 

She nodded towards the cards after swallowing. “It’s your turn.” 

Azriel swallowed the second half of his roll and picked a card up while chewing. He must have been hungry as well, then. Of course he would never mention it. He would never want to trouble Elain with his own needs. Even if feeding others was never any trouble for her. Even if he was starving, apparently. 

Elain’s heart squeezed at that. She made a mental note to have more food out for the taking when Azriel was around. 

Azriel sighed and showed her his card. Excellent. Two questions. 

Elain rubbed her hands together mischievously and Azriel just grinned, shaking his head and eating some of the smoked fish. 

She sipped her whiskey. She knew it was probably a bad idea, considering the effect Azriel seemed to have on her tonight, but she wanted to repay him for making her discuss her sex life with Graysen so openly. 

“When did you last take someone to bed?” She asked. She almost didn’t want to hear the answer. What if it had been a month ago? A week ago? Mother spare her, what if it was last night? She suddenly regretted asking. 

Azriel only shrugged. “Last winter,” he said nonchalantly. Elain tried not to react. Last winter? An entire year ago? Elain looked him over. She had no idea how Azriel could look like that and not have someone in his bed for an entire year. 

Azriel grinned like he knew what she was thinking. Elain cleared her throat. “That’s a long time,” she all but squeaked. 

He just shrugged again. “Surprised?” He asked, a hint of cockiness in his voice. 

Elain ignored his question. “My second question is… why has it been a year since you’ve taken someone to bed?” 

This question seemed harder for Azriel to answer. He fidgeted in the slightest way, just a tiny tremor running through his wings. Elain cut some cheese off the hunk and nibbled it while she waited, a challenging look in her eyes. 

Azriel finally said coolly, “I just haven’t been in the mood, I suppose.” 

Elain frowned at him. And then smiled. “You’re lying!” 

Azriel scoffed, but she saw a golden blush creep over his cheeks. Elain smiled wider. “You are lying! Forfeit your point or tell me the truth.” 

Azriel ground his teeth. Elain giggled at his discomfort and he narrowed his eyes at her. She didn’t know what the truth was, but it didn’t take a genius to know that a male like Azriel- one who harbored so much below the surface, who hid a deep, churning sea of vicious feeling and want and need- couldn't be not in the mood for sex for an entire year. 

She was absolutely sure Azriel needed some sort of release for that chained, struggling beast within him, and he couldn’t only get it from sparring on the rooftop. There was another reason he was unwilling to share about why it had been so long.

Elain chewed on a roll with expectant, raised brows, staring at Azriel. He glowered and threw his card down. 

Elain smiled triumphantly and swallowed some more whiskey. “I guess you can’t lie to me either, Spymaster,” she said coyly. 

Azriel threw her his most terrifying stare. Elain only giggled. 

“You must be terribly lonely,” she teased him, willing to egg him on a bit more. 

“It’s your turn,” Azriel ground out, before aggressively cutting into the cheese and shoving a piece into his mouth. 

Elain grinned and picked up a card. One question.

Azriel swallowed and pinned her with a hard stare. 

“Would you get rid of the mating bond, if you could?” 

All lightness evaporated from Elain in an instant. She didn’t even hesitate for a moment before whispering, “Yes,” and looking down at her glass, appetite gone. 

A beat of strained silence passed. “Elain?” Azriel asked, sounding regretful and nervous. She couldn’t look up at him. She felt her eyes welling with tears again. 

She hated the stupid fucking mating bond. If she could whisper it away into inexistence, she would. Without hesitation. Or if she had to have a mating bond, she certainly wouldn’t have picked the Autumn son who cringed in her presence, worried she would shatter at the drop of a pin. 

Elain blinked rapidly, trying to stop the flow of tears. 

Azriel moved then, again sliding around the corner of the table to be closer to her. “Elain,” he said once more, gently. 

She still couldn’t look at him, but she felt one hot, salty tear slide down her cheek. She hated how easily she cried. 

Suddenly warm, tender, scarred fingers were at her chin and her heart stalled. Azriel gently lifted her chin so she was forced to look at him. His eyes were filled with regret, and sorrow, and something like pain. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his long fingers still holding her chin. “I shouldn’t have brought that up.” 

Another tear slid down Elain’s face and Azriel’s thumb swept it away in an achingly tender gesture. 

“It’s just…” Elain began, shuddering slightly under his touch. “I just hate it so much. And everyone…everyone just expects me to…” she trailed off, feeling helpless and hopeless. 

“I know,” Azriel answered, sweeping his thumb once more over her cheek, brushing away one more traitorous tear. 

“No one has ever asked me what I wanted,” she whispered. “Not even Feyre or Nesta. They act like I should be grateful for a bond with a male that I don’t know, that I have no interest in knowing.” Azriel swallowed as he watched her work through her thoughts, but said nothing. He still just held her chin, so gently and comfortingly. 

“What does it even mean that he’s my mate? Am I supposed to owe him something? Abandon my life for him?” 

Azriel’s grip tightened slightly on her chin, his eyes hardening. “You owe him nothing, Elain. Nothing. He was a fucking prick for claiming you as his mate the moment you came out of the Cauldron. You never deserved that. He should have kept his fucking mouth shut.” 

Elain was taken aback by his passionate words. She could sense anger and hatred rolling off Azriel’s form. His shadows were coiling his forearms, more active than she had seen them all afternoon.

Overwhelmed, Elain tried to pull out of his grip and dip her head again, but Azriel delicately tugged on her chin to meet his eyes once more.

“You deserved so much better than that human prick. And you deserve so much better than an unwanted mating bond, and the male who claims it. You deserve…everything. You deserve everything, Elain. Don’t make yourself smaller for them.” 

Elain’s heart was thumping loudly. She was sure Azriel could see her pulse pounding at her neck, sense her rapidly swirling thoughts and erratic breathing. She was feeling too much, too many rocketing emotions slammed into each other within her. Her chest began rapidly rising and falling with Azriel’s hand still resting lightly under her chin. 

She felt something welling within her as she stared into his churning eyes, so intent and demanding in that moment. She didn’t know what she wanted then. She wanted to cry. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted him to take her in his arms. She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. 

As the war within herself raged, they just stared at each other in silence. Until it was shattered by loud, screeching laughter and heavy footsteps.

Azriel dropped his hand and slid away from Elain just as Mor and Feyre entered the sitting room, arm in arm. They both stopped short when they beheld Elain and Azriel sitting across from each other on the floor, a veritable feast of snacks and a half-empty bottle of whiskey between them. Cards strewn on the coffee table. 

“Well,” Mor chirped. “This looks cozy.” She strode to the liquor cabinet and selected a glass for herself. Then she sauntered right over to the coffee table and plopped down, plucking up the bottle. “What are we having?” She surveyed it for a moment and then rolled her eyes. “The cheap stuff. Oh well,” she sighed, and poured herself a finger before throwing it back. 

Feyre grinned and sat on the last remaining side of the coffee table, plucking up a few blackberries and tossing them into her mouth. She looked at Azriel.

“Was Elain demonstrating her hidden terrifying competitive streak?” She asked him slyly. “She was a table flipper growing up.” 

Elain reddened and Azriel, his cool mask back in place, raised an eyebrow. “A table flipper?” He asked. 

Feyre chuckled and nodded. “When we would play games as children, if she was losing and knew she wouldn’t recover, she would simply…flip the table. Destroy the game so no one else could win.” 

Elain blushed furiously and she crossed her arms. Mor threw back her head and howled. Azriel’s mouth twitched into a smile as well. 

“Alright, alright,” she muttered, and Feyre laughed as well.

“Well?” She asked. “Who’s winning this one?”

Elain and Azriel both answered, “I am,” at the same moment, and then glared at each other.

Mor laughed even harder, tears pricking her eyes. 

Feyre picked up the bottle and swigged straight from it.

“Well, this should be interesting. Deal us in.” 

Chapter Text

Azriel (Late Winter- Between ACOFAS and ACOSF)

Thoughts of Elain had become a dull constant pain for the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. With each passing season, the peace and tranquility Azriel found with the Seer brought equal parts ache and longing. 

With every new way that Azriel learned Elain- her thoughts, her beliefs, her curiosity, her history- the pain of separation grew. 

He hadn't slept for two nights straight after flirting so shamelessly with Elain while they baked strawberry shortcake in the fall.

He had, however, stared at the wall, hating himself. Then he had fisted his cock until he came into his hand, the taste of those berries still on his lips and Elain's scent still clouding his senses. 

Then he had stared at the wall and hated himself some more, plagued with shame. 

How could he have put Elain in such a position without knowing what she wanted? 

She had enough to contend with. She had trauma she was still working through, a mating bond that he knew made her feel trapped, a new life to accept. 

She didn't need a miserable bastard wreathed in nightmares panting after her. What could Azriel offer Elain beyond a warrior’s protection? She deserved more than that. She deserved someone as kind and generous and warm as she was. 

He was aware, on some level below dungeons and dungeons of self-hatred, that Elain was her own person, and it wasn't up to him to decide what she deserved or wanted. But the problem was that he didn't know what she wanted. And it sickened him that he had flirted with her in such a forward way without that knowledge. 

His thoughts drifted to the feel of running his scarred finger up that rivulet of juice on her smooth, smooth arm. And then, thinking about that red juice on her lips, he had pleasured himself again. And then hated himself for it again.

The next night was the same.  

Azriel had felt Elain’s torrent of emotions while he held her chin on the sitting room floor during their card game. He had sensed so many rolling off of her they were hard to track. Deep sadness, confusion, hopelessness, and he thought, underneath it all, a subtle undercurrent of longing. 

Was it longing for him? He couldn't see how that would be possible. But when she looked into his eyes with that chocolate gaze of hers…he could almost see it. The nameless thing they shared. The spark of some vague future to live for. 

Spending time with Elain was like blissful torture. Every shared teapot in the garden, every late-night chat in the quiet shadows, every shared fleeting look between them…each one became better and simultaneously more painful. 

Azriel had been shocked when Elain had given him a gift for Solstice. When her beautiful, soft voice had uttered “Oh, that's from me,” he had felt his heart drop low in nervous apprehension and surprise. He didn't let it show on his face, of course, but when her gift ended up not only being achingly thoughtful but also humorous, he could not contain his reaction. Azriel had felt a simple, boyish joy in that moment that he had not felt in centuries. Like the boy of his childhood had not been tortured and imprisoned, but rather cherished and cared for. 

And then he blinked and it was past three in the morning as he sat beside Elain, listening intently to her garden plans. He could have sat there listening to her speak with such gentle passion and enthusiasm, such purpose, until the dawn broke. Longer. He wanted to live in her joy and excitement. Build a home from it around himself and stay there until he was withered and wrinkled.

Asking about Elain’s sex life during the card game had decidedly been a mistake. Hearing that she had not been properly satisfied by Graysen made Azriel want to pummel the male even more. On the other hand, though, it had given him simply too much to daydream about. 

He tried not to imagine giving her the pleasure she never found with Graysen. 

He tried not to imagine pinning her down and licking her core until she came three times before he even sought his own pleasure.

He tried not to imagine what he could do with his fingers alone, or even just his shadows, to make her feel carnal satisfaction like she had never known.

He tried not to imagine Elain moaning his name as she rode his face, burning in rhapsody above him. 

He tried, but he failed. 

Azriel kept Elain’s solstice gift on his nightstand. Every night he stared at it like religion, and every night he found himself with his cock in his hand and her name whispering from his lips like a soft, desperate plea to the stars carried on the winds. 

It was late winter now, and Elain had taken to readying the garden at the Townhouse daily for spring. She would don a heavy cloak and tights under her gowns to go out to the garden and prepare the beds. 

Azriel often followed her out after an hour or two with a tray of hot tea so that she wouldn't get too chilly. Elain would cradle her mug in her delicate hands, the steam wafting around her face like her very own shadows to command. He often had to fight his instincts to envelop her hands in his own larger ones to warm them up. 

Sometimes he would find himself carrying a bowl of hot soup and crusty bread out on a tray for her, and he wondered how he had even gotten there. It was like a spirit within moved him to take care of her- to make sure she was warm, fed, safe, happy. 

The rest of the family was so busy, hardly anyone noticed the time they spent together. None saw the delicate friendship blooming between them. None saw the ache deep within Azriel when he gazed upon Elain. None saw the way his fingers curled as if they were holding hers when she was near. As if they were empty without her. 

He tried not to let himself get carried away like he had when they baked strawberry shortcake. 

He tried not to stare deep into her chocolate eyes for too long, or to let himself watch her pulse flutter in her neck. 

He tried not to notice when her dresses clung to the curve of her backside, beckoning him to caress her there with reverence. 

He tried not to let her see how she affected him, how his very breaths had become tied to her energy, how his shadows poised to defend her when she was in pain or retreated altogether when they were together and at peace. 

He tried, but he usually failed. He wound and wound his leash ever tighter. His jaw began to ache at night for how hard he ground his teeth during the day to keep any flicker of emotion from leaking. 

He feared that if his mask cracked even the slightest, it would be like a dam bursting, and he would be unable to stop the flow of water before it drowned him and anyone near him alive. 

Elain made it so hard though, with her musical voice and radiant smile and soft, secret eyes. He wanted to rip his mask off and throw it into the Sidra. To fall to his knees before her and confess every feeling deep within him, and kiss every inch of her exquisite body.

He would not, though, because it would not be fair to her. 

So instead, he thanked the stars above every night that she gifted him with any kind of company, that he was lucky enough to consider her a friend. Because a sublime friend, she was. 

On an uncharacteristically balmy morning that late winter after she had given him the headache powder from Madja, Azriel sat in the garden watching Elain plant poppies with her beautiful hands. 

She had foregone her tights with the little wave of warmth that had blown into Velaris, and her long-sleeved, light blue gown fluttered around her bare calves. Her curls were pulled into a messy knot on the top of her head and her face seemed to glow with the satisfaction of putting life in the ground. 

Azriel rested sideways on a bench in the garden, his long legs stretched out in front of him and his wings fanned out behind the arm of the bench, soaking up the rare sunny day. His shadows swirled lazily across his limbs as if they, too, were enjoying basking in the sun. 

He pretended to study reports but was actually transfixed with the way a tendon stretched in Elain’s neck as she bent her head to the earth. He swallowed as he stared at the flesh pulled taut over that raised ridge, begging for a tongue to run over it. 

Don't fucking start. 

He swallowed and tore his eyes away just as Elain was turning around towards him. He drifted unreading eyes over the papers before him as she approached him, dusting her hands off on the apron tied over her gown. It was the same one she had used to bake strawberry shortcake.

“I think the poppies will be brilliant this spring,” she said to him through an exquisite smile. Azriel craned his neck to study where she had planted them. 

“I thought you had planned to put the poppies beside the trellises,” he noted. Elain's eyebrows flicked up, seemingly in surprise that he had remembered such a detail from her plans. 

“I can't believe you remember that,” she said. 

Shit, too attentive. Too obvious. 

“Centuries of being Spymaster has left me with a good memory for details,” he answered neutrally. 

Elain blinked at him with her doe eyes. “I suppose so,” she answered. “Anyway, yes, I had planned to plant them there. But I changed my mind when I envisioned how beautiful they would be springing up here surrounding the bird baths.”

Azriel gazed up at her, trying not to look too awestruck.

“How do you do that?” He asked as Elain sat at the table to his left and sipped on some water he had brought out. 

“Do what?” She asked, absentmindedly flipping through his stack of reports. She had taken to peeking at his work, asking questions about his networks and information he had received. Azriel didn't mind it in the least- he trusted her implicitly and derived a strange sort of proud satisfaction at impressing her with his work. 

“Envision what a garden will look like when all you have is seeds and dirt,” Azriel answered. 

Elain furrowed her brow a bit as if she had never wondered such a thing. “I don't know,” she said. “I suppose it must be similar to when Feyre imagines art she would like to create when all she has is canvas and paints. It just sort of…appears in my head.” 

Azriel considered before shaking his head. He sat up straighter on the bench, swiveling to put his feet on the ground to face her more fully. “That's not true,” he said. “To plan a garden, you have to not only be able to envision what it will look like in the end, but you clearly have to have an intimate understanding of each plant you consider and choose. When to plant, what conditions they prefer, how long it takes them to grow. It’s incredible.” 

A light blush swept over Elain’s cheekbones at his praise. “Anyone could do it,” she murmured lightly. 

Azriel raised an eyebrow at her. “You're telling me you think Rhysand could come out here and plan and create an entire beautiful garden without ripping heads off in frustration or just misting a whole bed when it didn't go his way?” 

Elain covered her mouth to stifle a giggle. 

“Don't do that,” he said gently. 

She tilted her head. “Don't do what?” 

“Cover your mouth when you laugh. It should be a crime for your smile to be hidden.” 

Azriel mentally elbowed himself in the gut. Pathetic fucking desperate asshole, as always.

Her blush deepened. 

Azriel cleared his throat and stood, his shadows surging like they were angry at being disturbed from their sunbathing. The audacity. 

“Are you hungry?” He found himself asking Elain as if possessed by a spirit. 

“Oh,” she said, putting down his stack of reports. “I suppose so, yes. I hadn't noticed how much time had passed since I came out.” 

Indeed, Elain had been outside since nearly the break of dawn. Azriel's shadows had whispered in his ears, singing of a gentle gardener stepping out to tend to her oasis. 

He chewed the inside of his lip. “Would you like to have lunch in town?” 

That wasn't wrong, was it? Cassian and Feyre traipsed through Velaris all the time together. They went to the symphony, to the shops, to share meals…no one blinked an eye at it. It was what friends did. 

“Oh,” she repeated, blinking rapidly suddenly. 

Fuck, he had pushed too far. 

He watched, keeping his face utterly neutral as she swallowed. “Alright,” she finally answered, her voice little more than a whisper.

Azriel felt his chest tighten in nerves and anticipation. It was just a meal. Nothing more. But a meal shared with Elain meant more than just a meal to him. Everything shared with Elain meant more than it was. And that was the problem. 

Still, he could not stop. 

“Let me just…” she said, looking down at her apron and brushing dirt off herself. “Let me just go clean up quickly,” she finished in a flustered rush. 

“You're perfect the way you are, Elain,” Azriel answered before he could stop himself. 

Her cheeks flushed and she floated away towards the house, breathing “I'll be right back,” over her shoulder to him. 

Azriel grinned secretly despite himself. She had done the same thing when he had taken the heavy dish of potatoes from her hands at the dinner on Solstice Eve, like she was suddenly self-conscious of how she looked when he paid her any amount of attention. Little did Elain know, she could shear all her hair off and wear clothing made of garbage and she would still be the most beautiful person Azriel had ever laid eyes on. 

Azriel whisked his work papers away on his shadows, straightening his leathers and fluffing his hair despite himself. 

Elain emerged five minutes later with her hair tamed into a long braid and her apron removed. “Ready,” she said in a slightly high-pitched voice. 

“Walk?” Azriel asked, offering her the crook of his arm as he often did when walking her out into the garden. She took it, smiling somewhat bashfully. This gesture, this chaste touch, that had once been such a casual act between acquaintances had somehow turned into much more. 

Azriel breathed in Elain’s scent as her fingers curled into the crook of his arm, sending sparks into his blood. This was the only way they usually touched, other than the occasional playful nudge or gentle comforting brushes of the fingers. 

He soaked in this touch, feeling like a livewire against her. Elain’s fingers were so cold he could feel them through his leather jacket. He wanted to raise them to his mouth and breathe warm air on them until they heated. But he did not.

They walked in silence towards town, and Azriel surveyed Elain watch a wisp of cloud drifting across the sky. At one point she slid her eyes to his and offered him a soft smile of contented peace. And gods above, that smile would bring him to his knees one day. 

They walked onto the bridge over the Sidra, and Elain paused to look down at the water over the edge. Azriel studied her face as she stared at the water. Her eyes hollowed out, emptiness threatening to cloud them. She froze there, just peering down vacantly into the water. A full minute or two passed and Azriel grew troubled over her countenance.

“Elain?” He asked tentatively, causing her to jump slightly as if she had forgotten he was there.

“Sorry,” she breathed, still staring down into the depths of the river. 

“Are you alright?” Azriel asked her, concern stirring within him. 

“Yes,” she murmured. Azriel just watched her as she seemed frozen to the spot. He waited. 

“Do you ever…” Elain started, a shiver visibly running up her spine. “Do you ever envision yourself just…falling into the river?” 

Azriel’s insides iced over. 

“Is that what you're thinking about, Elain? Falling into the river?”

She drew in a shaky breath. “Sometimes when I cross a bridge, something inside me forces me to imagine jumping. Plummeting through the sky towards the water.” 

Azriel’s gut twisted sharply. He tugged her arm to turn her to face him. Her body and head turned before her gaze did, her eyes frozen to the river until they were forced to swivel to him. Her eyes looked haunted, ghostly. 

Azriel placed his hand over hers in the crook of his arm. “I don't think those of us with wings have those kinds of intrusive thoughts.”

Elain’s eyes widened as she sucked in a little breath. She blinked at him once, and then…she laughed. Azriel swallowed as Elain’s eyes crinkled and she tossed back her head with a rich laugh. Azriel felt the corner of his mouth lift as he watched her, tears springing from her eyes as she leaned forward, bubbling with laughter. He let out a little chuckle as Elain straightened and wiped beneath her eyes with a delicate finger. 

“Forgive me,” she sobered, the last dregs of laughter drifting from her like the final leaves of autumn being shaken from a tree in the breeze. 

“I must seem mad,” she murmured, her face falling back to seriousness.

Azriel squeezed her with his arm briefly. “You have never seemed mad,” he answered. 

Elain’s face softened. “Not to you. Only you,” she uttered softly. 

He gazed at her, studying her face. 

“We should keep moving,” she finally said. 

He didn't walk yet. “Elain?” She met his eyes. “You know I would fly after you, right? If you ever fell. Or if…” he trailed off, the rest of the sentence too horrid to speak aloud.

Elain's lip trembled. “I know,” she whispered.

Azriel had never embraced Elain before. He had wanted to, thousands of times. He sometimes had to fight himself to stop from taking her into his arms. 

But now Azriel moved before he could consider otherwise. He unfurled his arms and wrapped Elain in what he hoped was a comforting embrace. She froze at first, stiffening at the unexpected and unexplored physical contact. But then Elain melted into his arms, resting her face on his chest and wrapping her arms around his back, avoiding his wings. 

Nothing and no one had ever felt so right in his arms. Azriel rested his head atop hers, squeezing her gently. He sensed a shift in her emotional state, her scent becoming saturated with…contentment. She felt safe. And that ruined Azriel’s already jagged and cracked heart even further. 

His throat felt raw as he swallowed and spoke into her hair. “I'll always be here for you, Elain. And I'll never think you've lost your mind.”

He felt Elain shudder slightly at his words. She nuzzled her face into his chest for one blessed moment before she pulled back, stepping out of his embrace. She cleared her throat and dropped her gaze. 

“Thank you,” she murmured. 

The hug perhaps lasted too long for simple friendship. It perhaps felt too right, too easy, too transcendent. Too permanent. 

But if Elain agreed with those sentiments, she didn't say so. She just turned and kept walking, so Azriel fell into step beside her. 

It was midday, and Velaris became more bustling as they drew closer to the center of town. The unusually nice weather for the season was drawing fae out of winter sequestration. 

Az sent shadows skirting from him to find somewhere not too crowded to eat. He led Elain to a little cafe tucked into a shadowed alley. 

“Is this okay?” He asked her. 

Elain nodded. “I've never been here before.” 

Azriel looked around, leading her to a corner of the mostly empty cafe. “I'm sure nothing could live up to your cooking, but they do make an excellent lamb stew,” he said, pulling out a chair for her. 

Elain sat, her cheeks pinking slightly. “I do love lamb stew,” she answered quietly. 

He knew. He knew everything she loved, even if he didn't want to. He couldn't stop noticing. 

An employee of the cafe approached them. She was a slight, short faerie with umber skin and hair like moonlight. She seemed to recognize Azriel, taking in his leathers and glowing cobalt siphons, and her steps faltered slightly. He fixed his face into a bland, nonthreatening mask and nodded at her. He was aware that most people found him frightening to behold, with his scars, looming wings, ominous shadows swirling about him and…the way his face was. 

Elain offered the employee a warm smile, and all of the faerie’s apprehension slid off her face. Elain could accomplish anything with her smiles. The faerie was just before them, now.

“What can I get you folks?” She asked, her voice accented with a lilt reminiscent of the Day Court fae. 

Azriel lowered his head towards Elain, indicating for her to order first. 

“I would love the lamb stew, please.”

A little grin tugged at the corner of Azriel’s mouth as the employee nodded and looked towards him. “Two, please,” he added. “And two sweet teas.” 

Elain’s lashes drifted downwards while her lips drifted upwards. 

The small faerie nodded and walked away, leaving them alone at their little table in the corner. Elain raised her eyes to look up at him. “We’ve never done this before,” she said quietly.

Azriel swallowed. This was normal. This was fine. He ate meals alone with other members of the family all the time.

Be fucking normal about this.

“You don’t come out with us often,” he offered gently. 

Elain considered his words. “I do come into town more often than most think,” she replied. “I just usually prefer to come alone. I have some favorite shops and cafes I often visit.”

Azriel knew this, because his shadows had taken to reporting on her whereabouts whether he liked it or not. 

“Why do you prefer to come alone?” He asked.

Elain shrugged bashfully. “Well, alone here with you is nice.” His heart hammered in his chest. “But sometimes the others are just…a lot for me.” 

Azriel nodded, understanding completely. Fuck, when Rhys had been captured for five decades Azriel almost lost godsdamned mind spending so much time alone with Cass and Mor. Thank fuck for Amren occasionally keeping them in check, or he may have eventually snapped, with their constant bickering and banter and howling and cackling. He loved them, but being alone with Elain was like his first breath of fresh air when he was released from his father’s dungeon.

Being here with her felt just the same as when he would feel the sun beat down on his curls, or run his fingers through dewy grass, for the brief hour he would be permitted out of the keep.

Freedom. Peace. Relief.

“They definitely are a lot,” Azriel answered her with a slight grin. “Did you know that Cassian offered to bite Feyre the first time she met us?”

Elain coughed on a surprised laugh. “That shouldn’t shock me, but it does,” she said through a giggle. 

Azriel chuckled as well. “He’s an idiot,” he muttered.

Elain mastered her giggles and offered him a sweet little smile. “But you love him,” she said softly. Not a question. 

“I do,” Azriel answered. “He has saved me countless times, in countless ways.”

Merciful gods, this female had his tongue and soul unraveling. 

Her chocolate eyes warmed at his words. “You two are sweet,” she commented.

Azriel huffed a little laugh. “I don’t think anyone has ever called me sweet before.”

She gave him a wry little grin. “Well, you are. One of the sweetest people- fae- I’ve ever met.” 

Azriel felt his cheeks heat and hoped a blush wasn’t visible there. He cleared his throat, searching for a way to change the subject from himself. 

Blessedly, the cafe worker returned with their food and drinks. Elain gazed hungrily at the food as it was left in front of them, thanking the faerie. 

“This smells divine,” she noted, closing her eyes briefly. Azriel counted her lashes as fast as he could until they opened again.

They both dug into their meals, falling into serene silence for a few minutes. The food was warm and rich and spiced exquisitely. Azriel simply basked in watching Elain being nourished and fed.

He would feed her every day in another life.

Elain tilted her head after a while, taking a sip of her tea and studying him. “What have you done for 500 long years?”

Azriel’s brows drew together. “What do you mean?”

She waved her fork at him. “I mean, you can’t always be working. 500 years is an unbelievably long time to have been alive. What have you spent it doing?”

Azriel smirked slightly. “Are you asking me to tell you the entire five-century history of my lifetime?” 

Elain glared at him a bit, chewing on a bite of stew. “No,” she answered after a swallow. “I want to know if you’ve used your many centuries to learn any interesting skills or hobbies. That is such a long time to be alive. You must have picked up some interesting activities to pass the time. Can you knit?”

Azriel coughed on his tea. “Can I knit?” 

Elain just shrugged at him. He chortled lightly. “I cannot say that I know how to knit. I perhaps work too much, and always have. I did once apprentice with a tinkerer in the Dawn Court during an uncharacteristically quiet and peaceful stretch of years in Prythian.”

Elain straightened at that. “Really?” She asked, her voice laced with quiet curiosity. “What did you learn there?”

Azriel grinned a bit at her interest. “I worked with a tinkerer who made blades imbued with magic.”

Elain’s eyes shimmered with enthusiasm. “And what drove you to do that?” 

Azriel swallowed his bite before answering. “I like blades,” he answered plainly.

Elain dropped her smile and looked at him flatly. “You like blades?” She asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Azriel’s lips twitched.

“Yes. I like blades.” 

They shared a little silent showdown as Elain crossed her arms and challenged him to go on. He did not. It was too enticing to tease her, to draw out her myriad divine emotions. She narrowed her eyes at him. He just stared blankly back at her.

Finally she scoffed. “Fine,” she muttered dryly. “What else?” She asked, stabbing a piece of lamb with her fork. 

Azriel bit down on a smile. “Do you want to know something neither of my brothers know?”

Elain leaned forward, her interest reignited.

"Absolutely,” she answered. 

“I enjoy birds.” 

Elain’s eyebrows rose. “Birds?” She asked, taking a sip of her tea.

Azriel nodded. “This does not leave this table,” he said seriously before continuing. “I enjoy learning about birds, and watching them, and memorizing their calls. I have…books.” 

He watched a secret smile break over Elain’s face. “You read informational books about birds? And then go watch them?” 

Azriel felt a blush break over his face but it was worth it for the endeared look on Elain’s. He nodded. 

“And can you make any bird calls?” She asked him mischievously.

Azriel lowered his brows at her. “Yes, and you will never hear them.”

Elain seemed to be fighting a giggle. “So…do you go out to the woods and call to the birds? Do they come to you?” 

He huffed a little frustrated breath. “No, they do not come to me- I am not some maiden in a children’s story.” Elain’s smile grew. “I simply enjoy them. Birds fascinate me. Did you know many of them mate for life?” 

The smile slid off her face. Fuck. “I didn’t,” she said quietly. Azriel cleared his throat. “Well, they also display many other fascinating behaviors. Did you know-” he cut himself off as a little chortle broke free from Elain. “What?” He asked.

“You really like birds,” she giggled. His blush grew warmer. “I’ve never seen you so enthused. It’s adorable.” 

Azriel grumbled a bit under his breath. “Adorable,” he blew out with ire. 

Elain kicked his ankle lightly under the table. “I’m serious. You never get this excited.”

You should see me thinking about your mouth in the early hours of dawn.

She mastered her laughing and sipped her tea, smiling at him warmly. “I would love to go out and watch the birds with you one day, Azriel. I am certain you would have much to teach me.”

He stomach dipped at that heavenly invitation. She was so godsdamned darling. 

He said nothing, only surveyed her with soft eyes. He would do anything to live in a world where he could take her hand and show her the birds. Where he could hold her under the bougainvillea trees and kiss each of her fingers to warmth. Where he could embrace her just to embrace her. 

But they did not live in such a world.  

Elain interrupted his cursed thoughts. “What else?” She asked.

“You need more?” He answered incredulously. 

She smirked at him. “Yes. You’re telling me in 500 years you haven’t explored any other hobbies besides blades and birds?” 

Azriel sighed and crossed his arms. “Why must you badger me so?” He muttered affectionately.

Elain’s lips twisted into a sly grin. “It’s so fun,” she quipped. “I like when you blush.” 

His godsforsaken cheeks flushed at that. Gods fucking damn him.  

“I don’t blush,” he said flatly. Elain’s grin grew.

“Oh yes, you do. Quite easily, I might add. You’re blushing right now!” 

Mother fucking spare him. He blew out an exasperated breath. Time to deflect.

“What about you, Elain? What hobbies have you learned?” 

Elain frowned at him. “I told you that months ago. I learned all the skills of being a lady in the human realm, and then I learned the necessary skills of survival like cooking, cleaning, and mending clothes. I enjoy baking, and gardening. I do not believe any of this is news to you, Azriel.” 

He narrowed his eyes at her. “I know there is something else you are secretly passionate about,” he insisted. “My shadows tell me so.” They did no such thing, but he wanted to watch her squirm. 

She sipped on her tea, feigning to search through her thoughts for an answer. He could tell she had one already that she just didn’t want to admit. 

“Come on,” he encouraged. “I told you about the godsdamned birds. It’s your turn.” 

“It’s…less adorable than the birds,” she muttered. Azriel’s curiosity piqued at that. 

“Oh?” He goaded. 

She huffed at him and looked up towards the ceiling. Azriel tapped his fingers on the table, waiting.

“I…I enjoy…” She could not seem to get the words out. 

“What? Do you steal Nesta’s smutty books or something?”

Fire blazed across Elain’s cheeks. “No,” she said in a tiny voice. “I enjoy…writing.”

Well that wasn’t embarrassing in the least. 

“Writing?” He asked her. “About what?”

Her face was the color of a raging inferno now. 

Oh, no. Oh no no fucking no. This could not be going where he thought it might be going. Azriel cleared his throat as his mouth dried out. 

“Do you…write…the kind of material Nesta enjoys?”

Elain squeaked a little bit. “Nesta will never read my writing in one million years,” she choked out. “But,” her voice was just a miniscule shrill sound now. “Yes,” she finished, so quietly Azriel thought he might have imagined it. 

Azriel’s cock was instantly fucking hard. Elain fucking Archeron was apparently sitting in her room, late at night, writing fucking smut with her perfect, delicate fingers. 

He cleared his throat once more for good measure. “I see,” he managed to say, fighting a rasp in his voice. He thought his hands might be shaking at her admission. 

What he would give to read promiscuous, depraved words of eroticism penned by Elain. 

He would listen to Tamlin play the fiddle for six hours straight.

He would let Mor choose all his outfits for a year. 

He would pose for a painting, nude and with Cassian on his back, for twelve hours.

He would endure twelve thousand angry rants from Nesta. 

Azriel’s mind wandered faster than he could control as Elain stared at her plate and blushed. Was her writing about herself? About all the pleasure she could have found with men but clearly hadn’t? Did she create characters, and describe their fucking in detail? Mother above, did she write about wings? 

Azriel’s cock felt like it was about to break through his leathers. He shifted in his seat, trying to think about literally anything other than Elain reading her dirty writing to him with pouty, wet lips, naked and bound in his shadows. It was a futile attempt.

Elain seemed to bolster her courage and finally looked up at him, opening her mouth to speak. “Do you-”

Her words cut off as she dropped her fork. Azriel tensed as Elain’s body stiffened and then went limp, her eyes shifting to white. All previous miscreant thoughts bled from him in an instant.

He was out of his chair and catching her around the shoulders before she could slump over completely. A few heads swiveled as he crouched down beside her, her face blank and her cloudy eyes wide, unseeing.

“Elain?” He asked her. She didn’t answer.

“Shit,” he swore under his breath. Elain was lost to a vision, and people were looking. He didn’t want to shadowstep- he didn’t know what kind of confusion or disturbance winnowing while she was having a vision would cause Elain. He considered for a brief moment before sliding his arm under her legs and lifting her from her seat. 

Various fae absolutely watched now, as her head lolled onto his chest, her eyes still wide and white, and he carried her out of the cafe, shadows trailing in his wake. They were swirling agitatedly, as if in concern for Elain. He carried her out into the alley as she started to murmur in her trance.

Azriel leaned his head down towards her ear to hear what she whispered. 

“A wine-haired queen of starlight will come,” she breathed in a faraway voice of celestial fate. Azriel just held her and listened. 

“She wields Truth-Teller’s fair sister.”

Truth-Teller’s fair sister? What in the fates did that mean?

Elain’s white irises met Azriel’s gaze. He couldn’t tell if she was aware or not. 

“She searches for Hel,” she whispered, and then her head dropped sideways onto his chest, her eyes falling closed.

“Elain?” Azriel asked, squeezing her gently, looking for a response. Elain gasped suddenly, her eyes flying open and her body tensing. Her eyes were like molten chocolate once more. She blinked, still gasping for breath. 

“You’re okay,” Azriel said, studying her face carefully. “I have you.”

Elain swallowed down some air, her fingers clutching the front of his leathers tightly. “I was having a vision,” she rasped out. 

“I know,” Azriel answered gently. “You were speaking to me.”

Elain swallowed, slowly unclenching her slightly shaking fingers from the material on his chest.

“Do you think you can stand?” He asked her softly, pouring whatever measure of calm he could into her.

Elain nodded, blushing as she realized she was being held against him in his arms. “Yes, I think so.”

Azriel slowly placed her on her feet, keeping an arm around her middle to make sure she was steady. Elain rested a hand over her chest, taking deep, composing breaths. 

“What did I say?” She asked, her eyes scanning his face.

“You said something about a wine-haired queen arriving. You said she was…a queen of starlight.” Elain’s brows furrowed as he spoke. “You also said she carries Truth-Teller’s fair sister. I don’t know what that means. As far as I know, there are no blades that share a history with mine.” 

Elain looked around, her gaze distant, thinking. 

“And you said she was in search of Hel,” he finished. 

“In search of Hel…” Elain trailed off, clearly confused. 

“Do you think the wine-haired queen is Vassa? Are you seeing her again?” 

Elain considered, then shook her head. “No, I saw someone who appeared as if she was from another land…another time. Her hair was long and she had amber eyes. She wore clothes I have never seen the likes of before. And she bore a sword of starlight. And another star within her very chest.” 

Azriel frowned, running a hand through his hair. Elain met his eyes.

“What could that mean?” She asked under her breath, her scent becoming tinged with fear. 

He just shook his head, at a loss, but allowed his arm around her back to tighten slightly. 

“I don’t know. We should get back to Rhys and tell him what you saw.” 

“Alright,” she answered. “Can we fly?” 

Something within Azriel swelled at that request. Elain was never afraid to fly. It meant something deeply innate to him. Like she treasured the little bit of his soul that was owned by flight. Like she, too, sought the song of the wind.

“Of course.” He scooped her up again and she relaxed into his arms. 

“Ready?” He asked her. She nodded, and he shot up into the sky from the alley. He rose far above the buildings of Velaris, until their roofs were just green shapes in the distance and the Sidra was like a winding garter snake in the grass. All the way up here in the skies, the scents of the city drifted away, and Azriel was left with only the scent of the crisp winter air and Elain. He had one arm curled under her knees and the other under her back. Her hair blew in the wind around his face like golden strands of sunlight breaking across his vision. 

Azriel swallowed, trying not to breathe her scent in too deeply, to let it invade his senses until he did something incredibly stupid like kiss her hair. She felt so soft in his arms, so perfectly, delicately divine. 

She felt like his. 

But she was not. 

So he tried not to dwell on the feeling of his hands under her opulent thighs. 

He tried not to run his fingers ever so slightly over her back as she breathed against his chest.

He tried not to allow his shadows to entwine themselves around her arms and legs, dancing at being so close to her.

He tried not to hold her more closely against him than he had to, feeling every point of contact where her exquisite body pressed into his own. 

He tried, but he failed.

They flew wordlessly, Elain gazing down at the city below them. 

He wondered if she was imagining jumping again, and held her more tightly to him. 

At one point in the flight, Elain’s eyes met his. He watched her throat bob as she drew her bottom lip into her mouth, seemingly without noticing. He forced himself to look away lest he get carried away in her eyes and her lips. He would fly them right into the Sidra if he stared at her for too long. 

The Townhouse came into view, his shadows having informed him that Rhys was in his office within. Azriel didn’t want this flight to end. He wanted to fly with Elain forever, through sunshowers and snowstorms and dawns and dusks. In another life, he would fly her to the top of the highest peak in Prythian, just to see the awe on her face as she surveyed the world from the heavens. 

But this was not that life. 

So instead, Azriel landed in the front courtyard, gently lowering Elain to her feet. Her hands had been around his neck while they flew, and she let them linger there for a moment. His heart skipped a beat as she looked up into his eyes. Again, he saw it. And again, wondered if he was imagining it. Just a slight, alluring trace of longing. 

And then Elain moved, leaning into him in another embrace. Azriel didn’t know what this embrace was for, but he didn’t care as he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her tenderly. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, his head bowed to her ear. He felt Elain take in a shallow breath.

“I haven’t had a vision in some time,” she answered quietly. “They always leave me feeling…empty.” Her voice did indeed seem hollow. 

Azriel ran a hand up to cup the back of her head, despite himself and all the reasons he should not touch her in this way. “What do you need?” He asked. 

Elain shook her head against his chest. “Just this.” 

And wasn’t that the fucking crux of it all? 

All Azriel needed, and perhaps all they both needed, was just this. 

Just them, together, here and now. In each other’s arms. 

In another world, he would embrace Elain this way day and night, murmuring promises and endearments into her ear. 

But this was not another world. 

This was their world, and the only world. 

And they only had here, and now. 

So Azriel savored this embrace knowing that he may never share another with Elain. Knowing that perhaps it meant more to him than it did to her, even if his gut was whispering to him that it did not. 

Because there was no other reality to hide away with Elain in. 

Only this reality, ruled by a Mother and a Cauldron with a cruel, twisted sense of humor. 

Chapter Text

Elain: Spring (Prior to ACOSF)

It was Elain Archeron’s twenty-third birthday, and she was feeling downright disgruntled. 

Elain was not one to expect others to celebrate her birthday. It was not a common practice in the mortal realm unless one was very wealthy, and it seemed Feyre was the only person to get any sort of birthday celebration here given the significance of the day she was born and the extravagance of her mate.

She did, however, wish to enjoy the day she turned twenty-three, no matter how little it meant now that she had a fae lifetime. So far, however, this day was not pleasing her. 

It had started with a bird flying straight into her window at the Townhouse, startling her awake. She opened the window to find the poor creature dead on the sill, its little yellow neck broken at an odd angle. That could not be a good omen. 

And then, Elain’s hair brush snapped in two while she was trying to work it through her mess of curls. Gods damn. She sighed and tied it into a handkerchief atop her head to hide the worst of the mess.

And then, Elain went to make her morning tea and the cream was gone. Only a monster would drink strong spiced tea without rich cream to balance it. She went on without her morning libations. 

When she made to cook herself some runny fried eggs for breakfast, every single yolk broke in the pan, and she was forced to eat scrambled eggs instead- a travesty. 

Elain was aware that all of these problems were not truly problems (except for perhaps the poor bird with its broken neck), but they disgruntled her all the same. 

By the time she entered the family room with her hair a mess, no morning beverage, disappointing eggs, and a dead yellow bird on her windowsill, Elain was downright grumpy. She wanted to be out with her hands in the soil, trimming and mulching and weeding. But as she was heading towards the door to do exactly that, a heavy downpour fell from nowhere. Elain huffed an angry sound and even stomped her foot a little. 

A light chuckle from behind her- one that she would recognize anywhere- prompted her to whip around.

The Shadowsinger stood in the hall below the staircase, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Elain met his eyes, knowing her face was giving away all of her frustration at her day so far. 

“Bad morning?” Azriel asked her, raising a brow at Elain's agitated body language. 

Elain crossed her arms and huffed. She was not about to tell Azriel that it was her birthday and nothing was going her way like a petulant child. In fact, she was hoping that he had forgotten her birthday altogether after he had learned it during their card game a season ago. She was already far too…flustered around Azriel to act properly if he did something atrocious like get her a gift. Or for the love of all unholy things, force her to attend a party. 

Elain did not want a party. She just wanted a peaceful day out in her flower garden, strong tea with cream, hair that wasn't a nest, and to not have a dead bird on her windowsill. But she did not have those things, and now it was pouring rain. 

Besides, if she was being honest with herself, there was only one thing she truly wanted- aside from the previous list. She wanted to know how Azriel felt. What he wanted from her. 

She thought it over as she surveyed him standing there like a beautiful, tortured angel of death, shadows peeking over his shoulders and great wings looming behind him. 

She simply did not know what he thought. 

No matter that he embraced her tightly when she was feeling emptiness encroach on the bridge, and then again in front of the house. 

No matter that she had blushed to the high heavens speaking of her unsatisfactory lovemaking with Graysen. 

No matter that since that conversation, she had spent more nights than she would like to admit imagining just how satisfied she might be with Azriel giving her pleasure instead. How she might find release with him- something she had only ever found alone before. How he might use his mouth or his fingers or, gods above, his shadows to bring her to that place of bliss. 

No matter that Azriel had been there for her when she had a vision, going as far as carrying her out of the cafe so she could have privacy and safety in her vulnerable state. 

No matter that more and more when their eyes met, they didn't look away. They held long stares, something unnameable and unspeakable passing between them. 

No matter. Because Elain would not simply ask him. Because she could not subject herself to the level of rejection she felt with Graysen again. 

Not you. Never you. 

She knew on some level that Azriel could never be so cruel. But she feared what might change between them if she did ask him to reveal what he really thought of her. She cherished their friendship like nothing else. She cherished the quiet moments they spent together. The peace she felt with him. She would not jeopardize that by acting like a silly schoolgirl.

And none of that changed the fact that Azriel was simply the kindest, most considerate, most thoughtful and gentle male she had ever known, despite what his title and his outward appearance might suggest. She knew what he did for the Court, and somehow, it did not bother her. She knew that everything Azriel and his brothers did was for the safety of their people, and for the peace of Prythian as a whole. 

Azriel cleared his throat, and Elain realized that she had been standing there in silence, lost in her thoughts. 

She took a few steps back towards him. “Not a particularly good morning, no,” she finally answered. 

He tilted his head. “Why not?” 

Elain considered. Instead of answering, she just asked, “Can you help me with something?”

Azriel nodded without hesitation. “With what?”

“A bird, actually,” Elain answered, moving towards the stairs. 

“A…bird?” Azriel asked from behind her.

Elain nodded as he followed her up the stairs. “A dead bird.”

Azriel coughed behind her. “And why do you have a dead bird?”

Elain sighed. “I don’t have a dead bird. It just flew into my window this morning and broke its poor neck.” 

They halted outside Elain’s room, and she realized Azriel would have to enter her room to retrieve the bird. For some reason, that felt too intimate. Too familiar. Too tempting. She wouldn’t have hesitated another moment if it had been anyone else in the family. But for some reason, she wasn’t ready for Azriel to see her private sanctuary. 

Or perhaps she was not ready to see him within it. 

“Will you wait here?” She asked him. Azriel just inclined his head and clasped his hands behind his back, ever the gentleman. Cauldron damn him and his perfect manners.

Elain cracked her door open the smallest amount and edged in sideways, ignoring the little quirk of Azriel’s lips. 

She strode to her window and- yes, the deceased yellow bird was still there. She sighed, looking around her room for something to use. She opened a chest and found an old scarf at the bottom of a pile of clothes she no longer used. She pulled out the blue and green cloth and returned to her window, unlatching it and pushing it open. 

Elain gingerly lifted the poor creature with the scarf, then cradled it in the cloth in her hands. She left her room again to find Azriel in the same position she had left him in, shadows rolling gently around his shoulders. 

She held his hands out to him and he tilted his head, studying the bird. 

“Goldfinch,” he said quietly. 

Elain raised her eyebrows. “You really do know your birds.” 

Azriel met her eyes and gave her a stern look. “Only between you and me.”

Elain blushed despite the deceased bird in her hands. “It flew right into my window this morning.”

Azriel looked back down at the bird. “Goldfinches are supposed to symbolize joy, optimism, and hope, according to Illyrian legends.”

Elain frowned. “Oh, great,” she answered sarcastically. “A really wonderful sign that one died at my window this morning, then.”

Azriel’s lips twitched again. “How can I help?” He asked.

“Well, I suppose I should bury it, but now it’s pouring rain.”

Azriel raised his eyebrow. “I’m still not seeing how I can help with this.” 

She huffed a little breath at him. “Could you perhaps use some sort of…special shadow magic to dig a hole out there so I don’t have to squat in the pouring rain to do it?”

Azriel’s grin twitched a hair wider. “Special shadow magic?”

“Yes,” she answered, narrowing her eyes at him. She had had quite enough of his sassiness already for this terrible morning. 

He shook his head and chuckled lightly. “Sure. I can use my special shadow magic. Come on.”

They walked back downstairs and stood at the window in the sitting room, looking out at the rain.

“Where would you like to bury the little beast?” Azriel asked. 

Elain considered. “Under the bougainvillea bushes.”

Azriel seemed to twitch a little at that, flicking his eyes towards her, but said nothing else. Elain watched in awe as his shadows rolled away from him, passing right through the window as if it were no more than an illusion. They inched over the ground like fog rolling through, except the rain had no effect on their roiling form. 

Azriel slid his hands into his pockets like this took no effort at all on his part, and even that made Elain blush. Mother above. 

His shadows rolled under the bougainvillea bushes, their bright pink flowers dulled under the grey sky caused by the storm. They swirled over the ground there in a little funnel of shadows, and when they dispersed, a perfect hole was carved out of the soil. 

Azriel smirked slightly at her and she realized her mouth was hanging open. She snapped it shut as more shadows bled from Azriel towards the bundle Elain still held in her hands. She shivered as they coasted over her skin, cold and wind-like. Azriel twitched almost imperceptibly and she wondered if he could feel his shadows grazing her skin. 

The shadows gathered up the bundle and followed the others to the garden, placing the little bird’s body gently into the hole. Elain watched, again awestruck, as the dark mass whirled once more and retreated, leaving the hole filled with dirt. 

Azriel’s shadows rolled back to him, shrinking and resuming their usual forms around his shoulders and arms. 

“Special shadow magic,” he said, and threw her a little roguish wink. Elain didn’t think she had ever seen such an expression from him. It did unmentionable things in her chest and elsewhere.

She cleared her throat. “Thank you,” she finally said. “She probably is glad to rest somewhere beautiful.”

Azriel suppressed a grin. “It was a male.” 

“What?” Elain asked. 

He turned to her. “Only the male birds are colorful. The females are generally drab colors like grey or brown. The males use their bright colors to attract females.”

“Oh. Right.” 

“Anyway,” he said. “What are you planning on doing today?”

Elain hesitated. He was not giving any indication that he knew it was her birthday, which was just fine in her opinion. She didn’t want anyone to make a fuss.

“Nothing in particular,” she answered finally. “I had planned to have a quiet morning gardening, but now-” she gestured towards the rain defeatedly. 

“Ah,” he said, watching her face carefully. “What will you do instead?”

Elain tried not to sigh too dramatically. “I would say walk to town to procure some cream for my tea, but again…” 

Az’s lips twitched once more. “You're grumpy without your morning tea,” he said in an amused voice.

Elain narrowed her eyes at him. “I am not grumpy. It's just that- well that bird died outside my window, and then my hairbrush broke,” she muttered, indicating to the scarf on her head, “and then there was no cream, and then I broke all my egg yolks, and now the rain…” 

Az’s grin had grown marginally the longer she spoke. She huffed and crossed her arms. “I am not grumpy.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “You are. But it's okay, you're cute when you're grumpy.” 

Elain felt her cheeks heat and said nothing. Az let a little laugh escape his lips. “Can I do anything to help?” He asked finally, when she never answered him. 

Elain took a deep breath in. “Unless you have fresh cream hidden in your shadows somewhere, then no. You cannot.” 

Azriel dipped his head. “Unfortunately I do not have any cream hidden in my shadows.”

Elain scowled, but then felt her lips quirk into a smile despite herself. “What are you doing today?” She asked him. 

He shrugged slightly. “No special plans. I have to meet with my brothers in a bit to discuss some occurrences on the Continent.” 

Elain nodded, fighting the little disappointment she felt swell within her. She was hoping he would have no plans, and maybe simply lounge around inside with her all day as the rain fell outside. 

Azriel cocked his head at her, scanning her face. “Wait here,” he said. And then he was stepping into his shadows, being ensconced completely by their whirling darkness before he and his shadows were gone. Elain paced in front of the windows for about three minutes before darkness gathered again in the sitting room, and there he was, stepping back out of his shadows with a package in hand. 

Azriel lowered his head in a little galant bow and held the package out to her. “Fresh cream for the lady,” he said lightly. Elain swallowed, the heat in her cheeks spreading. “Where did you-”

“I just ducked out to a shop quickly,” he said, shrugging again. “No getting wet necessary.” 

He was still holding the brown bag out to her. Elain took it from him gingerly and their fingers brushed, sending a little thrill through her. She rolled open the bag to see a jar of fresh, cloudy cream. 

“Thank you,” she said softly, some of her grumpiness floating away from her with his kind gesture. He just inclined his head again. 

He looked like he was about to turn away when he paused. “Actually, give it to me. Let me make you your tea.”

Elain’s eyes went wide. “Oh- no- you don’t have to do that. I can just-”

“Let me,” Azriel said, looking into her eyes. His face was as stoic as ever but his hazel gaze was saying he truly wanted to do this for her.

“Alright,” she murmured.

“Sit,” he said gently. So Elain moved to the living room and sat on the sofa, smoothing her skirts, while Azriel took the cream to the kitchen. Elain shuffled her feet a little bit beneath her, twiddling with a loose thread on a pillow and watching the rain fall outside. She eventually heard the kettle whistle, and after a minute or two, Azriel found her in the family room, carrying two steaming mugs. 

“Spiced tea, cream but no sugar,” he recited, handing her the mug handle-first. Elain bit her lip and took the mug from him, again feeling a little charged bolt burn through her at the brush of their fingers. 

“Thank you,” Elain said, as Azriel sat beside her with his own mug. Elain closed her eyes and breathed in the rich scent of the creamy tea. When she opened her eyes again, Azriel was smiling at her warmly and her stomach flipped. He was so godsdamned beautiful. He was always beautiful, but when he gave her one of his rare smiles…it tugged on her heart in a dangerous way. 

She took a sip to have something to do with her body and immediately burned herself. Unable to control it, Elain’s mouth fell open in pain as she spit the tea back into the mug, the roof of her mouth and her tongue absolutely seared. “Shit,” she gasped, fanning at her mouth. 

Azriel seemed to suppress a laugh beside her. 

“Gods,” Elain cried. “That was too hot.” 

“You don’t say?” he answered sarcastically. Elain glared at him, her entire mouth in excruciating pain. 

He pressed his lips together to further fight his grin. “Are you alright?”

“No,” she seethed. “I burned the shit out of my mouth.”

Azriel did chuckle, now. “I like when you swear,” he said through his laugh. 

Elain huffed and placed her tea on the coffee table, crossing her arms. Azriel surveyed her for a moment and then put his own mug down, only to pick up hers. She watched him warily as he brought the mug closer and closer to his mouth, wondering if he was going to do something insane like burn his own mouth in solidarity. 

But then Azriel met her gaze and, in a way that was so much more sensual than it should have been, gently blew on the tea in her mug, causing little ripples across the steaming liquid. Elain swallowed, watching his plush lips blow air over the surface of the tea, and was overcome by a need to know what that same action might feel like on the sensitive flesh behind her ear. She fought a shiver and cleared her throat. Azriel was still blowing, and still maintaining eye contact that was far too intense. 

The moment lasted a small eternity, as Elain’s pulse kicked up and her palms grew clammy. Finally, he relaxed his lips and held the mug back out to her. “All cooled down,” he said smoothly, and Elain could have fainted like a scandalized maiden.

She tried to speak but just squeaked out a little unintelligible sound and took the mug from him. They drank their tea and chatted quietly, and Elain felt some semblance of light returning to her with Azriel’s calming company and the strong, warm drink hitting her. She realized how foolish she had been to think that something like a bird flying into a window was a bad omen (even if said birds were supposed to symbolize joy, optimism, and hope). 

She could fool herself into thinking all she had really needed was the tea. But she knew deep in her heart that it was the company, not the tea, that had her mood turning around. So Elain felt disappointment swell when Azriel stood, announcing that he had to leave for his meeting with his brothers.

Elain stood as well, gathering up the mugs to bring to the kitchen. “Thank you for the tea,” she said with a rather shy smile. 

“You know I’m always happy to sit and drink tea with you,” Azriel answered with a rather shy smile of his own. “Until later,” he added, bowing his head. Before Elain could ask what he meant he had been swept away by his shadows, leaving her alone once more. 

Elain spent the next couple hours tooling away. Feyre stopped by to give her a birthday hug and invite her to celebrate with dinner and the rest of the Inner Circle at the House of Wind. Perhaps that was what Azriel had meant- perhaps he did know it was her birthday, after all, and that was what he meant by “until later.” Elain accepted graciously, grateful for her sister’s kind heart. 

Then Feyre had to scurry off to her new art studio, leaving Elain alone once again. She took an unnecessarily long bath and washed her hair to get out the worst of the tangles. She pressed some flowers in her bedroom. She mended her favorite skirt. The rain did not let up. 

As morning bled into afternoon, Elain selected a botanical text she was slowly and meticulously making her way through and then chose a chair in the sitting room, resigned to the fact that it would rain all day on her birthday.

Elain was still on the first page of her current section when Azriel appeared before her in a whirlpool of shadows, making her jump nearly a foot off the chair. “Cauldron!” Elain cried, a hand at her chest. Azriel just surveyed her before extending a hand.

“Let’s go,” he demanded gently. Elain, bewildered, did not stand. 

“Go where?” She asked, slightly alarmed at his shortness. 

“To see your birthday present,” he answered. Elain’s face went up in flames. So he did know it was her birthday.

“My- my birthday present?” She mumbled stupidly. Az grinned slightly.

“Yes. Your birthday present. It’s not something that I could bring to you. I have to bring you to it.” 

“Oh,” Elain squeaked. “I…” Azriel’s hand was still out, and he raised his eyebrows expectantly. “...alright,” she finished weakly. She stood and took his hand, his skin like a shroud of warmth and comfort over her own. Azriel stepped closer to her, and she all of a sudden felt a bit shaky. He pressed himself up against her side. “We have to winnow,” he breathed into her ear. “Quite a long way.”

Elain fought her trembling at his closeness as he slid an arm around her shoulders. “Hold on tight,” he said softly, shadows gathering around them, and then Elain was falling through a void of blackness.

Elain gasped, her head reeling, blinking her vision back as the shadows ebbed around them. Azriel’s arm was still around her shoulders as the view became clear before them.

Elain sucked in a shallow breath at what she saw.

Fields and fields of tulips. Rows of every color. Fuschia, sunset orange, buttercup yellow, creamy white. As far as the eye could see, thousands and thousands of tulips, rising up from the earth like ten thousand notes rising from the lips of horns. And not a drop of rain.

Elain was speechless, her eyes immediately welling with unshed tears. 

“Happy birthday, Elain,” Azriel murmured into her ear. “I know you always wanted to see the tulips on the Continent. It’s lucky your birthday is in springtime.” 

Elain swiveled her head to look at him, still unable to find the words to express the beauty she beheld, or the male who made this possible. 

“I…” she tried, but she couldn’t finish. A tear slid from her eye. Azriel dropped his arm from around her, but raised his hand to brush her tear away. 

“Do you like it?” He asked. 

She shook her head in disbelief. “I didn’t think I would ever get to see them,” she breathed. “Yes, I like it. I love it. Thank you, Azriel.”

He gave her a small grin. 

“But…where is everyone?” Elain asked, looking around at the empty fields. “All of the humans?” 

Azriel’s smile grew slightly. “I might have asked Rhys to do some…convincing. To clear the area.” 

Elain felt her eyes grow wide. “He went into their minds just to make sure the fields would be empty?”

Azriel chuckled. “No, no. Rhys is far too altruistic for that. He just scared them with some of his High Lord night magic.” 

Elain gazed out across the fields. “You did all this for me?” She asked under her breath, still not believing the beauty she was seeing. 

“I did,” Azriel answered, his face growing solemn. When she turned to look back at him, he was not staring at the view of the tulips. He was staring at her, his eyes filled with something akin to the wonder she felt in her heart.

Elain couldn’t stop the next request from bursting from her. “Will you take me flying? Over the fields?” 

She watched a flicker of emotion she couldn’t name cross Azriel’s face before he bowed his head. “It would be my pleasure.” 

Azriel opened his arms and Elain stepped into them. She tried to ignore the sensation that it was like stepping into peace. Into warmth. Into safety. Into home. He swept her off her feet like she weighed no more than a sack of feathers as she gingerly threaded her arms around his neck. Azriel swallowed, cradling Elain close to his chest.

“Comfortable?” He asked.

Too comfortable. Elain nodded. “I’m ready.”

Azriel spread his magnificent, scarred wings, the wings she would have died defending as they left the war camp all that time ago, and lifted them into the skies. 

The wind rushed through Elain’s ears as Azriel brought them to hover above the tulip fields. Elain gasped as the fields went on and on, in every direction, in every color. 

“It goes for miles,” she breathed in wonder. Azriel nodded, his face mere inches from her own. 

“Shall we see how far?” He asked. 

“Yes,” she answered, her voice barely more than a whisper of awe. 

And so Azriel flew. He carried Elain over those fields of tulips, and Elain became lost to the beauty of it all. The bright, proud flowers rising from the earth. The scarred, gentle hands holding her. The great wings pumping the air, carrying them afloat through the winds. The male who bore them, with his face carved by the Mother and gods themselves into perfection. This singular and meaningful gift he had planned for her. It was all so…beautiful. 

Quiet tears bled from Elain’s eyes, instantly carried away by the wind. Azriel was silent as he carried her, but she felt the occasional stroke of his fingers along her ribs and thighs, almost like he was doing so subconsciously. They flew, and flew, and flew. When they finally reached the edge of the painted fields, Azriel swiveled and dropped, flying just above the ground. 

Elain was overcome by an untethered desire to reach down and touch the petals as they flew. She met Azriel’s eyes, and it was like he could read her thoughts. “Reach down,” he said gently. “I’ve got you. You won’t fall.”

Elain held his gaze for one more moment before she looked back down, and dropped one arm. Her fingers grazed the tulip petals. Elain let out a little half-cry, half-laugh of joy as Azriel carried her across the top of the fields, her fingers trailing through rows and rows of petals. She looked up at one point and her breath caught. He was smiling at her. Smiling broadly. A smile that happened so rarely, she could count the occurrences on one hand.

He eventually came to a little empty clearing of grass amidst the fields and landed, but kept holding Elain close to his chest. Their eyes met, and her heart started thundering so loudly she was sure he could hear it. Azriel seemed to force himself to tear his eyes from hers as he placed her tenderly on her feet. And Elain most definitely had to force herself to remove her arms from around his neck. 

She looked around and saw a cream-colored blanket on the grass, as well as two glasses and a bottle of amber-colored liquid. “What is this?” She asked, slightly nervous.

“It’s just whiskey,” Azriel answered, like he was trying to feign casualness. “I thought you might want to have a peaceful drink amongst the flowers.”

Elain swallowed, fighting tears once more. No one would ever be like Azriel. No one ever could be. He always knew exactly what she needed. Exactly what she wanted. If only he knew exactly who she wanted, too. If only she could be brave enough to admit that fully to herself. 

“That is very thoughtful of you,” she managed to utter. He just gave a classic little bow of his head. Elain walked over to the blanket and sunk down, tucking her legs beside her under her rose-colored gown. Azriel followed, sinking down onto his haunches across from her and resting his elbows on his knees, gazing at her. He stared at her for a few moments before clearing his throat and opening the whiskey, pouring two glasses. 

He handed her one. “To you, on your birthday,” Azriel said softly, raising his glass to her. Elain blushed once more and ducked her head in humility. 

“That’s not necessary,” she mumbled. 

“It is. You deserve a nice birthday.” 

Elain looked down, feeling bashful, and sipped her whiskey. “Why did you pretend you didn’t know it was my birthday this morning?” She asked, curious.

Azriel lifted the corner of his lips. “Why didn’t you say anything about it being your birthday?”

Elain huffed a little. “I asked first.”

Azriel’s grin grew a bit, and he sipped before answering. “I wanted to surprise you. And, I wasn’t lying. You are cute when you’re grumpy. It was selfish of me to let you be grumpy for a bit.”

Elain suppressed a smile. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want anyone to make a fuss.”

Azriel tilted his head at her, considering. “You always say that,” he noted. “You don’t want anyone to make a fuss. Why don’t you want others to worry about you? To do things for you?”

Elain sighed a bit, thinking over her time since being turned Fae. “I suppose, before the end of the war with Hybern, that’s all anyone ever did. I was so…useless. When I think back to the time that we were traveling with the army, I just…I feel ashamed. How much everyone was doing for the cause, while I just laid there day in and day out.”

Azriel’s brows were drawing together as she spoke. He looked displeased with her answer. “That’s not fair to yourself, Elain,” he answered. “You were traumatized. You were dealing with something incredibly difficult.” 

Elain let out a frustrated little breath. “So was Nesta, and Feyre. And they still helped whenever they could.” 

Azriel shook his head. “Neither Nesta nor Feyre were ripped from an engagement, or a father they were close to. And everyone processes trauma in their own ways. You can’t blame yourself for any of that, Elain.” 

This male. This beautiful, powerful, ancient, knowing, strong male, who looked at her like she was something true. Something real. Who spoke to her like he found her to be worthy of all the beauty surrounding her. Who listened to her like her thoughts mattered. 

This male. 

Elain sipped her whiskey, at a loss of words in response. Azriel did the same, again gazing at her instead of the flowers surrounding them.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying,” he eventually uttered softly. “But you look very lovely surrounded by all these blooms. Rather like a bloom yourself amongst them.” 

Elain could have melted into a puddle for all those words did in her heart. Instead, she said the only true thing she knew. “As do you. There is a lovely contrast between your darkness and shadows and the brightness of the tulips.” She could have sworn she saw a golden blush creep over the Shadowsinger’s perfect, sculpted cheekbones. 

They sipped again. 

After a moment, a question arose in Elain’s mind. “What did you do on your twenty-third birthday?” She asked him. 

Azriel’s eyebrows rose. “Five hundred years ago?” He asked incredulously.

Cauldron, he was old. 

“Yes, five hundred years ago. Do you remember, or has your memory withered with your old age?” Elain asked him, lowering her brows.

He gave her a flat look. “I remember. Five hundred is not old for an Illyrian, by the way. Most live for over one thousand years.” 

One thousand years. Elain could not comprehend it. But she supposed she must, since she faced a similar possibility, now. 

“So- do you remember it?” 

Azriel smiled slightly. “Yes, I remember it. Only because it was a particularly memorable birthday.”

“Oh?” Elain asked, her curiosity peaked.

Azriel hesitated. “It’s not the most proper of stories.”

Well, now she had to know. She just waved her hand in a “go on” gesture, looking at him expectantly. He let out a little sigh.

“The year I turned twenty-three, I- you really probably do not want to hear this.”

Elain huffed. “I definitely do. Whatever it is, just spit it out!”

Azriel sighed a bit harder. “It is uncouth.”

Mother save her. She just looked at him, blinking her lashes in a way that she was well-aware was effective in getting others to do as she wished.

Azriel took a long, long drink from his glass before he continued. “My brothers and I went to our cabin, and we brought along…guests.”

Obviously female guests, considering how hesitant he was to tell her any of this. She would not let something that happened five hundred years ago make her jealous, she thought to herself decidedly. He continued.

“And we had a very… involved time in the birchin.”

“Involved?” Elain asked, not fully understanding. “But you were all -” she cut herself off. “Oh," she said, in nothing more than a squeak. “You…and your brothers…with females…all in…?” Words were extremely difficult for her now, with that image in her mind.

Azriel cleared his throat as her face surely turned bright red. “Well, I was with a male. The first time. But partners were…exchanged.”

“Oh, my gods,” Elain muttered quickly, looking down at her whiskey because she could no longer hold his gaze.

He cleared his throat once more. “We were stupid and impulsive back then. We haven’t done anything like that in centuries,” he said quickly, as if she needed reassurance. 

Elain cocked her head as a thought occurred to her. “That wasn’t…uncomfortable? Sharing that experience with your brothers?” Azriel just shrugged. 

“The fae are much less concerned with propriety and the rules of society as humans are. I believe we are a much more…sexually liberated race.” Hearing the word “sexually” in Azriel’s midnight snowstorm of a voice did something unspeakable inside Elain. “Being in the same room as others can be…exhilarating,” he continued. “And it’s not like we were engaging in anything with each other. But, like I said, that was a long, long time ago. We all enjoy our privacy now.” 

“I see,” Elain answered, trying to maintain her composure. Their conversation moved on but Elain could not for the life of her erase that sinful, intriguing image from her mind. After two glasses of whiskey she was all but writing it like one of her stories in her head. 

Eventually, Azriel announced that it was time for dinner, and he flew her straight to the House of Wind . The entire Inner Circle was present, and Nuala and Cerridwen joined as well. Elain’s heart was filled with immense joy for the first time in a long while. 

Even though it was absolutely not necessary and unexpected, her family had gotten her gifts, as well. Mor gave her a very beautiful pressed flower bookmark. Feyre unveiled an astounding portrait she had painted of Elain and her father, causing Elain to devolve into sobs as Feyre explained where it would hang in the hall when their new home on the river was finished. Rhys bought her an enchanted chest that would help keep all of her flower seeds organized and labeled, and Nesta presented her with an apron embroidered with her initials. The twins gave Elain an entire collection of rare cookbooks, and Cassian gifted her a new sunhat for gardening. Amren gave Elain a set of clips for her hair that were in the shape of delicate flowering vines. 

Elain knew that the best present of all, however, came from the great and terrible Shadowsinger. The nightmarish horror of the Night Court. Who was really just a tortured, gentle, achingly thoughtful male, who could use a tender hand and firm love. Who knew her better than even her two sisters did. Who understood her on a level so deep, she didn’t have the words to express it. She didn’t need them. 

Elain fell asleep that night with Azriel’s name a whisper on her lips, and dreamt of flying over the tulip fields, her fingers grazing the petals for miles and miles. Hours and hours. Years. Until she grew old and withered, and was still flying above those flowers with Azriel, still running her hand through the soft blooms. 

Chapter Text

Azriel (Late spring- between ACOSAF and ACOSF)

Azriel was tired. He was tired of the desperate wants and needs that flooded him. He was tired of feeling everything and saying nothing. He was tired of knowing that the only thing he wanted- the only someone he wanted- would never be his. He was tired of the hopeless, preemptive nostalgia for something possible but doubtful.*

He was so godsdamned tired, and yet he couldn't stop. He could never stop imagining what kind of peace he might find with Elain. Imagining what kind of pleasure he may provide her. Imagining what every part of her might taste like. Imagining a future that held something beyond bloody violence and loneliness. 

Azriel spent night after night in his room at the House of Wind or Townhouse, depending on the level of tormented or masochistic he was feeling, sleep evading him. He spent his nights plagued by regrets, plagued by obsessive spiraling thoughts, plagued by impossible visions of the future. And he sure as fuck spent his nights fisting his cock in a frustrated hand. 

When he did sleep, he dreamed only of the Seer. The gardener. The baker. The friend he had come to cherish so deeply. He dreamed of her chocolate eyes, her smattering of freckles, her rosy lips. He dreamed of her hands tracing his scars. Her golden-brown curls blowing over her ivory skin in the breezy sunshine. Her soft, gentle voice that soothed him like a lullaby. He rarely dreamed of touching her, of fucking her. He mostly just dreamed still or barely-moving visions of her up-close, like his subconscious was bidding him to memorize every single detail of her existence. 

Azriel had never known desire like this. He had known lust, of course, for the various lovers he had sought pleasure with. He had known longing as well, for Mor, for many long years. 

But he had never known such desperation. Such utter need as he felt for Elain. 

When he had watched her tears of joy fall from her eyes as they flew over the tulip fields, he experienced a peace within himself that he had never encountered before. More and more she unknowingly gifted him with peace and joy. But that peace and joy was matched with painful, jagged loneliness and emptiness when he found himself without her. 

And Azriel was fucking tired. 

He spent most of his time reliving finding and getting Elain out of Hybern’s camp. He had never known such terror, such cold determination, as he had when she was taken. Such anger, even, that no one else had noticed she was not present. 

And when Elain had screamed at that mortal girl to allow him to fly with her, too, when she had kicked at that naga hound with her bare feet while it was shredding Azriel’s back and wings, he had felt… such awe. Such awe and respect and gratitude. How the others didn't see her strength and resilience was beyond him. Elain may not wield a sword or shield. She may not use her powers to cause bodily harm. But she was fucking powerful. And strong. And she would do anything to protect those she cared for. 

That includes you, his shadows sometimes liked to whisper to him when he ruminated on these intangible things, torturing himself. Pesky creatures as they were, regardless that they were a part of him. He was constantly shoving that thought away. He would not let himself be consumed with the hope that she harbored any feelings at all for him. 

No matter that she blushed near-constantly in his presence. 

No matter that she became overly flustered when they discussed anything slightly uncouth. 

No matter that she seemed to preoccupy herself with maintaining her appearance when he was around her. 

No matter that she had embraced him, tightly and tenderly, twice now. 

No matter. For he would not allow himself to hope. Because the only thing worse than nothing ever happening with Elain would be if he allowed himself to believe it might, only to have his heart shredded. 

So he did not hope. 

It was a dewy dawn morning in late spring when Azriel was making his way silently through the Townhouse, sure that no one else would be awake. He had spent yet another mostly sleepless night replaying all the opportunities he had had but didn’t take to kiss Elain. So many. So many quiet teatimes shared in the garden. So many flights over Velaris. So many late nights in the serene darkness together, reading or chatting or just being there. But he would never take that opportunity unless she asked him to. 

So instead he was tired. 

He was about to turn the corner after the stairs to cut through the family room on his way to the kitchen for tea when his shadows whispered to him that he was not alone. 

The quiet dreamer sits amidst sunshine. His stomach lurched slightly. His shadows had taken to calling Elain all manner of poetic names- the gentle gardener, the quiet dreamer, the graceful Seer. It was aggravating, knowing his shadows were a part of himself, speaking in riddles to draw out his masked desire for her. 

Azriel turned the corner on silent feet, and there she was. 

Elain was seated on a bench, her profile to him. She was watching the sunrise through the window, the golden and pink rays of light illuminating her like the goddess she must have been in a past life. 

She had an untouched cup of tea before her, steam billowing. Azriel leaned against the doorframe of the family room, crossing his arms and tilting his head to study her. 

She was absentmindedly unbinding her hair from the braids she slept in, her delicate ivory fingers gently pulling apart strands of her curls. Her feet were bare and she wore a loose rose-colored nightgown with an open cream dressing robe draped over it. 

He swallowed, his shadows gathering to help keep him concealed while he watched her silently. She was so unbelievably fucking exquisite, with the sunrise setting her aglow and her hair falling loose in soft, long curls. 

Her voice drifted to him, then. She was humming, her perfect plush rosy lips held lightly together. Azriel recognized the tune, even though he didn't know it. It gave him a deep sense of nostalgia, but it was not a nostalgia for some song of his past. It was like nostalgia…for the future. It was a melody of what was to come. 

It was enchanting, ethereal, mesmerizing. Just as she was. The melody sunk into his veins. Into his heart. Into his soul. It moved him in some unnameable, intrinsic way. His arms dropped in disbelief as her simple song continued, one braid unbound and her fingers moving to the second. 

Before she could pull the strip of fabric from her hair, Azriel had unwittingly moved towards her, letting his shadows bleed away as he approached her. Elain didn't notice him, he thought, completely lost to whatever daydream she was living until he was just behind her. 

Against every single better judgment within him, he reached out, gently picking up the end of her braid. He thought Elain would jump nearly a foot in the air, but she merely flicked her eyes to him. 

“I saw you there, you know,” she said gently, her cheeks pinking as she noticed his light hold on her hair. 

Azriel didn't answer. He seemed incapable of speech at this moment, so enraptured by Elain. He simply slipped the fabric from the end of Elain’s braid, tracking a swallow through her throat as he did. Shadows trailed from his hands onto her shoulders and upper arms. She shivered slightly, but said no more. 

He gently worked his fingers through the silken strands of her hair. He had touched her hair just by happenstance before, when he flew with her or when the wind blew it onto him. But he had never intentionally touched it. He had never luxuriated in the thick, satiny curls he was so enamored with. 

“Continue your song, please,” he murmured under his breath, stalling his work on her braid. Elain took in a somewhat shaky breath, but she did as he asked, humming that haunting melody once more. Azriel closed his eyes for a brief moment and swore he could see a flash of his future with Elain. The future that would never be. The future that included never-ending peace and safety and home. But he couldn’t dwell in that future with Elain and her hair right here before him, so he opened his eyes once more and continued his work.

Her hair was blessedly long, and so it took him a blessedly long time to untwist her braid. When the strands were free, he dared to push this encounter a little bit further. Because when it came down to it, Azriel was a very desperate male. If this was his only chance to touch Elain, he would take it gratefully. So he raised his hands and started loosening her hair at the roots, gently stroking her scalp while lifting her heavy hair from it. Elain’s eyes fluttered closed as he tenderly moved his fingers through her hair, draping it over her back. 

He tried not to envision himself pulling her hair away from her neck and leaning down, drifting his nose across her long, enticing throat. 

He tried not to imagine following it with his lips, and then his tongue.

He tried not to imagine wrapping her hair around his fist and tugging her head back so the front of her throat was exposed to him. 

He tried not to envision himself sliding his broad hand over the front of her neck, holding her there while his other hand snaked around her hips. 

He tried, but he failed. As he always did, as he always would.

Elain had fallen utterly silent as he slowly shook out her long curls. They were so soft, so luxurious, so utterly magical . They were threatening to send him to his knees, in more ways than one. He had imagined himself running his hands through her hair more times than he wanted to admit. And she was letting him. 

They stayed there, not speaking, for an untold number of minutes as Azriel gently, tenderly, moved his hands through her hair, Elain’s eyes remaining closed under his touch. It was feeling impossible to break away from the touch, the shared point of contact, the tenderness. Elain was so still he would have wondered if she was still breathing, if he had not been able to see the slight, shallow lift and fall of her chest from his vantage point. Which he certainly was not inspecting. 

Azriel did force himself to break away from her, though. Because he could not allow himself to become lost in her. He would not. 

He pulled his hands from her hair once it looked sufficiently relaxed, but before he stepped away, his eyes caught on a vase of flowers (no doubt arranged by Elain herself) on the low table beside him. He reached down and plucked a brilliant blue flower- columbine, he thought it was called- and tore the stem from it a couple centimeters from the base. Elain drifted her bottom lip into her mouth as Azriel tenderly tucked her curls behind one pointed ear, placing the flower there alongside the strands. 

She looked indescribably beautiful there in the morning light. He forced himself to step a pace away from her. Elain’s eyes drifted back open slowly, and she swallowed once more as she surveyed him standing before her. He met her chocolate gaze, trying to read what was behind their rich color. Her face was open and curious. And there was something else- just that tiny hint of longing once more- if he was believing what he was seeing. 

But he could not let himself believe it. He would not.

So instead, he simply dipped his chin in a small bow, lowering his lashes before looking back at her. 

“Have a good day, Elain,” he murmured. 

And then he turned and walked away before he could drop to his knees and confess his need for her. 

Chapter Text

Elain (Summer- right before ACOSF)

Elain couldn't sleep. 

Most days, she held joy and peace in her heart. She grew and made beautiful things to help others hold joy and peace in their hearts. 

It was her only mission, the only way she knew how to contribute and move through the world. 

But even now, a year after the battle of Hybern, she had hard days, and harder nights. 

Her visions were far and few between, but they still troubled her, and she still had no one to guide her through her power, to help her wield it or confront it with more confidence. Each one left her shaken. 

And Elain was still plagued by nightmares. 

In her dreams, she saw her father’s lifeless eyes, Nesta and Cassian moments before their death, helpless. She saw the faces of the leering males that dragged her to the Cauldron. She saw the Twin Ravens who attacked her sisters with such hatred in their eyes. She felt those metal manacles around her wrists and the gag in her mouth as she knelt in that army camp, sure she would die a slow, painful death. She saw those vicious hounds shredding Azriel’s back and wings as he flew her to safety. She felt the vile black blood of the King of Hybern coating her hands and face as it splattered on her.

As she took a life from this world. 

Elain often lay awake in bed, needing sleep but terrified of what she may relive in her dreams. Her fae blood kept most from noticing how little sleep she got. Her face remained sun-kissed and full, devoid of the dark bags she would acquire as a human when she got little sleep. She was glad that no one fretted over her, however much she would sometimes like to just be held, to be told it would be alright.

She no longer missed Graysen. The healing nature of time allowed her to readjust what she thought she knew about the man, to confront those awful memories of how he treated her and her family during the war. 

To put it plainly, Graysen, she now realized, was an asshole. She didn't miss him. But she did miss being touched, being held, being together. 

She knew she could seek those things in Lucien, if she desired. But she could not even think of the male without cringing. It wasn't his fault. He had been nothing but kind and respectful with her. She no longer even blamed him for laying claim to her the moment she opened her eyes after being Made. He had been stunned, shocked, and simply reacted. 

But it didn't change the fact that she did not want him, would never want him. Nothing but discomfort stirred in her when she saw the male. She held him no ill will, but also truly never wanted to see him.

She wanted sparks, blushes, tender touches, easy conversation. 

She wanted someone who made her feel safe, heard, respected.

She wanted contented sighs and legs tangled with hers in the depths of the night. 

She wanted someone who was equal parts gentle and fierce, who did not balk from her strange silence and troubled mind. 

She wanted kisses that made her feel like she was leaving her body, and caresses that sent shivers through her limbs.

She wanted to turn over in her sleep and nuzzle into a warm, strong chest, arms wrapping tightly around her like she was precious. 

She wanted to feel delighted, surprised, untamed, impassioned. 

Elain believed in true love, and would settle for nothing less in her now immortal life. 

She had all the time in the world to find it, she supposed. 

And tonight was just one of those countless nights that Elain lay in bed, alone and exhausted and drifting through her swirling thoughts. 

She sighed and looked up at the ceiling. She had an early morning planned tomorrow to meet some fae at a community garden she helped build. She knew she should get some sleep, but her mind kept racing and racing, matching the racing of her heart. 

No matter what she did, on nights like these she could not calm her body nor her brain. 

Elain sighed once more and rose from her bed. She supposed some relaxing tea may help. She wrapped a soft, blue cotton robe around herself and exited her room. 

She padded down the hall and then made her way down the stairs. 

Elain emitted a breath of relief as she entered the dim, empty kitchen. One of her sanctuaries, despite it not really being hers.

Elain set about silently starting the tea kettle. She glided on quiet, slippered feet, carefully measuring out tea leaves and selecting an especially cozy-looking mug. 

The shape of mugs and how they felt cradled in her hands was always important to Elain’s tea drinking experience. It could make or break the moment, truly.

Then Elain stood against the counter and aimlessly watched steam curl up from the kettle as the water warmed. 

As soon as she heard the first hint of a whistle, she quickly removed the kettle from the heat and turned off the stove so as not to wake anyone else who may be sleeping in the house.

Elain never was quite sure who shared the townhouse with her at night- a thought that would have caused her dread as a human. But now, she felt safe with any member of the Inner Circle, and for some reason did not feel bothered that they came and went to the townhouse as they pleased. It was not her personal residence, anyway. It belonged more to all of them than it did to her. 

She could expect Feyre and Rhysand to usually be sleeping at the River House now that it was complete, and she knew Amren and Nesta held apartments in the city. But on any given night Elain was not sure whether Morrigan, Cassian, or Azriel would be staying at the Townhouse with her. 

And it did not bother Elain in the least that Azriel could be spending any given night a few doors down from her, silent as he was. She was comforted thinking of him just feet away, doing whatever the Shadowsinger did all night. She knew no harm would ever come to her with him so near.

And then as if her thoughts had conjured him, there he was. 

She jumped as Azriel poked his head around the corner of the kitchen entrance, tracing the source of noise and no doubt Elain’s scent.

Elain pulled her robe tighter around her nightgown as Azriel silently entered the room. “I’m so sorry,” she said quietly. “Did the kettle wake you?”

No matter that he looked like he had not even been trying to sleep- he was still fully dressed in his leathers and armor, blade and all. His hair looked slightly mussed as if he had been running his hands through it in thought. Shadows nestled along his great wings peacefully.

Azriel shook his head and seemed to be avoiding looking at her too hard. Elain’s cheeks heated as she realized she was in her night clothes. He was probably trying to spare her from embarrassment. 

“Did I wake you coming in?” He asked, voice like a winter storm. Perhaps his hair was mussed from flying, then. Elain shook her head as well, looking away to pour the steaming water into her mug. Azriel walked further into the kitchen and slid onto a stool at the island.

He cleared his throat. “Midnight tea party?” He asked with what seemed like forced casualness. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” Elain admitted, and slid onto the stool across from him. 

Azriel just nodded, and Elain loved that he did not fret over her, did not pepper her with questions about what she needed or what kept her awake. He simply acknowledged her, sat with her. 

Elain wanted to do the same for him, but curiosity got the better of her.

“What kept you out so late?” She knew it was a prying question, but it was well past midnight. And truth be told, as silly as it was, Elain worried about Azriel. Warrior and spymaster and professional torturer and all. She knew he did dangerous work for the Court, and she could not bear the thought of him coming to harm.

Azriel did not seem to mind the prying, for he answered, “I had to take care of something for Rhysand. It was…not fruitful.” He looked disappointed in himself, and that bothered Elain. He was always so hard on himself. 

“He asks too much of you.” 

Azriel’s lips twitched at that. “I faithfully serve in his court, Elain. It’s my choice, and he is my brother. I will always do whatever he needs of me.” 

Elain only shrugged. “If you say so. But no job should keep you out past midnight.” She sipped her tea. The tiniest grin appeared on his face.

“Does the tea help?” He asked after a quiet moment, nodding towards it. 

“Oh!” Elain exclaimed, embarrassed that she had forgotten her manners. She was always so distracted by that mouth of his.

“Let me get you some, please.” 

“Don’t trouble yourself. That’s not what I meant, I-” Azriel started. But Elain interrupted. “Please, it’s no trouble. Let me.” 

Azriel acquiesced and nodded to her gratefully. Elain quickly scanned the tea leaves and picked a blend, then scooped the leaves into a mug and poured hot water over them.

She handed Azriel his mug and then took her seat across from him once more. She watched as he breathed in the steam, and his lovely hazel eyes closed beneath sweeping dark lashes. 

He really was disturbingly beautiful. 

No matter how much time they spent together, it never stopped affecting her. In ways she dare not admit. 

Shadows swirled amongst the steam as if greeting their fare-toned cousins. 

“Lavender and chamomile,” Azriel commented, opening his eyes and meeting her gaze. “How did you know I prefer this blend?”

Elain felt herself blushing- her traitorous cheeks were always showing her feelings- and answered, “It’s the tea you brought to me that first day you visited up at the House of Wind. It was comforting to me then, and I figured it must be the blend you use to help you relax.” 

A golden blush then swept across Azriel’s own cheeks. “It is,” he said softly, and took a sip of his tea, holding her gaze. 

They drank in silence for some minutes, the tea warming Elain pleasantly. 

She spent the minutes wondering about Azriel and his stupidly beautiful face and body. 

Nothing much had changed since that day last year when they had made strawberry shortcake in this very kitchen. They still spent time together in the garden, and Elain still felt more comfortable with him than anyone else, even her sisters. 

Elain had sworn that Azriel was flirting with her that day, unless she had grossly misread his actions. She had no idea how she could possibly have misread what swiping strawberry juice off her arm with his finger and then licking it while holding her gaze could have meant. 

And she certainly hadn't been able to look at butter slicing the same since then.

Elain had thought about that moment for more nights than she would like to admit. “Delicious,” he had all but purred, sending a searing flame through her chest all the way to her core. 

She wondered what Azriel’s scarred finger would feel like tracing other parts of her body. She wondered what it would feel like if he had licked strawberry juice off her own finger instead of his. She wondered what those perfectly-formed lips might feel like pressed against her own. Or against her neck. Or on her breasts. 

But since then, almost a year later, nothing more than friendship had developed between them. Azriel haunted more and more of Elain's thoughts, especially after Solstice. She had been bold enough to get him a gift, and it was the first time she had seen Azriel laugh so heartily, so wholly. It had warmed her whole body to see.

Elain was not bothered that he had not gotten her a gift in return. She didn't expect anyone to give her anything at her first Solstice. 

But then Azriel had sat by her side until well past three in the morning, listening to her explain her garden plans and commenting, asking questions, truly listening to her. It was the best gift anyone could have given her. 

Elain could have sat there with him until dawn, content to be alone with him in comfortable companionship. But Azriel had eventually excused himself to bed saying something about an important tradition with his brothers the following morning. 

Elain feared she may have imagined it, but she remembered him brushing her knuckles with his own beautiful, scarred fingers as he bid her goodnight and stood to walk to the staircase. 

But nothing more had happened over the months. She had thought they had been edging towards something deeper when they shared truths during the card game they played after Solstice. Azriel had held her chin and stroked her face so tenderly, and perhaps if Feyre and Mor hadn't walked in and interrupted...but no, she couldn't dwell on those things. If Azriel had wanted more from her, he would have done something about it by now.

Especially on her birthday- they were alone, together, all the way on the Continent, with nothing and no one to interrupt them. He had given her the most beautiful, thoughtful gift she could imagine. But all they had done was talk. She didn't know what to make of it. And when he had unbraided and stroked her hair with such heartbreaking tenderness, such reverence, she had thought he might confess some feelings. But he had walked away with only a distant farewell. It was so utterly confusing.

She more often than not now wondered what he thought of her, of the time they spent together. He was so quiet around his family, so reserved. So leashed. But she saw sides of him that he kept well hidden. His quiet, clever jokes, his careful curiosity, even his gentle flirting. The cocky little half smile he threw her when she was impressed by his magic or strength.

She loved those sides of him, and loved even more that he felt comfortable enough to share them with her. 

Azriel fidgeted his wings behind her, shaking her from her thoughts.

Elain looked over to see his scarred hands cradling his mug of tea. 

“How does the mug feel?” She asked. Azriel looked at her and then down at the mug, confused. 

“What do you mean?” He asked, his brow furrowed. 

Elain gave him a small smile. “I’ve always thought that the feel of a mug is just as important as the blend of tea itself. More important, maybe. The way it feels held in your hands, the curve of it, the…coziness…” She trailed off, feeling rather foolish.

Azriel blinked a few times and then a tender smile bloomed across his face. 

“The coziness,” he repeated, tilting his head and looking to where Elain’s fingers curled around her own mug. 

Elain felt herself blush once again, Mother spare her. It seemed that being turned fae did not rid her of her pesky blushing condition. And it was always especially virulent around Azriel.

It would help if he didn't have such perfectly sculpted cheekbones. 

And dark sweeping eyelashes. 

And full, broad lips that looked like they were made for worshipping a body.

And silken raven curls that kissed his brow, framing his face in boyish softness. 

And tortured, churning hazel eyes that saw directly into her soul. 

And a voice that sounded like a snowstorm at midnight.

And long, muscled arms and legs that looked like they could squeeze the life from an enemy equally as effectively as they could hold her tenderly. 

And huge leathery wings that made him look like a god of legends. 

And magnificent, dark shadows swirling around him, marking him as something ancient and wild and primal and singular.

And scars like ivy.

Gods help her. 

“Yes,” she answered, her pitch slightly high, hoping she didn’t sound like a naive child. “I picked this mug because it looked like it would feel especially…cozy…to hold.” 

Azriel was grinning at her with such warmth her stomach flipped nervously.

“So is it?” Elain asked while nodding to his mug, attempting to regulate her pitch. “Cozy?”

Azriel hummed in thought. “Let me compare,” he answered. He cupped the mug in his beautiful, long fingers, his scars stark against the dark ceramic. After a few moments he nodded thoughtfully and then put it down and reached for Elain’s mug. 

She tried not to let her breath hitch as his rough fingers grazed hers, taking her mug out of her hands. He wrapped his fingers around that one as well and sat quietly for a few seconds.

Azriel never laughed at her. He never treated her as naive or foolish or silly. He took her seriously, even when she was acting somewhat naive and foolish and silly. 

“Elain,” he said. “Your mug is much cozier than mine.” 

Elain could not help the bashful grin that crossed her face as he handed her mug back.

“Now you know. Look for a mug that feels good. It will make all the difference.” 

“I shall do so and think of you every time,” Azriel said in response. Elain smiled into her tea and took the final sip left before looking back at him.

“Do you drink tea as well when you can’t sleep?” She asked him, curious. Even though Azriel was silent as death, she knew he struggled with sleep as much as she did. Perhaps even more. This was not their first middle-of-the-night run-in, but it was the first time they actually acknowledged it beyond a couple friendly exchanged words in the hallway as they passed each other.

“Sometimes,” Azriel answered. “But there is something that I prefer to still a restless mind.”

“What’s that?” She asked.

“I like to walk. Preferably along the river.” 

Elain cocked her head at that. “Not fly?” She assumed that he would prefer to fly to clear his head, as she knew he loved it.

Azriel shook his head. 

“While I do cherish flying, there is something even more peaceful about walking along the Sidra under the stars, with nothing and no one else around. Sometimes I prefer to appreciate the night sky from below, rather than within.”

Elain’s heart stirred at his words. Azriel didn't even realize how much his words often sounded like the lost melancholy lines of an ancient song. It did not help with her blushing condition.

Despite Elain’s need to wake early the next morning, despite her lack of confidence about where she stood with Azriel, Elain simply could not stop her next question.

“Would you show me?” She asked him. He just stared at her blankly. She swallowed and continued. “I would like to walk along the river with you, Azriel. If you would allow me to accompany you.” 

Azriel stared at her some more. Perhaps she had overstepped in assuming that he would want to share something so personal with her. Perhaps he thought her rude and presumptuous to invite herself in such a way.

Elain opened her mouth to tell him to forget she asked, but Azriel spoke first.

“I would be honored.” He said it so gently, so earnestly, it made Elain’s chest hurt. 

“Right now?” Azriel asked, looking around like someone would stop them. “Tonight?”

Elain straightened on her stool. “If you’ll have me,” she said hopefully.

Azriel swallowed and seemed almost demure as he answered, “I would love to walk with you along the Sidra tonight.” 

Elain stood and smiled, feeling a mixture of nerves and excitement. She didn’t miss Azriel’s eyes flicker down to her robe and then quickly look away.

“I’ll go change into something better for walking,” Elain uttered, and scurried away without waiting for his answer.

By the time Elain returned to the kitchen, dressed in a long cotton gown and light cloak fastened atop, Azriel had already washed their mugs and tidied up the tea leaves and kettle. 

He was such a gentleman. Another annoying cause of her near-constant blushing around him.

“Ready!” She said, still fighting a wave of nerves. “Are you?”

Azriel nodded as he looked her over. He truly must have been tired because he again just stared at her wordlessly, face blank, for a good few moments. But then he cleared his throat and said, “Let’s walk, then.”

They left through the front door of the townhouse. The summer night was balmy and comfortable. Although Azriel spoke of watching the stars, the sky was starless and moonless tonight. Dense cloud cover cloaked the sky and Elain felt like they were walking out into the void.

But this void, with Azriel at her side, with the sky stretched out above them, did not scare her. 

They walked in silence through the city until they came upon the bridge across the Sidra. Instead of taking the bridge, Azriel led Elain to a little footpath that broke off from the main walkway. His cobalt siphons lit the way, illuminating their surroundings in a pool of calm, glowing blue. 

Elain felt her breath catch as they reached the riverbank. The Sidra stretched out before them until it was enveloped in the darkness. The rocky bank, covered in smooth white stones that shimmered blue in the light of the siphons, extended along it. No one and nothing else was here. 

Not even the moon and stars. 

Although they were completely out in the open, Elain felt like she and Azriel were alone together in a cocoon of darkness. Like they were the only two souls in the world. 

Azriel looked at her in the dim cobalt light. “Is this okay?” He asked, sounding slightly nervous. He seemed to be worried about her reaction to being out here alone with him. 

Elain nodded and started walking. “It’s beautiful,” she answered. “I can see why it brings you peace.” 

Azriel released a quiet breath and fell into step beside her. They walked for some minutes in silence save for the crunch of those smooth white rocks under their feet. 

Elain marveled at how safe she felt out here with Azriel. She was absolutely certain no harm would come to her, and that was a rare feeling for her indeed. 

After a few moments, Azriel spoke.

“Why don’t you sleep, Elain?” He asked it in such a caring way, so tenderly. 

Elain swallowed and remained quiet for a few moments. Azriel noted her hesitation.

“It’s alright if you don’t want to tell me about it. I just thought- if you needed to talk to someone about anything-”

Elain shook her head. “No, it’s alright. I was just thinking about how to answer.”

Azriel remained silent beside her, waiting for her to continue.

“I always had trouble sleeping, even as a girl. But it’s gotten worse since…everything.” 

Azriel nodded thoughtfully. 

She continued. “Quieting my mind has always been difficult for me. I think people don’t expect me to have quite so many thoughts, since I often keep them to myself, but I do. I have too many thoughts.”

Azriel looked at her then, as if she had said something that struck him. But he remained quiet, waiting. He could always tell when she had more to say.

“Now with the visions, there is even more in my mind that I cannot control. It all rushes around me in the night and often makes me feel too restless. And…I have nightmares,” she finished quietly. 

Azriel didn’t speak for a few moments. Against her better judgment, she half expected him to react the way her sisters would, with worry and fuss and peppering her with solutions that would make no difference. 

But instead, he simply said, “I have nightmares, too.” 

Elain momentarily could not believe he was sharing something so personal with her. Azriel was a fantastic listener and a companionable conversationalist, but he wasn’t exactly open about his inner workings.

“Really?” Elain asked. 

Azriel nodded. She thought that was that, but he continued, again to her surprise.

“There are many horrors I forget or ignore in the daylight that catch back up with me in the night.”

Elain glanced at his face as they walked. It appeared utterly neutral, at ease even. He felt her gaze and looked back at her. 

As their eyes locked, Elain tripped over a particularly large stone and stumbled. Azriel shot his hand out and gripped her waist, steadying her before she smashed her face upon the rocks.

Elain was thankful that the dim blue light hid her blush. Gods, even as high fae she could still be a clumsy fool.

“Thank you,” she mumbled. Azriel cleared his throat and dropped his hand. It had felt so warm and steady on her waist.

She realized she wanted it back there.

But instead, Elain kept walking and tried to return to their conversation to move past the moment. 

She wondered if he saw some of the same horrors in the darkness that she did. She hesitated before speaking again, knowing she was prodding further and further past the gates Azriel normally kept locked tight.

“Do you have nightmares of your brother and my sister approaching their death?” She asked him in a near-whisper. It was her most frequent terrible dream. 

Azriel’s face did not change when she glanced at him, but he cleared his throat. “I was not there as you were. I can only imagine how horrifying that must have been to see.” He paused, seeming to think about his words. Elain remained silent.

“But yes. I do. I dream about what their faces must have looked like in those moments. What their last words might have been.” 

Elain felt tears prick her eyes and before she knew what she was doing, she slipped her hand into his, to both seek and provide comfort. 

Azriel stilled, looking down at their hands and then at the tears welling in her eyes. Elain’s heart began to thump heavily. She had not paused to consider whether Azriel would want this, whether it was an intrusion or inappropriate.

She had not even paused to consider if she wanted it. She had simply moved on instinct, needing to feel the steady presence of his scarred hand in hers. 

He swallowed. Elain didn't know what to do or say. She had already crossed the line. She was about to drop his hand when Azriel simply turned and continued to walk, gripping her hand back firmly but gently. 

Elain's chest filled with light. He hadn't dropped her hand. 

His fingers felt so right cradled in hers. The scars on his hands felt rough and soft at the same time, the ridges pressing into her skin in a mesmerizing way. 

Azriel’s hand was warm and strong in hers.

She had imagined what this might feel like so many times. She had envisioned their hands together, had tried to guess how warm his fingers would be, how tight he would grip hers. 

It felt better than her imagination had allowed. It felt special. It felt true. It felt right.

She knew it was just hand-holding, and she was rather reacting like a schoolgirl with a crush, but she felt like a schoolgirl with a crush at the moment. This simple act of holding Azriel’s hand was like a shooting star of hope through her chest.

Azriel said nothing but Elain could feel something emanating off him in strong waves. She felt both of their emotions quiver between them as they walked along the riverbank, the water black and depthless beside them, the dark sky clouded and vast.

Elain cleared her throat after some moments. They didn’t need to speak in each other’s company- they never had- but she wanted to continue speaking with him. 

She wanted him to gift her more of his inner thoughts, and she wanted to gift hers to him as well. 

“I have nightmares of my father, too. And of those males that dragged me to the Cauldron.”

Azriel’s hand gripped hers tighter in response, as if preparing to fight off those enemies, to protect her from them. 

He looked down at her from her side. His face was calm but deadly serious. And so, so beautiful.

“I will never let anyone take you again, Elain. I would die before letting that happen.”

Elain’s heart momentarily stopped at his words. He said them with such stark honesty, such sincerity. Urgency, almost.

She glanced down at their joined hands again. Azriel’s scars and tan skin were stark against her pale fingers. 

“I know,” she whispered. Azriel intertwined their fingers then, gripping hers firmly, as if she might float away from him on the wind. 

Her chest burned even more brightly and warmly, despite the dark nature of their conversation. 

“I have nightmares of losing Rhysand’s mother and sister,” Azriel said quietly. “Of the day I heard that terrible news.” Something about his tone told her that he never spoke of this, to anyone.

Elain thought back to the memories Azriel shared of baking with the females and her heart sunk with sadness. For Azriel, for Rhysand, for Cassian, for the beautiful-hearted females that were stolen from the world. 

“Were you close with his sister?” She asked him.

Azriel nodded. “Esela.” 

“Esela,” Elain repeated. “That is a beautiful name.”

“She was like a sister to me. I never had a sister of my own, and my brothers- my half-blood brothers- were never truly my family.”

Elain looked down at his scars again. She had known Azriel for long enough now that she was familiar with the story of how he got those scars. How his own brothers had tormented and tortured him for no reason other than hatred and fear. She squeezed his fingers.

“I took comfort in caring for Esela as a younger sister,” he continued. “She was fiery and bright, but also gentle, caring. Just as her mother was. I used to take her on walks just like this when she couldn’t sleep. She would ask me to take her to stroll beneath the stars, and I could never say no.”

Elain felt her eyes well again at the memories Azriel was sharing with her with such care, such tenderness. 

They continued walking, and their fingers stayed intertwined. And it continued to feel so right to Elain.

“Thank you, Azriel,” she said solemnly.

“For what?” He asked, looking down at her once more.

“For sharing such precious memories with me. Things so beautiful and sad. It means very much to me.” 

Azriel seemed to twitch, then. She felt a tremor run through his arm and fingers, up his wing. 

And then he halted. But did not drop her hand.

Elain looked up into his face as they stopped walking, and saw that its careful construction, its purposeful mask, seemed to have slipped. He wore an anguished expression on his face. Anguished and- wanting. She saw painful yearning written across his features. And it was more beautiful than any cold mask he usually wore. Her breath caught in her chest at his agonized expression.

“Elain…” Azriel said. And for the briefest instant, for a fleeting moment of insanity, Elain thought that Azriel might kiss her. She drifted closer to him as if pushed by the winds of the Sidra blowing gently around them.

“Yes, Azriel?” Her voice was hushed. She became too aware of his cedar and mist scent- the way it beckoned her. 

Azriel swallowed and looked down at her, his hazel eyes churning in the dim cobalt light. She saw it clearly then- that deep well of emotion within him he kept so well hidden. Like a caged animal, gnawing at the bars of its enclosure. Exquisite and awe-inspiring and powerful. Magnificent.

And then it was gone, and he was walking once more. He still held her hand but his mask had slipped back over his face. 

He had never answered her. Maybe it was truly just a moment of insanity. Maybe she had mistaken the yearning in his eyes as want for her, when it was just the pain of remembering lost family taken so violently. 

Because why would Azriel want her? He was a warrior, with centuries of experience with lovers. He was kind and powerful and painfully attractive. He could have anyone he wanted. Why should he have any interest in a once-human, inexperienced female whose mind was half-addled with foolish visions? Who gardened and baked instead of aided their court as he did? She supposed she was probably a frivolous young thing in his eyes. A kind companion, at best. 

But there he was, holding her hand, walking beneath the vast night along the Sidra. 

Just as Elain was resigned to accepting that he was holding her hand in a gesture of friendly comfort and nothing more, his thumb stroked her where their hands joined. 

She looked at his face, which was as immovable and guarded as it was the last time she had looked. But his thumb stroked again, slowly and tenderly. Lovingly. 

Gods, Elain was confused. Were males always this confusing?

Graysen was certainly never confusing (at least not until she had turned fae). His intentions were very clear. His wants were very clear. He wanted affection, sex, and social standing from Elain. And she had been happy to give him those things. 

Elain did not know what Azriel wanted from her. Friendship, it seemed. But as he continued to silently stroke her hand in a way that friends typically did not, she wondered if he wanted more. She wondered what he was going to say to her when they had stopped walking moments ago. 

She wondered if he had wanted to kiss her, too.

Elain wanted to ask him. She wanted to, but she didn’t know how. She was terrified that if she misread the situation Azriel would be hesitant to be her friend, and Elain could not risk losing his friendship. 

So instead, she cleared her throat and asked, “Why don’t you sleep, Azriel?”

He did not deny that sleep often evaded him as well. Instead, Azriel looked up to the sky as if he searched for an answer. After a moment he said, “Sometimes, nightmares, like you. I have lived a long time, and long life comes with enduring many horrors.”

“I believe you have endured more horrors than most your age, Azriel,” Elain said, well aware that he had scars that went much deeper than those on his hands.

“Perhaps,” was all he said in response. He was quiet for a few moments while they walked, again running that gentle thumb against her hand. 

“And I find that I dwell, at night. My mind races, as yours does.” 

Elain nodded, understanding. “What do you dwell on at night?” 

Azriel seemed to hesitate before answering. 

“Usually on the mistakes I've made. The people I've failed.” 

Elain didn't know what to do with that information. She wanted to ask him more, wanted to know what he was so ashamed of. But she didn't want to push him too far, ask him to reveal too much. 

Her pondering was interrupted by Azriel clearing his throat. 

“There are so many people I have failed, Elain. More than I can even list. I failed Mor when I found her too late that day in the forest. I failed all those priestesses in Sangravah when I showed up minutes after most had been slaughtered and the rest were being assaulted.” 

Elain’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn't known the depths of Azriel’s torment.

“I failed Rhysand, when he was taken by Amarantha and sacrificed himself for the safety of all of us here in Velaris. I failed Feyre, when I could not prevent her from doing the same when she returned to the Spring Court.” 

Elain felt her heart breaking as he talked. Did he truly blame himself for all of those horrific events?

“I failed my mother, when I could not stop the treachery she endured at the hands of my father.” 

Azriel stopped walking and took Elain's other hand, facing her. His face was pained again. “I failed you, Elain. Twice. Twice I couldn't protect you and you were taken from safety into the hands of the enemy.” 

Elain didn't know what to say. Her chest ached that Azriel blamed himself for all of those horrible incidents, that he was still haunted by mistakes he believed he made. 

Did Azriel lay in bed at night reviewing every decision he made during those moments that could have resulted in a different outcome? Prevented something terrible from happening? 

She knew that telling him those things weren't his fault would do nothing to assuage his guilt, his despair over them. 

So Elain only looked into his eyes and offered him her truth. 

“I feel safer with you than I ever have with anyone, Azriel. More than my sisters, more than my father, more than the twins, more than an entire army.” Azriel's eyes shuttered at her words.

“And I don't just mean physically safe. I mean here.” She dropped one of his hands and placed it over his heart. He placed his hand over hers. 

“You shouldn't have been taken that night, Elain,” he answered roughly. “I was right there. I should have stopped it.”

Elain shook her head and gave him the same words she did all that time ago. “You came for me. You could not have stopped me from being taken. But you came for me. You saved my life.” 

Elain took a deep breath and knew she was offering a piece of her heart, but chose to anyway. 

“And you saved my life before that, Azriel. When you were the only one who really listened, really saw who I was, my visions.”

Azriel’s mask had slipped fully. He looked like her words were on the verge of destroying him. But she forged on.

“I was so lost. So hopeless. I…I didn't want to exist anymore.” Azriel’s face drained of color and he gripped her hands more tightly.  

“I was so tired of seeing everything and understanding nothing. So exhausted. Living felt like an insurmountable task every day. And I was growing so tired of it. Some days I wished it would end.”

Azriel’s hands shook over hers, now. She felt his heart beating wildly beneath her hand.

His eyes were deep, deep wells of horror and sorrow. 

She had never spoken these truths aloud.

“But your friendship has meant everything to me,” Elain continued. “I'm not sure that I would be here today without the friendship you have given me.” 

A look Elain couldn't place crossed Azriel's features. 

“I'll always be your friend, Elain.” 

Her heart warmed at his words. She wanted to tell him that she would always be his friend, as well, but Azriel dropped her hand at his chest suddenly. 

“I should get you back to the townhouse,” he said, his voice strained. Elain felt her heart plummeting into her stomach. 

She didn't want this night to end, sharing these truths with Azriel. Sharing this peace with him. But it seemed like he did. Perhaps she had clawed too far beneath his surface. 

“Alright,” she said quietly. 

Azriel looked at her with another pained expression but said nothing, just gripped her fingers as shadows ensconced them to transport them back to the house. No more walking hand in hand, then. 

They appeared in the hallway that led to their bedrooms. 

Elain didn't want the night to end in pain. 

So before Azriel could drop her hand, Elain lifted their intertwined fingers and offered him one gentle kiss upon the inside of his scarred wrist. Right where his blood flowed to his heart.

She watched as a shocked expression crossed his face, and then as his jaw clenched as if in restraint.

“Thank you for tonight, Azriel.” 

And then she finally dropped his hand that had held hers warmly and gently for so long tonight. 

Azriel inclined his head at her and simply said, “Goodnight, Elain.”

And then he was walking to his bedroom without another look behind. 

Elain lay in bed minutes later, back in her nightgown. She wondered what had caused Azriel to end their night so abruptly. 

Had it been wrong of her to be so honest about her struggles? About what he had given her with his friendship? 

Had she struck a chord too deep, too painful?

Did Azriel know what it was to wish for it all to end, and did not want to discuss that trauma further?

Had he simply realized that he did not want such a damaged, addled female? 

Had she sounded desperate? Feeble? 

She did not think so. Azriel was such a kind, generous person. He was always so thoughtful with her. Thoughtful, but not careful as the others were. He saw her as her own, real person. A person with agency. She knew that. She wasn't sure the rest of her family even thought of her that way. 

She knew Azriel was usually uncomfortable discussing intimate, emotional matters, and perhaps she had simply pushed him too far.

She wished she could jump into his mind and read what was written there, just for a moment. 

What did that clawed beast deep within him, rattling its chains, say to him during the darkest hours of the night? 

What did he need to keep so buried down inside himself, even his own family seemed to barely know his heart?

And did he want her? As a friend or anything else? Did he wonder what touching her, kissing her, might feel like, as she did him?

There were moments when she was sure he did. Like the strawberry incident. Elain would bet on the life of every flower in her garden that Azriel had never run his finger up Feyre’s or Nesta’s or Amren’s (gods save him) arm, collecting juice to lick into his mouth. He had never locked eyes with them and said “delicious,” with that horrendously perfect mouth of his, with that sinfully sensual tone. With his pupils blown wide as they were. 

And she would bet on her mother’s grave that in five centuries of wanting Morrigan, Azriel had never held her hand for long minutes in the quiet dark, sharing secrets within his heart.

She had thought he might kiss her. And Mother save her, she had wanted him to kiss her. 

But maybe it was all in her head. She could not trust her thoughts, her experiences, after all. Sometimes it was difficult for her to separate reality from those visions and nightmares that clouded her mind. 

Maybe she really was slipping away from sanity. 

The thoughts and questions continued to churn and churn, drowning her, choking her. 

Elain did not sleep that night.

Chapter Text

Azriel (Autumn- ACOSF)

Gods, Azriel had wanted to kiss her that night along the Sidra. 

He had wanted to drift his hands into her hair and gently tug her face up to his. 

He had wanted to skim his lips over hers in the softest whisper of a kiss, barely touching, before claiming her mouth with absolution. 

He had wanted to taste all of her fear, all of her desires, all of her hopes and her aches through her lips. To drink them. 

But those things did not happen along the Sidra.

A year had passed since Azriel had flirted so shamelessly with Elain while baking, and he had wound his leash so tight he felt suffocated, but he would not push himself on her again without her desire or consent. 

Elain seemed to truly have joy now, to have found a place- a home- here in Velaris. 

He had been so horrified to hear how hopeless Elain had been, what she had told him on the bank of the Sidra. How close to slipping from this realm she had been. 

Azriel had wanted to wrap her in his arms, then. He had wanted to hold her, to stroke her hair and cry in relief that she was still here with him, that she had fought her way through it with her own strong, gentle, light spirit. 

But then Elain had told him what his friendship meant to her, and it had broken him all over again. 

He should have told her how much her friendship meant to him, too. 

He should have told her how she saved him, too, shining her light on him so gently and generously. 

He should have told her that he, too, knew what it was to feel hopeless, to feel done living in this miserable fucking world. 

But that she had given him hope in the darkness. 

Hope for people to be better, kinder, for the world to be better. 

He should have told her so many things. 

But he couldn't. He didn't know how. 

He feared that if he started he would never stop, that it would all erupt out of him in a torrent of lava so hot and so strong it would burn her alive. 

And he feared that if he began to tell her what she meant to him, he would do something he had promised himself he would not. 

But gods he had wanted to kiss her. 

She had held his hand for so long, had touched him in ways she never had before. Ways no one ever had before. 

Had brushed her lips against his scarred, ruined wrist. On the vein that led all the way back to his heart.

But she also told him that his friendship was precious to her. Had helped her, by some miracle he did not understand.

So Azriel was resolved that he would not bring further turmoil, further complication, to her. 

Unless she asked for it. 

No matter that she had given him a Solstice gift that had made him laugh harder, more genuinely, than he had in decades. 

No matter that that little vial now sat on his bedside table at the House of Wind, the only adornment in his bedroom, and that he found himself gazing at it nightly. 

No matter that he did other things nightly. Things that involved his cock in his hand while envisioning what her fingers would look like there instead. How strong her scent would be with his face buried in her neck. What kinds of sounds Elain would make in her pleasure.

No matter that his heart strained with desperate yearning and loneliness when he saw his two brothers finding love and acceptance- wholeness- with their mates (even if Nesta had yet to admit it). 

No matter that he saw Elain watching her sisters being and falling in love, and that sometimes her brown doe eyes would find his, and there would be a knowing look in them. A wanting look. 

No matter that they had held hands on a sleepless and moonless night along the Sidra, and he had shared things with Elain that he had never shared with another. 

Because she had not kissed him that night, and had not asked him to kiss her. 

So Azriel tried to maintain his distance while also maintaining their friendship. 

He attempted not to spend too many late nights alone with her at the townhouse, in the quiet that only they found peace in. 

He attempted not to brush his fingers against her own in fleeting, subtle ways only she would notice. 

He attempted not to glance at her when Rhysand and Feyre exchanged loving, intimate gestures that made his chest ache.

He attempted not to pleasure himself every single night, thinking about Elain's perfect mouth, her beautiful eyes, how he might stoke her desire until she found euphoria on his tongue or his hand or his cock. 

He tried, but he failed. 

Over and over he failed, and over and over he hated himself for it. Azriel barely slept despite his hours of training the females on the rooftop and the endless exhausting work Rhysand needed him to do to secure the safety of the Court. 

He barely slept because to be alone with his thoughts was to become overwhelmed with need for a female he could not have, and to drown in self-hatred for needing her.

So when Mor sent a message through Rhysand to ask the family to join her at Rita’s one chilly autumn day (he had to, she had insisted, since she was away so often and wanted them to be together on this short return trip), Azriel accepted. He thought that losing himself in drink and cards and music and whatever else they would encounter in town that night was a good enough escape. And he expected, or at least hoped, that the drink and revelry may help him finally find some much needed sleep.

What he had not expected was for Elain to join the family at Rita’s. She had never joined before, and had always seemed more comfortable staying home and cozying up with tea and a book or her journal of gardening plans. Azriel had chosen to remain back with her on several of those occasions, taking the opportunity to find peace in their shared silence or soft chatting, as he always did.

So as Azriel waited for the rest of his family in the sitting room of the Townhouse, he was shocked to see Elain coming down the stairs looking dressed to go out. 

No- looking dressed to go out could not do justice to how Elain looked. Her hair was swept up in a loose bun with curling pieces framing her porcelain face, her neck exposed and enticing. Her eyelids were dusted gold and she wore tiny gold hoops in her earlobes, with a matching thin gold band around her upper arm. 

But it was what she wore beneath the neck that had Azriel’s heart stilling.

He was absolutely sure this piece did not belong to Elain. Elain usually favored casual, straight-shaped or loose gowns that suggested curves but did not accentuate them. Their necklines usually dipped just above her breasts at the lowest, and they tended to include some sort of sleeve and skirts that hung to the knee or ankle depending on the season. 

But Azriel stared and stared at Elain as she stalled on the steps upon seeing him. She was not wearing one of her usual styles of gowns. 

No, tonight she wore a jade green dress that brought out the richness of the gold in her eyes and hair. It was not tight, did not hug her curves like the gowns Mor and Nesta tended to favor. And it was not essentially cobwebs, tiny scraps of sheer fabric leaving nothing to the imagination like Feyre preferred.

This gown reminded Azriel of something an ancient goddess would wear. It was made of jewel-toned silk chiffon that billowed loosely over her curves, feathering over her breasts in a deep, deep vee. It seemed to flutter around her exposed cleavage and sternum on a phantom wind, loose enough for a hand to slip right under it to caress a breast. 

The gown was held up by straps no wider than Azriel’s forefinger, and billowed loosely down to the floor. Somehow the fabric flowing freely over Elain’s hips made them seem wider, more reaching…more beckoning to be gripped.

The skirts floated to the floor in a cloud of jade mist. But it was the slit in the side of the dress that had Azriel’s blood pumping straight to his cock, Mother damn him. The skirt split on one side all the way to her upper thigh. The way Elain had frozen with one foot on the step below her, her entire leg and most of her thigh were exposed. And that leg looked so...delicious. 

Fucking damn him to hell.

Azriel had to use every ounce of self-control to make his brain work again. Where was the rest of the family? Why was Elain coming down the steps by herself? Did the Cauldron and the Mother plan this very moment just to torture Azriel as some sort of punishment?

Elain was just standing there staring at him, seemingly unable to move. A lovely rose blush washed over her face and chest. 

Azriel cleared his throat and willed his mouth to move. 

“Elain,” he greeted her, thanking the gods that his voice didn’t come out the husky rasp that he feared. “You’re joining us tonight?”

His voice seemed to shake Elain from her stupor and she began to move again, continuing her way down the rest of the staircase. With every other step that slit exposed her creamy thigh again and again, and Azriel thought he might be dying.

“Yes,” she answered casually, belying the furious blush that still enveloped her. “I thought a night out sounded like a nice change.” And then after a moment she looked around the empty sitting room and asked, “Where is everyone?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing. You haven’t seen them?”
Elain shook her head, coming to stand beside him. 

“Mor said that everyone is joining. We must be early,” Azriel said, sliding his hands into his pockets. 

“Oh please,” Elain answered, smirking. “You know that we’re on time and everyone else is late.”

Azriel huffed a laugh. “I shouldn’t be surprised,” he said, shaking his head. 

“Well…” Elain looked around rather sheepishly. “Shall we sit and wait?"

Azriel nodded and followed her to the sofa. He sat a respectful distance away from her and tried not to look at the freckled thigh that seemed to be winking at him, saying 

Come here…come and feel me…come and sink your teeth into me…come and run your hands along me and then higher, higher…

Azriel mentally punched himself in the face, looking anywhere but that thigh. 

He strived so very hard not to imagine kneeling before Elain in that gown, gripping the backs of her thighs and kissing all the way up that slit from her ankle to the top of her hip. 

He attempted not to imagine running his hands up under the skirt to cup her ass as he drifted his lips over her hip and towards the apex of her thighs.

He tried so fucking hard not to imagine what sounds she would make as he got closer and closer to that spot he dreamed of tasting. Breathy little moans? Desperate whimpers? Needy groans? 

Would she scream as she came on his tongue? 

Fuck. No. This time he mentally slammed his face against a wall as hard as he could, just as Elain’s voice cut through his pathetically desperate thoughts. 

“You look very nice, Azriel,” Elain said with an unmistakable touch of shyness. Azriel felt a blush of his own bloom on his cheeks. He looked down at himself. He had forgone leathers and armor for a simple yet- he hoped- elegant black silk shirt and tailored pants. There was little he could do about the unruly waves kissing his brow and neck but his hair was at least washed and going in the right directions.

He kept the siphons atop his hands and Truth-Teller at his side, naturally. He never knew when he might need them.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “You…” 

Fuck. What was he supposed to say? You look like a flawless goddess, Elain? You look like every sublime dream I have ever conjured? You look like a heavenly creature of moonlight and forgotten worlds and everything good in the universe? You look like your body may kill me slowly and happily? 

Say something you godsdamned fucking idiot.

“You look rather dashing,” is what came out of his mouth.

Dashing? Dashing, you miserable fucking bastard? Azriel had never hated himself more.

Truth be told he had never used many words with his lovers over the centuries. Azriel was aware that others found his physical appearance pleasing. A few intense, charged looks and carefully timed touches was usually all it took for Azriel to express his interest and to receive a yes of consent to cross a physical line with others. 

But Elain was not like the others. He wanted to make her feel good with his words. He wanted her to know with more than just his gaze how utterly captivated he was with her. 

If she somehow miraculously allowed him to touch her one day, Azriel did not want to rely on his physical appearance and eye contact alone. 

Because Elain deserved to be worshipped in every way. With his eyes, with his hands, with his tongue, with his words. She deserved to know how absolutely fucking destroyed he was by her beauty. How he had known she was the most exquisitely perfect person he would ever see from the moment he laid eyes on her. How every part of her ruined him in a way he feared he would never recover from. 

So before Elain could answer he amended, “You look very beautiful, Elain.”

Her blush deepened and Azriel hoped he had saved the moment. 

She smoothed her hands over the skirt of her dress. 

“I've never been to Rita’s. It's not too much?” 

It is too much because it will kill me, slowly, as all the blood drains from my head and into my cock. 

Azriel shook his head. “All sorts of people go to Rita's, wearing all sorts of clothes. No one will bat an eye.”

That was a lie if he ever told one. Everyone would be staring at Elain, because she would no doubt be the most bewitchingly stunning person in the establishment. As she was the most bewitchingly stunning person anywhere she went. 

Azriel would be sure to watch those wandering eyes tonight. Very carefully. And step in should he need to. 

Elain seemed reassured though, nodding. “Feyre picked it out for me. She said she saw it in a shop and thought I needed something more…exciting.” 

Azriel was 500 years old. He could handle this conversation with tact. Couldn’t he?

“You look beautiful in your usual gowns as well,” he said gently, still not looking too hard at her. 

Elain opened her mouth to answer but the front door swung wide and Feyre and Rhys sauntered in, both looking dashing. Rhysand wore a black and silver-threaded shirt and pants and Feyre wore loose silk silver pants and a matching shirt that displayed her midriff. 

Thank the Mother others were arriving. Azriel didn’t know how long he would have lasted having that conversation without doing something incredibly stupid. Even more stupid than the strawberry licking incident.

“Elain!” Feyre called from the doorway, and then bustled over and kissed her sister on the cheek. “You look incredible. Every male will be falling over themselves.” Elain looked alarmed at that and Azriel held in an affectionate chuckle. 

The fact that Elain remained embarrassed and unwanting of too much attention despite no doubt being called beautiful and having males panting after her for her entire life warmed something deep inside his chest. She was so unassumingly perfect. 

Rhysand approached and clapped Azriel on the shoulder before lifting Elain’s hand and brushing a kiss to it. “She speaks the truth,” he drawled.

So everyone could kiss Elain except himself, it seemed. 

Elain simply blushed again and offered a small smile.

Nesta and Amren emerged in the front hall together next and both looked like they hadn’t changed at all from their regular daytime attire. Nesta wore training leathers and Amren wore her usual loose pants and top, looking like Feyre’s tiny dark-haired twin.

“Womaned up, did you, Elain?” Nesta asked her sardonically, glancing pointedly at her exposed cleavage. Elain was now redder than the strawberry juice Azriel had licked off her arm. 

“I- I just-” Elain stumbled, but then Nesta amended, “I’m sorry, femaled up.” 

Azriel bristled at Elain’s apparent discomfort with all of their attention and Amren seemed to notice, narrowing her eyes at him. 

Feyre weighed in, now. “You do look…exceedingly attractive, Elain.” Rhysand casually nodded his agreement as if they weren’t openly discussing how ravishing Elain looked.

Elain appeared as if she was going to melt into the cushions of the sofa. Azriel was becoming agitated now with how uncomfortable she was. Before he could stop himself with even a modicum of common sense, he spoke.

“I’m not sure what all the commotion is. Elain looks exceedingly attractive every day. Why not compliment her on her bright mind or kind spirit?” 

Fuck. Azriel mentally ripped his hair out of his head in fistfuls.

That was not the right fucking thing to say. You pathetic, creepy, stupid, desperate, inept excuse for life.

Feyre coughed and Rhysand and Nesta each frowned at him deeply. Amren slowly smiled in a terrifyingly spine-chilling way. 

Azriel slid his eyes to Elain, his cheeks blazing, terrified of what he would see on her face. Elain had her hands clasped on her lap, looking down at them. Her body language still seemed uncomfortable, but the faintest, tender smile rested on her lips. 

Azriel looked away quickly, willing his shadows not to swallow him whole even though he wanted nothing more in this moment.

They all stood in awkward silence for a minute or two until they heard Cassian and Mor’s bickering voices approaching from the front walk. Thank the fucking stars.

“I’m just saying, ” Mor was spitting at him. “I’m starting to feel like a godsdamned transport service! You don’t see me for months and you expect me to just up and cart you around so your lazy ass doesn’t have to fly?”

The door flew open and Cassian’s huge frame appeared. He, too, was still dressed in leathers. “I was in Windhaven and already late!” He threw back at her. “Flying would have taken too long. You all would have gotten drunk without me.” 

He moved further into the house and Mor appeared behind him, wearing a golden dress nearly identical to the color of her hair that shamelessly hugged every curve on her body before falling to the floor around her ankles. 

A couple of years ago, Azriel would have lost his senses seeing Mor in that dress. There was no denying that she was flawless, with a sensuous, confident swagger that used to give Azriel blue balls for days at a time. But now Mor, in all her golden light, paled in comparison to the female sitting beside him.

He inwardly cringed with guilt to think such a thing. It wasn't fair. Mor was beautiful, inside and out. 

But it was Elain’s spirit that made her glow like a goddess, that made her already beautiful form into something so exquisite it physically pained Azriel. 

Mor made her way around the room offering hugs and kisses in greeting. She gave Elain yet another kiss (Azriel’s lips felt so empty), and then offered Azriel an awkward pat on the shoulder. He gave her an awkward nod in return.

Cassian just stood there and stared at Nesta as she smirked at him. Azriel tried to catch his brother’s eye to give him a look that said “You’re drooling,” but he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from Nesta. Oh well, let him drool. 

Azriel wished he could look at Elain in such a way without judgment from the others. 

But Elain had a mate. The godsdamned Autumn prick. What he wouldn't give to punch Vanserra in the jaw just one time. He didn't have to kill the male. Maybe just scare him. Maim him a bit. Maybe break a toe or two. Or some ribs.

“Well,” Feyre said, looking around the room at the unnaturally good-looking assembly of fae. “Shall we get going?” 

Mor crossed her arms. “I am not winnowing. I winnowed all the way from the Continent today and then that one -” she glared in Cassian’s direction, to which he threw up his middle finger, “-made me winnow him from Windhaven. I’m so drained and I need to save my energy for dancing .” 

Rhysand chuckled and looped his arm in his cousin’s. “Don’t forget drinking. Let’s walk, shall we?”

And the pair led the way out the door.

The family shuffled out, Azriel and Elain leaving last as they had been deepest in the sitting room. 

Azriel slung a black leather jacket over his shirt as they exited, his shadows sealing up the slats for his wings.

He noted with a frown that Elain did not wear a cloak or coat. It was a chilly fall evening. But he didn’t say anything to her. Because she was a grown female and not his mate.  

Mother spare him, Azriel was not centered tonight. 

They trailed at the end of their group as they walked towards the center of town, not talking. The rest of the family kept the chatter and banter up so Elain and Azriel just walked and listened, as was comfortable for them both. 

It took a good few minutes for Azriel to work up the courage to speak to her. 

“I'm…sorry about earlier,” he said under his breath, so the others would not hear. Elain glanced sideways at him.

“I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I was just trying to…” He ran a scarred hand through his hair, feeling utterly inept at explaining himself. 

But Elain gave him a warm smile. “I know,” she breathed back quietly. “What you said was very sweet.” 

Sweet. Well, that wasn't bad. Azriel could work with sweet. 

“I meant it,” he murmured. “You are beautiful, Elain.” His heart thundered with nerves. “But you are also clever, and kind, and strong. Those things matter more than beauty anyway, and you deserve to hear them.” 

He swallowed and dared to glance at her once more. He was shocked to see tears welling in her eyes. Had he said something idiotic again?

“No one has ever praised me for anything other than my looks,” she said quietly, sadness and something else- something like disbelief - lacing her voice.

Azriel felt his heart plummeting. Had Elain spent a lifetime believing her worth lay solely in her physical appearance? He didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to tell her how spectacularly singular she was. How magnificently wondrous her very soul was. 

“Elain…” he started, trying. He would try for her. 

“I have lived for five hundred years. And I have never met anyone who is as kindhearted and generous as you. You make the world a better place just by being here. You are a truly good person. More than all the rest of us- and that is no lie.” 

Azriel was speaking truths he never had before, and had not meant to speak now. Being around Elain was more and more feeling like a drug that removed his inhibitions and loosened his tongue.

He was feeling quite unhinged and overstimulated by it all. 

Yet he couldn't stop.

Yet he needed more.

Elain looked at him in wonder. “Thank you,” she whispered. And then her gaze turned reproachful. “You are kind too, Azriel. More than you know.”

He didn't want to turn the conversation to himself, so he said nothing in answer. 

Azriel truly wished it were so. She deserved that much in a friend. He felt it as he sank into himself, into a well of hatred. She could have anyone. She could have a high lord. A god. A king. Someone truly as kind and generous and luminous as her. 

He could never, and would never, be enough for her. As he sank further and further into himself, he remained quiet, and so did she. He hoped she couldn't sense the violent waves of self-hatred coursing over himself. 

By the time they reached the Sidra, Elain’s teeth were chattering, her arms were wrapped around herself, and Azriel could ignore it no longer.

Before they crossed the bridge Azriel halted her with a gentle hand on her elbow. His shadows were already releasing his wings from his jacket. He peeled it off.

“What are you doing?” Elain asked him. 

“Your lips are turning blue,” Azriel murmured. Indeed, she looked alarmingly cold at this point. Her skin was covered in goosebumps and her hands were a stark white as they gripped her arms.

He held out his jacket to her and Elain began refusing, shaking her head adamantly. “Elain,” Azriel started with a no-nonsense voice. “I’m not going to let you freeze next to me. Please, just let me. Or you can have my arm around you, if you prefer.” 

Cauldron boil him. He was still flirting despite it all.

Elain flushed and huffed out a frustrated breath. “Fine,” she said, and held out her hand for his jacket.

“Let me,” Azriel murmured again, and moved behind her, gently lifting an arm and threading it through the sleeve of his jacket. 

Elain swallowed as he did the same with her other arm, and then shrugged the jacket up over her shoulders. 

“There are slats in the back to accommodate wings,” Azriel explained. “I’ll close them up to keep the warmth in.” 

Azriel peered over Elain’s shoulder to see that the rest of the family was jovially making their way off the bridge and toward the bustling nightlife of Velaris, not even realizing that they had stopped.

Azriel quickly cinched the slats up and then turned Elain around by her shoulders. 

This was stupid. So fucking stupid. Elain could button a jacket herself. But something still possessed Azriel to stand there before her, mere inches from her body, and slowly join each button from the bottom of the jacket all the way up to the neck. 

Elain swallowed again as she watched his scarred fingers move up her torso.

He tried not to imagine untying the laces of a gown from Elain's neck to her waist, the bodice loosening and shrugging downwards. He failed.

He tried not to imagine tugging that bodice up over her head and exposing a silky, sheer slip beneath. He failed. 

He tried not to imagine running tender fingers across Elain's bare, freckled collarbone and watching goosebumps trail in their wake. He utterly failed.

Azriel truly could not fucking help himself. He then lifted one of the sleeves of the leather jacket, which was so long on her that her entire hand had disappeared, and rolled it up until her fingers were free. He did the same with the other sleeve. And Elain let him, just watching his face with quiet curiosity, and something else. 

He finished, grazing her fingers with his as he gently lowered her hand. 

“Azriel,” she started, a slight quiver to her voice. 

He froze. Was she going to tell him to back the fuck off? That she wasn't a youngling who needed help putting a jacket on? That he should stop being a godsdamned creep? 

But Elain said none of those things. Instead, she stepped closer to him, looking up into his eyes. 

Azriel stopped breathing. He did not want to move one single muscle for fear of ruining whatever was about to happen. 

Elain lifted a shaking hand and, so fucking slowly Azriel thought time itself had warped (but knew it hadn't because of the rapid thudding of his heart), grazed his jaw with one gentle finger, letting it linger just below his lips. Like she wanted to touch them. Like she wanted them to touch her. 

That one solitary finger below his lips sent a tingling course of shivers through Azriel's entire body. 

yes

more

more contact

more touching

more fingers

more skin

his body sang. 

Azriel was a heartbeat from asking her to kiss him when a pained expression crossed Elain’s face and she dropped her hand. She murmured a rushed, “Thank you,” and then turned on her heel and bustled away across the bridge after her sisters. It was over so incredibly quickly.

Azriel stared after her for ten full breaths, wondering if he should catch up or just accept defeat and fly away. 

Don't be a fucking child, he told himself. He rustled his wings and set into a brisk pace. He wanted to stop Elain, to ask her what it was that she wanted, truly wanted. But by the time he had caught up to her she was walking amongst the rest of his family, and their moment alone was well and truly over. 

Upon entering Rita’s loud and crowded interior, Azriel could tell Elain was already uncomfortable. The group shuffled their way through the crowd, people offering them warm smiles and friendly greetings when they recognized who moved amongst them. 

Azriel supposed they must be a formidable group indeed to enter a dance hall, so he tried to mimic Rhys's non-threatening, casual grin. 

Elain seemed overwhelmed, clutching Azriel's huge jacket around herself as, indeed, many male (and female) eyes roved hungrily over her divine face and exposed leg. 

Azriel met each of their stares and dropped his friendly smile, silently promising them exactly what the Spymaster was known for if they didn't avert their gazes. They all did. 

Elain looked sidelong at him and pulled his jacket tighter still. Azriel gave her a warm look. “Keep it, if you'd rather stay covered up,” he said quietly, nodding to the jacket. She gave him a small, grateful smile. 

Azriel ignored the fact that seeing Elain wearing his jacket did something very specific inside his chest. 

A party of three fae sitting at a table in a booth made for many more noticed them looking for a spot to sit and jumped up, insisting that they take the large booth. Feyre tried to refuse graciously but they wouldn't take no for an answer and all shuffled away before the argument could go on. 

Mor just shrugged irreverently and slumped down onto a seat. 

“Someone else get the first round,” she announced to the group at large. “I'm taking a break.” 

Cassian threw her a mocking salute, turning towards the bar. 

“I'll help,” Azriel said, and followed his brother’s large, winged frame through the crowds. 

At the bar, Cassian ordered eight ales. Azriel stopped the bartender with a scarred hand and amended, “Seven ales and one whiskey.” When Cassian quirked a brow at him, Azriel shrugged and explained, “Elain prefers whiskey.”

Cassian lowered his brows at that. While they waited for the drinks to be poured, his brother drummed his large fingers on the wooden bar surface. 

“You know…” he started, and Azriel held up a hand. “Don't,” he warned. “I'm just getting her the drink she prefers.” 

Cassian opened his mouth again but Azriel cut him off. “Please don't, Cass. It's nothing, alright?” 

Cassian frowned again and crossed his arms, but grumbled a frustrated, “Fine.” 

Azriel loosed a relieved breath. He was not ready to talk about Elain with…anyone. Not when he didn't even know what she godsdamned wanted from him. 

Had she been about to kiss him? Had she changed her mind when she remembered what a worthless, morose bastard he was? Had she wanted to say something else to him? 

He could still feel her cold, shaking finger tracing the curve of his jaw, like it had left a trail of ice that clung to his skin despite the warm interior of the dance hall.

As the drinks were plunked onto the bar, he and Cassian both dug out coins from leather pouches and divvied up the cost. Cassian managed to balance three mugs of ale in his massive hands and then looked down pointedly at the remaining five.

Azriel raised an eyebrow at him. 

Cassian scoffed. “You have your shadow magic shit! All I have are these huge mitts.”

Azriel gave a dry laugh and shook his head, and then indeed willed his shadows to pluck up three of the glasses while he took the last two in his hands. He made sure one of the drinks he held was Elain's whiskey.

The crowd gave them a wide berth with their massive wings and 8 glasses balanced between them, and when they had made their way back to the booth Azriel saw that two spots remained open. One beside Elain, and one beside Nesta. Of course. 

Cassian threw him a wry grin and pressed in next to Nesta, slinging an arm over her shoulders. His fingers bumped Mor’s head and she scoffed, throwing him a dirty look, and then started sliding ales around the table. 

Azriel steeled himself and then slid down next to Elain. They were just crowded enough that he had to be pressed up against her. Against that exposed thigh. Enveloped in her honey and jasmine scent. 

Azriel sent a prayer to the gods for sanity and then handed Elain her glass, keeping the final one for himself as his shadows distributed the rest of the ale. 

“Whiskey,” he murmured, and she grinned at him. 

“Not an ale?” She asked under her breath. 

He shook his head. “I know you much prefer this.” 

Her cheeks flushed and she mumbled a quiet thank you. 

An hour and a half later, the group was getting well and truly raucous. Mor had perked right up after an ale and then had ordered them drink after drink, charming a bartender to bring them directly to the table rather than making her walk back and forth. 

“Keep them coming,” she had said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. 

The poor young male had nearly tripped over his feet he nodded so vehemently. 

Feyre, Rhysand, and Mor were already up and dancing, and Amren had prowled off to find someone to beat at cards. 

Nesta, Cassian, Azriel, and Elain were left at the table, on their fourth round of drinks. 

Azriel’s nerves weren't quite so frayed after some drinks and a bit more space at the table. Elain had unbuttoned Azriel's jacket but left it on, and that did something even more specific in Azriel's chest…and his cock. Seeing the black leather of his jacket framing Elain's porcelain, perfect cleavage had him shifting in his seat and trying not to stare. 

It didn't help that Cassian kept throwing him knowing smirks and waggling his eyebrows when Elain wasn't paying attention. Azriel just returned them with flat, icy looks. 

All four were laughing (even though Nesta had tried to remain stony faced) at Cassian’s recounting of Feyre getting Rhysand kicked out of the birchin last Solstice. 

When he finished, Cassian tossed back the rest of his drink and nodded towards the dance floor. “Let's go, Nes. I know you want to dance.” 

Nesta crossed her arms and frowned at Cassian. He just crossed his arms back and tapped his foot, waiting.

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she grumbled, resigned, and slid out of the booth. 

She followed him onto the dance floor, leaving Elain and Azriel alone in the booth.

Azriel felt contentedly tipsy, and if Elain’s constant giggling (one of the best sounds he had ever heard) was any indication, so did she.

He looked sideways at her. “Are you having fun on your first excursion to Rita’s?” 

Elain smiled and answered, “I am. I can see why you all enjoy it here. There's something…freeing about it.” 

Azriel nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. Rita’s was a sort of escape for him, as well. 

He waved a hand toward the dance floor. “You don't want to dance?” Azriel asked. 

Elain blushed. “I don't really know how to dance…like that.” She looked towards their family, all moving in their own free ways on the dance floor. Cassian was spinning Nesta, Feyre’s back was pressed up against Rhysand's front, and Mor was…shaking her ass, to put it plainly. 

Azriel grinned. “How do you dance, Elain?” 

Her eyes lit. “My favorite dance is a waltz. I could waltz all night at a ball.” 

Azriel’s chest squeezed at that. Rhysand’s mother had taught them all to waltz as adolescents, and, if he wanted to brag, he was quite good at it. 

He and Esela used to sneak wine into the house as adolescents and drink themselves stupid, waltzing for hours like laughing idiots while Cassian and Rhysand were out getting into their own mischief. 

He hadn't felt that measure of joy since before their little sister was ripped from them so brutally. 

“I enjoy waltzing as well,” he told her, fighting away the gripping melancholy at the memory. 

Elain looked at him in surprise and let out one of those divine giggles, chasing his sadness right away. “Really?”

He nodded. “Would you like to?”

Elain blanched. “Waltz?” She asked with a disbelieving tone. “Right now? Here?” 

Azriel shrugged, the ale and spirits he had drunk fizzing merrily through his body. “Why not? People dance however they want here.” 

Elain considered, and then nudged him with her shoulder, sending a shiver through his body. 

“If I didn't know better, Azriel, I would think you're trying to get me out of this jacket.”

Fuck. His blood heated instantly. 

Fuck, was Elain…flirting with him? 

Fuck.

The drinks were giving him just enough confidence (and idiocy) to see what would happen if he pushed a little further.

He threw caution to the fates and answered, meeting her molten chocolate gaze.

“I don't know, Elain. I like seeing you in my clothes. But I suppose I would like seeing you out of them even more.” 

Azriel’s heart was thumping out of control. He had no idea if he was fucking up right now. But he couldn't help the heat he knew was in his eyes and the smoke in his voice.

Elain swallowed and held his gaze despite the blush that washed over her face. “Would you?” She asked. 

Don't fuck this up. Don't fuck this up. 

Azriel steeled all his courage, honorable be damned, and moved his hand. 

He stroked a knuckle, featherlight, down Elain's thigh, from the top of the slit to just above her knee. He let his knuckle rest there.

It took everything he had to not outright tremble at the feel of her cool, smooth skin. 

Elain, however, did tremble. And better still, the scent of her arousal drifted up to him as her eyes fluttered closed. 

Holy fucking gods. It was more intoxicating than the drinks. It was decadent. In the span of a heartbeat Azriel’s entire existence zeroed in on a command that blasted through his head and body. 

Drink and drink and drink and drink her.

His knuckle still lingered on the top of her bare knee, hardly touching. 

“I think you already know the answer to that, Elain.” 

And there it was, that husky voice that he had tried to avoid earlier in the night. 

Elain's eyes opened at his answer. 

“I don't, Azriel. I-” 

She was cut off as Mor, Nesta, and Feyre prowled straight to her with mischievous looks on their faces. Azriel snatched his hand away. 

The three females pounced on Elain, goading her as a team to get up and dance with them. They ignored Azriel, thank the Mother. 

Elain protested but eventually let them drag her out of her seat and onto the dance floor. 

Azriel’s heart was still pounding out of his chest so hard he was sure only the music drowned out its hammering.

Well. Maybe they had interrupted the moment, but Azriel certainly wouldn't mind watching Elain dance, either. 

What had she been about to say? She didn't know that Azriel was attracted to her? That could not possibly be. He had been such a godsdamned fool with her since the beginning. He had been kicking himself for a year for being too obvious about his feelings, pushing her too much without knowing her own. 

And holy gods, the feel of her bare skin beneath his knuckles. The rich, heady scent of her arousal. Touching her in such a way felt forbidden but simultaneously so, so right. He could have touched her forever. Ran his hand up higher and higher until it- 

Fuck. No. Don't get hard. He shifted in his chair and willed his cock to behave.

In spite of his swirling thoughts, Azriel grinned as he watched Elain, still wearing his jacket. She had started swaying awkwardly, with Feyre standing behind her, her hands swishing Elain's hips, and Mor swinging her hands in front of her. 

She was so fucking exquisite. 

Indeed, many heads began turning in her direction. Azriel watched each one carefully. 

Nesta handed her another drink and Elain was beginning to dance truly as she sipped. 

Her hips undulating, that delicious fucking thigh peeking out, her gorgeous face with the most beautiful smile he had-

Amren slid into a chair across from him. 

She tracked his gaze across the dance floor.

“You should pick your chin up from the floor, boy,” she said drily. 

Azriel snapped his gaze to her. “I don't know what you're talking about.” 

Amren rolled her eyes. “Are you sure? Because I can smell your thoughts.” 

Azriel lowered his brows at her but said nothing. 

“Be careful,” Amren drawled. “Rhysand won't like that.” 

Azriel was positively glowering now. “Rhysand doesn't weigh in on who I take to bed.” Dangerous waters, but Azriel was worked up indeed tonight. And pissed that he didn't know what Elain was going to tell him. And that the females interrupted them when his fingers were touching her heavenly thigh. When Elain was aroused by Azriel touching her heavenly thigh. 

Fuck. She was attracted to him.

Amren snorted, interrupting his thoughts. “I think you want much more from that girl than what she can provide you in bed, Shadowsinger.” 

Azriel just crossed his arms, shadows coiling agitatedly, and looked back to the dance floor. No response to that could possibly be advantageous. 

Amren smirked at him. “It’s been centuries, boy, and I've never seen you like this.” 

“Like what?” He asked, voice flat. 

“In love.” 

Well, fuck. That was something Azriel was absolutely not willing to confront tonight. He didn't even know what Elain wanted from him. He was not ready to admit even to himself what had been clawing at his chest since carrying Elain out of that army camp.

He decided to deflect.

“All of you were well aware that I loved Mor.”

Amren snorted again. “Please. Stop lying to yourself.” 

Azriel threw her his most terrifying stare, one that usually caused flinching and cowering. 

Amren returned one just as withering. 

“I’m not lying,” he answered. 

“You pined after Morrigan. As some sort of sick punishment for yourself, no doubt. You are damaged, boy, and you're looking at that girl like she might fix you.”

Azriel’s heart dropped low in his stomach at that, but he kept his mask up. 

“I wasn't aware that you were an expert on matters of the heart, Amren.”

He was being a dick. But gods damn it all he just wanted to have his hands on Elain again.

A wicked, serpentine smile spread across Amren’s face and she opened her mouth to answer. 

But Azriel did not hear the words that came from her mouth, because in that same moment a tall high fae male with short brown hair approached Elain from behind, slid a hand around her waist, and began to shrug Azriel’s jacket off her shoulders. An alarmed frown was crossing Elain's face, and Azriel moved.

Before even a shoulder blade was exposed, he had stepped through his shadows and appeared at the male’s side, and in less than a heartbeat he had gripped the vermin’s wrist and winnowed them into the alley behind Rita’s. 

The tall, thin male was gaping and staggering back in alarm, but Azriel wrapped his hand around the faerie’s throat and slammed him against the wall, lifting him off his feet. 

The male sputtered and thrashed but Azriel pressed his other arm across his torso. White hot rage was coursing through his blood, roaring filling his ears. He would rip this piece of trash to shreds. 

“First of all,” Azriel said too quietly, his face inches from the male’s and his voice pure ice and death. Here was the Spymaster they all feared. Here was the monster and torturer of the Night Court. 

“Don't touch my fucking jacket.” 

The male looked positively terrified then, eyes bugging out and grappling his hands against the arm that crossed him. Azriel kept his fingers gripped tightly around his throat. 

Shadows were coiling like snakes across the high fae’s torso, around his arms and legs.

“Second,” he pushed his elbow into the male's gut. 

“I should kill you for touching a female without her permission.” 

Tears began forming in the corners of the male’s eyes. 

“But something tells me you have friends that are just as bad as you. So perhaps instead I will send them a warning to keep their fucking hands to themselves.” 

Azriel dropped the male and he fell to the floor, gasping. “I'm sorry,” he croaked out. “I'm sorry, please let me go.” He was scrambling back from Azriel but he was trapped against the wall. “I didn't know she was your female- please!” 

Azriel squatted down in front of the swine while drawing Truth-Teller from its sheath. The male’s face went white as death as Azriel rested his elbows on his knees, blade balanced between his two hands, and looked at him menacingly. 

His shadows reared around his head and shoulders like asps.

“She is not my female,” Azriel said, his voice as smooth and quiet as death itself. “Despite what you may think, females do not belong to males.” 

The piece of shit was absolutely cowering now, his back pressed up against the wall and his legs still trying to scrabble away from Azriel. The Shadowsinger was much larger, though, and caging him in with his wings spread wide. 

Azriel cocked his head at the male in an animal, predatory gesture. 

“I don't think you should be able to touch a female or hold a drink for the rest of the night. Maybe a few nights. What do you think?” 

The male just lowered his head and whispered, “Please…” 

Azriel moved so fast the creep did not even have time to gasp. He thrust his blade straight through the male's palm, punching all the way to the other side. 

The male shrieked, but Azriel just pulled out the dagger and stabbed it through his other hand as well. 

The fucker was screaming and crying now, huddled on the ground with both hands spurting blood. Azriel had barely moved. 

He simply wiped Truth-Teller off on the male’s pants and stood, re-sheathing it at his hip. 

He looked down at the whimpering scum. 

“You had better hope I never see your fucking face at this establishment again, or it will be your balls next time. And then your throat.” 

And he turned on his heel and walked out of the alley, blood coating his hands.

Azriel re-entered the dance hall and went straight to the washroom, which was mercifully empty. 

His vision was still tunnelled, his ears still filled with violent roaring. He numbly washed the blood off his hands at the sink. 

He would have gladly fucking killed that trash without hesitation for touching Elain. The only thing that stopped him was the small corner of his mind telling him that Elain would most likely not have wanted that. 

When his hands were clean, he gripped the edges of the sink, leaning his head over it and trying to steady his breathing. His arms shook below him. 

He felt such rage, such wrath. He wanted to rip the limbs from the disgusting excuse for a male, and then pull out his organs one at a time, slowly. 

Suddenly, Rhysand’s midnight voice was cutting through the haze in his head. 

“What the fuck just happened? Where are you and why is there a male bleeding out through holes in his hands in the alley?” He sounded calm, casual.

Azriel cringed. If he was being honest he had forgotten Rhys was even here. He couldn't deny what he had done. His brother could identify his handiwork anywhere. 

Azriel thought back, “I dealt with a male that couldn't keep his hands to himself on the dance floor.” 

He felt Rhysand arch an eyebrow through their mental connection. “You couldn't have used your words instead?”

Azriel smirked. His blood was beginning to cool, his heartbeat slowing. “I used my words, too.” 

A smooth, wicked laugh came through the connection. 

“Come out from wherever you're hiding, you terrifying bastard. The females want to dance.” 

Azriel grimaced and splashed some water on his face, trying to center himself. He took a few deep breaths. He had to check on Elain anyway. 

Azriel made his way out to the dance floor and spotted all of them, even Amren, dancing together. Elain seemed to still be having a good time. She was smiling and twirling on Nesta’s arm. He was relieved to see that she didn't look too shaken.

Cassian and Mor started drunkenly calling Azriel over. They were both howling with laughter. 

As soon as Azriel reached them Cassian clapped him on the back so hard he had to brace himself. 

“You fucking put holes in his hands,” Cassian was shouting, tears pricking his eyes in laughter. 

Azriel felt Elain's eyes swivel to him, huge and alarmed. He shrugged at Cassian. “He deserved it.” 

Feyre came dancing up beside him, nudging him with her shoulder and handing him a drink. 

“Merciful stars, Az,” she said. “Remind me to never piss you off!” 

He raised the glass she had handed him in a mock salute and then downed the entire thing in one go. 

His family was dancing around him and as the drink hit his system, he started dancing, too. 

As they all became engrossed in their revelry, Azriel danced towards Elain, moving his body to the music that had turned quite sultry for this very moment, it seemed. 

She was distracted, laughing at Cassian’s ridiculous dance floor antics. He positioned himself a couple inches behind her but did not touch her. Instead Azriel leaned his head down to murmur in her ear, causing her to jump slightly. 

“Are you alright?” 

His body sang to be so close to hers. 

Elain nodded. “Yes,” she answered quietly. “You didn't have to stab the male.” She didn't sound reproachful or judgmental. In fact, Azriel thought her voice might be quivering with…desire. Her hips and devastating backside were swishing slowly back and forth just inches from Azriel's groin. 

His nose grazed the skin of her pointed ear as he said, “I would have done much more for you, Elain. But something told me you wouldn't have appreciated me gutting a male in the alley for touching you.” 

She didn't answer but he felt her draw in a shuddering breath. 

He struggled not to imagine sliding broad hands around her waist and then drifting them over her ribcage.

He struggled not to imagine pulling her close to him, so he could drink in the scent of her arousal as her ass molded to his groin, just the way he wanted it.

He struggled not to imagine grinding against her to the music, the world falling away from them as his hands roved between her breasts and over her hip.

He struggled not to imagine slipping one of his broad hands beneath his own jacket so he could stroke a gentle thumb over her peaked nipple, unseen by anyone else, as he pressed heated kisses to the side of her neck.

He struggled not to imagine those things. But, as always, he utterly and completely failed.

He was so lost in a maelstrom of need for her. 

He would do anything for her. 

Be anything.

Offer up anything. 

And in that instant, completely undone by her scent and the music and her laughter and the drink and the ebbing rage and the dancing and her deep chocolate eyes and the wildflowers beginning to coil around his heart, he chose to.

Azriel didn't want to draw the attention of the others, so he started to move away from her. But before he did, he let his lips graze her ear as he murmured under his breath,

“You tell me you want me, Elain, and I am yours.” 

And then he was drifting towards Feyre on the dance floor, offering an arm to spin her. 

He didn't look at Elain's face for her reaction. If he was being honest with himself, he was scared shitless. 

He had offered himself to her, and he didn't know if he was a fool for doing so. 

All he knew was that he could no longer fight the need to offer. 

What she did with that offer, with his shadowed, mangled soul she held in the palm of her hand, would be her choice. 

So he only danced with his family, letting the drink and music transport him to a place of freedom for a few blessed moments. 

After another round of drinks and a card game that Azriel won with little effort, the group readied themselves to leave. 

Elain had glanced at Azriel intermittently throughout their last hour at Rita’s, but her gaze gave nothing away regarding how she felt about his last words to her. 

As they moved back out onto the street, Cassian threw his arm around Azriel and drunkenly led him in front of the others. 

“Don't fucking say it, Cass,” Azriel warned under his breath the second his brother’s mouth opened. 

Cassian gave him an exasperated sigh. 

“You would have done the same fucking thing if you had seen,” Azriel muttered. 

His brother scoffed. “I would have punched the male in the face, sure. But I wouldn't have taken the sorry bastard out to the alley to maim him and haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life,” he said drily. 

Azriel just shook his head, so Cassian continued, much to his ire.

“Listen, brother. I know you're not going to talk to me about anything unless you want to. I've learned my lesson there. But just…don't fuck up, okay?” 

Azriel looked at him sidelong with a flat expression. “Thank you for that excellent advice, Cass,” he deadpanned. 

Cassian just gave a hearty laugh and clapped Azriel on the back, then released him. Azriel rolled his eyes. 

He kept away from Elain on their walk back to the Townhouse, leaving her to walk arm in arm with her sisters. 

When they got to the front door Azriel volunteered to winnow Cassian and Nesta to the House of Wind wards, wanting to give Elain time and space. 

Before they departed Elain simply shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to him with a light, “Goodnight,” and then vanished into the townhouse behind Mor. 

Once at the House, Azriel collapsed onto his bed and plunged his face into his jacket, breathing deep.

Honey and cedar and jasmine and mist and holy gods it was them, together. What their scents may be if they claimed each other, body and soul. What they would each smell like after a night of holding each other and fucking and then holding each other again. 

And maybe it made him the most pathetic kind of bastard ever to walk the planet.

Maybe it made him a fucking perverse excuse for life. 

Maybe it made him a pitiful, woeful, sorry, desperate fucking disaster of a male. 

But he clutched that jacket to his face, blocking out all light so that in the darkness all he could sense was her, them, their blended scent. He held that jacket over his face, breathing deep, and fisted his cock until he came.

Three times.

Their shared scent drowning him. 

He couldn't get the image of her in that jade dress, her freckled thigh beckoning him, out of his mind. He couldn't stop feeling the smooth skin of her leg on his ruined fingers. He couldn't stop seeing her eyes go wide with shock and ire when that asshole put his hands on her. He couldn't stop feeling the skin of her ear on his lips as he whispered to her, offering himself. He couldn't stop scenting her sweet, rich arousal, keeping him feeling drunk far after the alcohol had left his system. He couldn't stop seeing her hips swishing in that green gown or her cleavage peeking between the gap in his leather jacket. He couldn't stop thinking about her gentle words, her soft hands, her depthless eyes, her kind heart. 

He couldn't stop. 

He tried, but he failed.

Chapter Text

Part 1: Elain

Elain walked through her garden under the dim dawn light. The sun was breaking over the horizon, swaths of purple and pink illuminating the vast sky. The moon was still full and shining overhead. Spiderwebs glowed like silver threads and dewdrops sparkled like a thousand tiny stars come down.

She passed trellises of ivy and crawling jasmine, entwined together across the cobblestones. She passed great roses towering over her head, their thorns the size of her hands. 

She came to a stop in a stone alcove, tendrils of wildflowers crawling over the low walls, and there he was.

Azriel leaned against a stone pillar, shadows swirling around him, limning him in semi-darkness. A crown of red roses sat atop his raven curls. He wore a loose black silk shirt and pants, his hands in his pockets.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said to her, his voice like a song of death. Beckoning, commanding, soothing.

“How did you know I would be here?” Elain asked him, looking around only to realize she stood before him in a wine-colored gown made entirely of rose petals, her feet bare.

She reached up and felt a crown of roses resting atop her own unbound curls.

“I always know where to find you, angel,” he answered. He slid his hands from his pockets and began prowling towards her.

“Angel?” She asked him, her cheeks heating.

“Yes,” he answered. “You are an angel. A goddess. A divine being of light and hope and beauty and everything that is good in this world.”

Elain’s breath caught as Azriel came to stand just before her. He reached out a hand and gripped her chin between his fingers, lifting her face.

“You are my angel.” He drifted his thumb over her bottom lip and pushed down on it with arresting demand, drawing a shudder of desire from Elain.

She steeled her courage to ask what she wanted to know. “What do you want, Azriel? What do you want from me?”

Azriel’s gaze heated and he gripped her chin more fiercely, looking into her eyes.

“What do I want from you, Elain?” His other hand came to slide along her waist, down her hip. He stared at her mouth, his own teeth dragging across his bottom lip, before lifting his gaze to her eyes. 

“I want all of you. I want your body, your heart, your soul. I want you to be mine. I want to pleasure you until you come on my fingers, my mouth, my cock.” 

A quiet gasp escaped Elain as Azriel’s words rolled into her. 

He drifted his scarred hand up between her breasts and then along her neck, his other still gripping her chin possessively, demandingly. 

Elain felt wetness gathering between her legs as they shook in the wake of his words and his touch. Azriel breathed in the scent of her arousal and dug his fingernails into the side of her neck. 

“Yes, angel,” he said, voice as dark and smooth as midnight mist. “Let yourself be wet for me. Come undone for me. I want to worship your body until you can’t remember your own name.” 

He finally released her chin and buried both hands in her hair, sweeping his thumbs along the back of her scalp as he moved his body even closer to her. Elain’s eyes fluttered closed and she quivered under his touch, biting her lip. Her skin felt like it was on fire, her core with it. 

Azriel continued caressing her with his words.

“I want to be buried so deep inside you that we are melded into one being. And I want to stay there for eternity.”

He pressed his body closer still to hers so their chests touched, and then used the hands in her hair to angle Elain’s head so that he could press searing, claiming kisses to her neck.

“I want to know that you are mine, and I am yours. I want to mark you with my scent, my touch, my seed.”

His kiss traveled to her collarbone, her shoulder, and Elain felt like she would burst into flames. Liquid was pooling at her core and she began writhing against him, desperate to feel more of him. 

Azriel pushed her backwards until she was pinned against a high wall of stone in the alcove. He braced a large hand beside her head and spoke his next words a mere breath from her mouth. His touch, his words, his gaze...they were undoing her.

“Tell me yes, Elain, and I will give you my body, my soul, my heart. I will give you everything. And I will make you feel pleasure you have not yet imagined.”

Elain ran her hands along his neck, his chest, over his arms. His breath shuddered under her touch, his mouth coming so, so close to hers. She took in a shaking breath, drowning in her desire, and then drifted her lips onto his.

She whispered “Yes,"  directly onto those soft, sensuous lips.

Azriel claimed her mouth in a kiss that was so violently passionate Elain thought she might faint. He crashed into her again and again, and she was already open for him. He claimed her with his tongue, sweeping into her mouth and over her lips and tongue without reprieve, without pause. Like he would die without it. And perhaps he would.

His hands traveled down to Elain’s breasts, stroking them lightly, exploring, as he lavished her mouth. 

Elain broke the kiss to pant, “I don’t want you to be gentle, Azriel. I want you to give me everything. Don’t hold back.” 

He growled at her with vicious lust and then gripped the front of her gown and ripped it open at the chest. Wine-colored rose petals fluttered to the ground around them, exposing her breasts entirely to him. 

Azriel groaned with unbarred need as he took in her bare chest, and then lowered his head. 

With one hand gripping her hip and the other stroking her arm, he sunk his teeth right into the upper flesh of one breast, and Elain moaned. He flicked his tongue over her nipple in wet, warm circles. Then he moved over to do the same to the other. Elain’s hands were grappling in his hair, tugging to demand more, more, more. His mouth felt so warm, so needing, so worshipping, so there.

She had never known such desire, such need, such heat. Azriel was giving her everything she dared to want, and then more. She wanted him in every way it was possible to want someone. She thought she might collapse from the want. 

“Elain,” Azriel said reverently onto her breast, his strong, gentle hands now roaming over the small of her back and the curve of her ass. 

“How many times do you want to come?”

Elain was panting now, gasping for breath. “As many times as you can make me,” she answered. For it was the truth. 

Azriel lifted his head to smile at her with dark promise. “Be careful what you wish for,” he crooned, and then his shadows whisked them to the stone floor. In the blink of an eye Azriel was laying down flat, his wings spread beneath him, and he was hoisting Elain over his face. She whimpered as he ran his hands under the skirts of her gown, bunching them up around her hips. 

“Do you want to know what’s going to happen now, angel?” He asked. 

Elain whispered, feeling herself dripping above him, “What’s going to happen?” 

He gave her another sinful smile.

“You are going to sit on my face. I am going to fuck you with my mouth until you are screaming my name. And then I am going to make you come again. And again. And again.” 

Elain half-whimpered, half-moaned, and undulated her hips over his face. She had never done this before, but gods she wanted it so badly. She wanted his mouth on her, in her. 

Azriel smirked and ran his hands over the skin of her thighs until he was holding the band of her panties in both hands. “Hold tight,” he purred, and ripped them free with one great tug of his hands. Elain gasped but the breath was cut off as Azriel gripped her hips and lowered her bare core down to his face.

He sunk his tongue directly into her entrance, and Elain moaned loud enough to drive away spirits. The fire burning her from within went from red to the blue heart of flame itself. She would die this way, she thought. 

“Good girl,” he said onto her entrance. His nose grazed Elain’s clit and she yelped in pleasure. “Let go for me, angel. Let me work you into oblivion. All you have to do is feel it.” 

And Elain did. She let her head drop forward, her hands grappling on the ground behind Azriel's head, and he dipped his tongue into her again and again, his hands steady at her hips. And then he ran that tongue over her clit and her thighs clamped down around his head. He laughed darkly beneath her and swirled his tongue around her clit again. Elain began trembling.

Azriel licked her and licked her, and when he closed his mouth over her clit and sucked, Elain screamed, digging her nails into the rocky, dusty ground beneath her hands and grinding her hips on his face. 

Azriel hummed in encouragement and then flicked his tongue over her clit. Again and again, faster and faster he flicked it, until she was shaking and shuddering and crying out above him. 

She needed to be filled, she needed something in her, a finger, or–

Cold shadows shot into her core and filled her, pounding into an inner wall just as Azriel clamped down on her clit and sucked again. 

Elain screamed and screamed his name then, as her vision whited out and euphoria exploded through her body. Every muscle in her body tensed and then unfurled in a ripple of ecstasy so great it was almost painful. 

She sobbed as she was taken under by rhapsody and found the greatest release of her life. Before she had even come down from her climax Azriel was lifting her off him and flipping her, wiping his face on his sleeve.

“Fuck yes,” he growled. “How was that?”

“Incredible,” Elain breathed. “Your shadows-”

“Just a party trick,” he winked at her. He rolled his body over hers so she felt his cock scrape over her swollen clit through his pants. She sucked in a breath at the contact. “I wanted to use my fingers,” he said, shifting his hips so he could trail his fingers over her waist and then under the pulled-up skirts of her dress and across her hip bone. “I knew you wanted to be filled. But unfortunately,” he skimmed gently across her clit and she jerked. “That was not possible with you sitting on my face.” 

Elain whimpered as he skimmed over her again, so featherlight his fingers were barely there. His other hand was braced beside her head, his fingers tangled in the ends of her hair.

“But now…” he said, glancing down to his hand that was concealed by her gathered skirts. 

He plunged a finger into her without warning. Elain moaned in delight. He curled his finger and stroked her inner wall and she felt herself filling with wetness again.

Holy mother above. His finger- his finger. Nothing had ever felt so good inside her. Her fingers would never compare again. 

“Does that feel good, Elain? Do you like my finger inside you?” 

Elain nodded, writhing against his hand. “It feels unbelievable. But I need more. One is not enough.”

Azriel’s gaze turned molten. “So demanding,” he chided, lavishing her neck with kisses now. She tilted her chin to give him better access. “You think you can take two fingers, angel?”

Elain met his eyes with a determined stare. “I know I can,” she said.

Azriel chuckled darkly and slid his finger out of her only to join it with another. Elain’s eyes rolled back in her head as he began pumping those two scarred fingers in and out of her. 

Azriel groaned as he watched her, as he felt her inner walls pulsing around his fingers.

“Your cunt feels so fucking good on my fingers, Elain,” he rasped. “I dream about this cunt every day, every night. I’ve never felt anything so good on my hands.” 

Elain was beyond words, moaning and rocking against his hand, completely lost to pleasure. 

Azriel pounded and pounded his fingers, and then curled and uncurled them inside her. Elain began seeing stars again.

“Azriel!” She called out. He bent and bit down on one of her nipples, and then tugged it carefully with his teeth. She bucked and writhed. 

“Fuck, Elain,” Azriel said, panting. “Take what you need. Ride my hand. Fuck yourself.” 

Elain began crying out. “Harder,” she gasped. He groaned once more and plunged his fingers into her, impaling her again and again with abandon.

She couldn’t think, she couldn’t breathe, she was only fire and ice and wind and ecstasy, ecstasy, ecstasy.

And then she was screaming as her body ratcheted with pressure and exploded into starlight. She felt warm liquid burst from her core over his fingers in a strong torrent.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Azriel was saying it again and again as she came onto his fingers, as if he was being destroyed. 

He pulled his fingers out of Elain. She watched, heaving breaths, as he lifted them to his mouth and sucked them clean one at a time, holding her gaze. 

“You’re taking me so well, angel. I love how you come for me.” 

Elain plunged her hands into Azriel’s hair and drew his head down, kissing up the column of his throat and then licking up to his ear. He hissed in response, rolling his body next to hers. She bit his earlobe and then breathed into his ear, “How else can you make me come, Azriel?”

Azriel grinned wickedly then. “Do you want to see another trick?”

Before she could answer, he was standing, pulling her up with him. He lifted her off the ground and strode to a tree, kissing her neck as they walked. He set her down again beneath the tree and before Elain knew what was happening, his shadows were swirling around her.

“Do you trust me?” Azriel asked her, stroking his fingers in circles around her exposed nipples. Her dress hung off her with the corset ripped open, and Azriel was still fully clothed. 

“I would trust you more with your shirt off,” Elain quipped, and ran her hand along the collar of his shirt, stroking the skin of his neck.

Azriel chuckled darkly and ripped his shirt free, letting it fall in scraps to the ground. Elain leaned down and ran her tongue across his chest, over his nipples, along the rippling muscles of his stomach. He shuddered and moaned once quietly.

“I trust you,” she finally answered.

The shadows around her moved closer, gathering around her wrists and ankles. Her wrists were joined and bound in smoky darkness, and then lifted above her, tied to a low branch of the tree. One ankle was bound to a root at the base of the tree while the other remained free. And then shadows covered her eyes, wrapping around her head in a blindfold.

And then all Elain could hear, feel, smell, was Azriel. His hands on her breasts, his mouth near her jaw. She was at his mercy, and her body went molten knowing he could do whatever he pleased with it.

“Is this okay?” He murmured, pressing his mouth on the pulsing heartbeat of her neck.

“Yes,” she whispered. She felt him grin onto her neck.

Azriel’s scarred hands gripped her thighs and she felt him lower to his knees before her. She gasped as he swung her free leg over his shoulder. 

He pressed searing kisses up her inner thighs, fingers kneading the flesh of her hips. 

He paused and his voice drifted to her. “Your gown is rather in my way, Elain. May I remove it?” 

She nodded, unseeing. 

And then she felt cold shadows tearing away at the rose petals, and cool air hit her skin as the scraps of the dress fell from her body. She heard Azriel suck in a breath.

He continued to grip her thighs but she felt him lean back slightly, her leg still over his shoulder. 

“Your body is even more beautiful than I could have imagined, angel. And I have imagined it. Every moment, for months. Maybe even years.” 

Elain hummed in pleasure as Azriel ran his hands over every inch of her body in reverence. 

“Do you know what my favorite part is, besides that unmatched face of yours?”

“What is it?” She asked him, breathless.

Without warning Azriel spanked her ass with a broad, flat hand, the sound reverberating around the stone alcove. 

Elain yelped and then felt her core drip with need. 

Azriel must have seen it too, because he let out a low growl. 

“I love this ass so much, Elain. I have fucked myself imagining this ass so many times.”

He kneaded the flesh of her backside as he talked, Elain trapped above him. 

And then Azriel was biting. He nipped from her knee all the way up to the apex of her thighs, and then down the other side. 

“Harder,” Elain breathed. “Mark me.” Azriel snarled and sunk his teeth into the fleshiest part of her thigh, biting down until he broke skin and blood leaked. 

Elain yelped and then whimpered as Azriel licked the blood from the spot. 

“Was that hard enough for you, angel?” 

“I'm so wet, Azriel. I need you filling me.” 

A sinful laugh. “So demanding, so needy. Your wish is my command, Elain.” 

Azriel brought her leg down from his shoulder and she felt him stand before her, and then heard the unmistakable sound of pants being pulled off. She writhed in anticipation. 

Then she felt the shadows attaching her ankle to the root of the tree release, and then Azriel planted his hands on her ass to hoist her up. 

She threaded her legs around his waist, her hands still bound above her and the blindfold still in place. 

He trailed hot kisses across her neck, her breasts, her collarbone. 

“Are you ready for me to fuck you, Elain?” 

Yes. Yes. Yes.

“Put your cock inside me.” 

A growl and then a gentle nudging at her entrance, slipping in the wetness pooled there. 

Elain cried out as the tip of Azriel’s cock began–

A rattle of her windows from violent winds awoke Elain abruptly. She shot upright, sweaty and panting. A pool of liquid was gathered under her hips, and her skin was hot and sensitive. 

She heaved great shuddering breaths as she rolled sideways off the puddle. 

“Fuck,” she whispered. Her core was dripping, begging for what Azriel had given her in her dream. 

Her dream. Mother above, Elain had never had a dream like that. Her nipples were hard and aching, her clit swollen and full. 

Before she lost the sensations, Elain lay flat on her back and dropped her knees open. 

As she slid her fingers to her dripping, hot core, she replayed the images of the Shadowsinger licking her, stroking her, biting her, whispering filthy things into her ear. 

His words from that night echoed in her mind as she plunged her fingers into herself. 

You tell me you want me, Elain, and I am yours.

She wanted him so fucking bad. 

Part 2: Azriel 

Azriel lay naked in a plush, warm bed covered in fluffy, clean white linens. A soft haunting piano melody played all around him, through him. He turned his head to see golden-brown curls cascading down an ivory back dusted with light brown freckles. 

And there she was.

Elain lay in the bed beside him, naked and asleep. She lay on her stomach, face turned away from him. 

Her slightly arched back curved elegantly down to the most beautiful ass Azriel had ever seen. Luscious and full and round and delicious. Her bare thighs beneath were wide and soft, begging for the grip of strong fingers. 

Azriel raised a hand to touch her but halted when he beheld his scarred fingers. A golden ring made of tiny, delicately entwined tendrils of ivy sat on his fourth finger. 

He glanced down and saw a matching ring on Elain’s hand, resting beside her head on the pillow. 

Wife. His wife. His brilliant, kind, devastatingly beautiful, generous, strong, giving wife.

Disbelief coursed through him. She was his. His.  

He drifted the hand bearing that golden ring of ivy down Elain's shining hair and then over the velvety skin of her back. Her skin was so smooth, so pristine, so luxurious under his fingers.

He gently swept Elain's hair off her back to one side, and then traced idle circles over her shoulder blades, the small of her back, down her spine. Shadows trailed his movements featherlight, following his warm touch with their own cold caress.

Elain hummed contentedly and shifted beneath his hand, dragging her face over her pillow towards him.

Her chocolate eyes fluttered open lazily as Azriel continued stroking her back. He marveled at her perfect rosy lips parted in relaxation. Her pink, rounded cheeks and her sweeping black doe lashes. Her lovely curved eyebrows and delicate, sloped nose. The smattering of golden freckles across her face was like ocean mist kissing an enchanted beach. 

As Elain beheld Azriel next to her in bed, a dazzling, warm smile crossed her face, broad and open and loving. 

“Good morning, Azriel,” her beautiful melodic voice sounded. 

“Good morning, wife,” Azriel answered. Nothing had ever sounded so good on his lips. 

He moved his hand to stroke the hair from Elain's face and she hummed again in happiness and comfort. 

She caught his hand and pressed sweet, soft kisses into his palm. Shadows leaked from his hand to stroke her temple. 

Then she pressed his scarred hand against her cheek and looked deep into his eyes.

“I love you,” she murmured. 

He caressed her cheek. 

“And I love you,” he answered. “More than you will ever know.” 

She still lay on her stomach but she leaned towards him, tilting her face up for a kiss.

Azriel sunk his hand into her curls and leaned down to press his lips to hers. 

It was sweet, and slow, and careful. Like the first gentle snow in winter that blanketed the world in beauty and quiet. 

And then Elain sighed onto his lips and deepened the kiss, finally pushing herself up in bed and twisting to sit.

Her beautiful, sloping breasts, dusky nipples, and soft stomach were on display now, as she threaded her arms around Azriel’s neck. 

He opened his mouth and ran his tongue along her lips, and Elain responded, separating her lips and letting his tongue sweep in. 

Azriel groaned as his tongue caressed her mouth. His wife’s mouth. His to claim forevermore. 

As he kissed her, Azriel realized he felt different than normal. Lighter, brighter. He felt the absence of a burden, of a dark stain on his soul. He could have sworn he felt wildflowers swaying there instead, dancing in the sunlight inside him. In that spot that used to be so dark. Untouchable.

Elain pulled back, breaking the kiss. She leaned back against her pillows.

“Come here,” she murmured, patting her lap and tugging him downwards.

Azriel grinned warmly and laid down beside her, resting his head in her lap. He wrapped an arm over her legs as she began stroking his hair. One wing relaxed beside him and the other curled over her lower legs. 

Elain ran her hands through his raven curls and Azriel closed his eyes, drinking in the care and comfort she gifted him. 

“I cannot believe I get to wake up with you every morning,” Elain said softly, her voice laced with wonder.

Azriel looked up into her eyes. “I am the one in disbelief that you should ever want this, Elain. Want me.”

Elain shook her head and continued stroking his hair. “Nonsense,” she answered. “It’s time you believed it. I am your wife. Let me love you. Let me care for you.”

Azriel’s heart swelled painfully in his chest. He closed his eyes again, savoring her tender touch and words. She began massaging his scalp with nimble fingers and he groaned in satisfaction. 

“I will always care for you,” Elain murmured, running a gentle finger down the bridge of his nose and then over his lips. “I know you are a great warrior. I may not be able to protect you with blade or shield, but I can protect this.” She laid her hand over his heart and he clutched it, tears pricking his eyes. 

“I love you,” he whispered.

She ran a gentle knuckle over the flat expanse of his wing and he shuddered.

“I will always protect your heart, Azriel. It is safe with me.” 

Azriel turned slightly to press a kiss into her stomach. He clutched her hips and trailed kisses up her ribs and sternum, between her breasts.

Then he sat up and hoisted Elain over his lap.

She wrapped her arms around him and pressed a tender kiss to his lips. Azriel stroked her neck and deepened the kiss, wanting it to last an eternity.

This was everything. She was everything. Everything else in the world could crumble into ash and if he still had this, had her, he would be whole.

He kissed her even more deeply. 

Her hands sunk into his hair as he dragged her body closer to his, one hand splayed over her back and the other resting gently on her neck. 

Elain moaned and lifted herself to straddle him, caging his thighs with her own, pressing herself right up against his rock-hard cock. 

Azriel dragged his lips over her neck as he drifted his hands down to that perfect, perfect ass. He caressed and squeezed and gripped it, taking in his fill. It was the best ass he had ever had in his hands. 

Elain arched her neck for better access, and Azriel kissed across her throat, under her ear, along her jaw. 

Elain moaned again and ground her hips against his. 

“Make it an even better morning for me, husband,” she said into his hair. 

Azriel’s heart stuttered at the word. 

“How shall I do that?” He asked, drifting his mouth over her exquisite breasts now, running his tongue along a hard, peaked nipple. 

“Hmmm,” she answered, writhing on him. He moved his mouth to her other breast and lavished it, too. 

Elain looked down and reached between them, scooting back slightly so she could stroke his cock. 

Azriel watched her pearly hand with that beautiful gold wedding ring move across his shaft delicately, and his body bucked in response. He groaned into her neck. 

“It feels so good when you touch me, Elain,” he said roughly. 

She gripped him fully now and his body caught fire. “Good thing you are mine to touch forever,” she answered. 

“Forever,” Azriel agreed, his body rolling as she pumped his cock, slow but sturdy. 

His head dropped onto Elain's shoulder as she worked him and worked him. His body was floating in ecstasy and the rightness of it all. 

Elain gently tangled her other hand in his hair. 

She leaned to press a tender kiss to his ear and breathed, “Will you make love to your wife this morning, Azriel?” 

Azriel gripped Elain tightly around the waist and flipped them over so he was positioned above her. 

“I will make love to my wife every single morning for the rest of my life, if she lets me.” 

He ground his hips into hers and pressed his lips behind her ear. 

Elain sighed in satisfaction and ran her hands over his chest, across the swirling black tattoos there. 

Azriel reached down to position his cock at her entrance. He slipped it through the wetness dripping there. Elain whimpered.

“You're so wet, Elain. I love how wet you are for me.” 

“Show me how much you love it,” she whispered, looking deep into his eyes. 

Azriel grinned with dark promise and pushed into Elain slowly. 

“Gods, Elain,” he groaned as he slid deeper and deeper. “You feel so fucking good.” 

The both moaned in pleasure as Azriel seated himself fully within her. 

He stilled and leaned down to kiss her on the lips. 

Elain met his mouth, and they kissed with such passion, such eternal love.

Azriel began to move inside her, rocking his hips to pull in and out tenderly, slowly. 

Elain broke the kiss to run her tongue over his chest. Azriel shuddered and thrust harder, deeper. 

He threaded a hand beneath her to grip her ass and lift her hips, tilting her for better access. 

Elain moaned as he pounded in harder. “Yes, Azriel, that feels so good,” she mewled. 

She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist as her inner muscles clenched his cock. 

“Shit,” he breathed, and leaned down to take a breast into his mouth. He rolled her nipple between his lips and then nipped it. 

Elain cried out, her back arching. Her muscles clamped down on him again. 

“Tell me how much you love me, Azriel.”

He hummed and moved his hand to her hip, steadying her so he could shift his hard pounding to steady, languid rolling. 

“I love you more than the stars love darkness.”

He pushed into her and then dragged out. Elain moaned.

“I love you more than the long notes of old horns love the silence they break.”

In. Out. Their bodies were melding, singing.

“I love you more than vines of ivy love an ancient brick wall to climb.”

Elain dragged her nails across his shoulders and biceps, moaning and moaning as he thrust into her and slid out again. Again. Again.

“I love you more than night-blooming roses love the full moon.”

Elain panted, twining her fingers into his dark hair. And Azriel kept rolling into her, again and again. As steady as waves rolling across dark sand.

“I love you more than a parched desert loves the rain. Come for me, Elain. Come on my cock.” 

Elain whimpered and answered, “You know how to make me come.”

Azriel paused his movements and shifted his hips to a new angle, then plunged deep into her once more. 

Elain cried out as he hit that spot on her inner wall, that one place he knew made her see stars.

“Yes,” she cried out, and he hit that spot again. Again. Again.

Elain’s inner walls were fluttering around his cock now, her legs shaking. “Fuck, Azriel, yes! Don’t stop- please don’t stop.”

Azriel pounded into that place harder. Harder. “You know I will never stop. Come for me now, Elain.”

And then all noise was cut off from Elain as her thighs clamped tight—

Azriel shot upright as a violent wind rattled the windowpane beside him. His heart was beating wildly and he panted heavily. He took a moment to calm his breathing and reorient himself.

He looked down to see his cock as hard as steel, a drop of precum gathered at the tip. 

“Fuck,” he sighed, running a long, scarred hand through his hair.

“Fuck.” Images of his dream came rolling back to him- Elain above him, writhing on him. Elain stroking his cock. Elain’s breast in his mouth. Elain kissing his neck. 

Elain.

Elain.

Elain.

Azriel could not stop himself as he reached down and fisted his cock to finish what had started in his dream. If only he could finish witnessing Elain coming on his cock, too.

Azriel pumped and pumped, gritting his teeth as he heard Elain’s sighs and moans in his mind. As he replayed everything those beautiful lips had said in his dream. 

And it was those seven words in her wondrous voice- “you know how to make me come” that had Azriel swallowing a shout as fire burst through his veins and he came hard enough to strain his abdominal muscles, his vision whiting out. 

But as he lay back, heaving great breaths as he came down from his climax, that is not what replayed in his mind.

Elain running her hands through his hair, his head on her lap.

Elain promising to care for him, to love him, forevermore.

Wildflowers dancing deep within his soul.

Those golden rings of ivy that wound around their fingers. 

Husband. Wife. 

Let me love you.

Let me care for you.

Let me protect you.

Lightness, brightness, peace, joy.

Safety.

Home.

Those are the things he held onto, clutched to his heart, far after his dream was over.

And as Azriel lay there in bed, glancing to the vial of headache powder Elain had once gifted him, he knew he was utterly, irrevocably fucked.

Because he finally could not hide from what had been coiled deep, deep in his chest since the day he walked out of the army camp in Hybern, swaying on his feet while cradling Elain to his body.

He could no longer deny the fact that he loved Elain Archeron, that he needed Elain Archeron, and that there was no reality in which those truths would not be.

Chapter Text

Elain (Winter-Days before ACOSF Solstice Bonus Chapter)

Elain Archeron stood in the back of the ballroom in the Court of Nightmares, watching an unholy celebration unfold before her. 

Two hours ago Nuala and Cerridwen had wrangled her curls into a cascading curtain down her back, held on the sides with pearl pins. They had darkened her lashes and dusted her eyelids with black, then painted her lips a dusky rose color. 

Elain hardly ever used cosmetics. She found them to feel heavy and obtrusive. In fact, she usually only ever did use cosmetics for balls. But she never thought her face would be made up like this, and she never thought she would be at a ball like this. 

The music was unusual and slightly grating. The attendees looked grim and mean. Tables and tables of untouched food lined the room, and Rhysand and Feyre sat on thrones on the dais, her sister’s prominent pregnant belly glowing under the faelights.

Elain stood there uncomfortably in her ill-fitting black dress and matching heels, watching her elder sister fly around the dance floor in the arms of the heir of Autumn.  

Elain knew it was all for show. In fact, the idea had come from Elain herself. But she still cringed to see Nesta in Eris’s grasp. She had heard only terrible stories about the male from her family, and she hated the way he was looking at her sister like a prize mare. 

Elain glanced to where Cassian stood on one side of the dais flanking Feyre and Rhysand. His face was hard as stone as he stared at the pair dancing, and Elain noticed his hands clenching at his sides. 

As she turned to look back at Nesta and Eris, Elain's gaze snagged on a pair of simmering hazel eyes. 

The Shadowsinger was staring at her with something that felt like…desire. It felt hot. Wanting. Intentional. Claiming.

Elain swallowed as she held Azriel’s gaze, a blush creeping up her cheeks. 

He had given her the same look as she had walked down the room towards the dais with Nesta at their arrival in the Hewn City. 

And when she had beheld him standing beside the High Lord and Lady’s thrones, her breath had caught in her throat at his cruel beauty.

Azriel’s exterior was as icy and impenetrable as it always was when the two were not alone in comfortable companionship. But here, with his Illyrian blade strapped down his spine and Truth-Teller glinting at his hip, with his armor shining menacingly, bathed in the cobalt glow of his siphons, with the talons of his wings rising sharply over his lean, muscled form…Azriel looked like a prince of darkness. Her own Angel of Death. 

Elain shook her head internally and broke his gaze, looking down.

Azriel was not her anything, no matter how much she wished it. 

No matter that they had once held hands as they walked along the Sidra on a moonless and starless night. 

No matter that he had lovingly run his fingers through her hair in a way that felt anything but friendly.

No matter that he had taken her all the way to the Continent for her birthday, to see the tulips she had always dreamed of. A gift more thoughtful and beautiful than any she could have imagined.

No matter that over the past few weeks, Azriel had seemed to always find ways to touch her ever so lightly. Just his fingers brushing hers as he passed her a platter of food. Just a gentle sweep of his hand along her waist as he passed behind her. Just a finger lifting to brush a stray hair from her face when no one watched. 

No matter that for longer still, they had a spent countless nights sitting together in the Townhouse, in relaxed silence or easy conversation. 

No matter that Azriel had been the only one to truly see her, to believe her, to pull her out of her deep well of despair and fear when she was plagued by visions she did not understand. 

No matter that he had offered himself to her as they had danced in the dim light of Rita’s.

No matter. 

For Elain had a mate. One she did not want and did not choose. 

When she looked upon the male who was fated to her by the Cauldron, all she could see were the leering faces of Hybern's men as they dragged her to those icy depths and stole her life away. All she could hear were Nesta’s screams of wrath, Feyre’s pleading sobs.

It was partially the Autumn son’s own actions that had led her to those terrible events, and while he may not have condoned them, may not have known Hybern’s treacherous plans, she could not separate him from that trauma. 

Besides any of that, Elain did not want a handsome son of a High Lord. She did not want the male with his courtier's tongue and fire in his veins. She did not want clean, smooth hands on her.  

No, Elain wanted a male with wild darkness hidden beneath a beautiful mask of death. She wanted a male with dark hooded lashes guarding eyes of swirling hazel. She wanted a depthless well of churning emotion kept leashed within the powerful, gentle body of a warrior. She wanted rough, scarred hands to hold her. She wanted to see the beauty of that pain and resilience caressing her own skin. 

Elain wanted Azriel. 

But the pressures weighed on her. The peace of the realms, the Night Court’s allies, the threat of driving Lucien mad. She felt trepidation drowning her when she thought of being the cause of so much potential unrest and hurt. 

She sighed and tore her eyes from Azriel. She sipped her champagne, banishing thoughts of the Spymaster's raven locks curling on his neck, of his beckoning scent of night-chilled mist and cedar. 

When Elain glanced back to the dance floor, she saw that Cassian had cut in with Nesta, however ill-advised. She felt herself smile as Nesta’s sharp, devastatingly beautiful face softened into something truly joyful dancing in Cassian’s arms. 

The two were mates, Elain had no doubt. She tried not to let herself be overcome with jealousy that both of her sisters had found mates that they loved and cherished so deeply. She held more joy for them in her heart than jealousy, anyway. They both deserved that kind of everlasting happiness with all they had endured.

Elain just tried not to wonder if she herself would ever find it. 

She was still reeling from her night at Rita’s. The way Azriel’s gaze had heated, the way his knuckle had stroked so tenderly down her thigh. The way she could not control her arousal from blooming around her, making her desire for him perfectly clear. The way he had defended her honor so fiercely and without pause. The way he had breathed into her ear, offering himself to her so gently. 

Elain had touched herself until she climaxed that night, plunging her fingers into herself and imagining they were Azriel’s scarred fingers instead of her own. Imagining his mouth on her neck, teeth sunk into her flesh. Imagining his head between her legs, devouring her until she shattered. 

That night had given her some clarity. It seemed that Azriel did, indeed, want her. But she had been unable to answer him that night, and unable to answer him in the weeks between then and now. 

For the very next day Lucien had appeared with news from the continent, and Elain again had the sensation that her life was being ripped from beneath her feet. 

And she was scared. She was scared to give Azriel her heart, as she had given it so freely to Graysen, who had crumbled it in his fist and walked away without another look behind. 

She was scared of betraying her family- her court- by forsaking her mating bond. She knew that the Night Court relied heavily on their allies to maintain peace, and Lucien was crucial to those relationships. And he was Feyre's friend.

She truly wished Lucien no ill will. 

She simply did not want him. 

If she gave her heart to Azriel, she would be betraying her duty. Expectation. If she did not, and chose instead to acknowledge her mating bond and the male it tied her to, she would be betraying her heart. 

She felt stuck between two impossible choices. 

Azriel had remained fairly scarce these weeks, and she wondered if he regretted offering his heart, as well. If that was indeed what he was offering. 

Elain remained lost in her swirling thoughts, absentmindedly sipping her sparkling wine, until she saw Azriel approach his brother and Nesta on the dance floor. 

He bent in a perfect, gentlemanly bow, offering his beautiful hand to Nesta with all the grace of royalty.

Nesta accepted and Azriel swept her into an impeccable waltz. Elain's heart dipped watching them. The waltz was Elain's favorite dance in her human days. It always transported her to another time and space where she felt free and light. She felt true joy when she waltzed. She hadn’t done so since she was human, and watching them dance now filled her heart with too many sharp and aching desires.

She and Azriel had discussed their love of waltzing that same fateful night at Rita’s. He had said he was quite good at the dance, and Elain could see now that that was no lie. He was indeed an impeccable waltzer.

Azriel swept Nesta across the floor like smoke over water. Elain couldn't tear her eyes from them. They looked so beautiful moving on the dance floor together. Elain felt no jealousy, only deep yearning to know what it felt to be led in a waltz by the Shadowsinger. 

The music ended and Eris cut back in. Azriel dipped his head and left them to dance. 

Elain sighed and turned around to retrieve another glass of champagne, feeling bored and defeated and frankly very tired of wearing those ghastly black heeled shoes. 

With her back turned away from the dance floor, Elain felt the skin on her neck prickle as a familiar dark presence loomed behind her. She dropped her arm that had been reaching for another glass, steeled her spine, and turned around to face the Shadowsinger. 

Azriel stood before her with an unreadable look on his face, but Elain swore she saw a hint of golden blush kissing his cheeks. 

He lowered his chin and spoke in that smooth, dark voice that was her undoing. That soft midnight snowstorm.

“May I have this dance, Elain?” 

Her stomach dropped as nerves overtook her, but she remembered her manners and dropped into a perfect curtsy. 

“You may,” she said with forced casualness.

Azriel offered her one of his strong, scarred hands and Elain felt time slow as she reached to take it.

She watched as his brown skin silhouetted her cream skin. 

She watched as shadows twirled down Azriel's fingers and around her wrist as if in greeting, heartbeats before their skin touched.

And when her hand landed in his, a warm buzzing coiled all the way from the point of contact to the top of Elain's head and the tips of her toes. 

Azriel's face remained neutrally polite, but she felt his body grow taut at the contact, as if he too felt that charge. 

Brown eyes met hazel and Elain swallowed, heat flooding her body. 

And then Azriel was leading her to the dance floor. 

She knew their family would think nothing of it. The two had been friends for many months, now. Years, even. They would all see Azriel leading Elain in a dance as an act of kindness, to provide her some comfort and companionship in this strange court. 

But as Azriel placed a hand at Elain's waist and she placed her own on his shoulder, the act felt nothing like that. Every point of contact sent a wave of lightning coursing through Elain. 

And judging by the fire churning in Azriel's multi-hued eyes, Elain thought it likely he felt the same. 

The first notes of the song began and butterflies erupted through Elain's stomach as Azriel began stepping in time to the music. 

It was as if he was born to waltz, the way he led her. Elain had danced with many boys and young men in her young socialite days, but none had led her across the dance floor with such grace, such quiet confidence, such fluidity. 

And certainly none had shadows trailing in their wake and black-taloned wings looming behind them. 

Elain held Azriel's gaze as they stepped to the music. The scars on his hand felt so right against her skin. 

She bit her lip at the sensations surging through her and watched Azriel's eyes track the movement. Watched his slow swallow.

Azriel spun her once and caught her again with a confident hand. 

She watched his throat bob again, just the slightest hint of nervousness, before he spoke. 

“You look beautiful tonight.” 

Mother above, his voice was like a drug to her. 

Elain let out a small snort despite the blush she felt wash over her features. 

“None of this is really…me,” she answered, gesturing to herself as they moved. 

The corners of Azriel's mouth kicked up.

“No,” he agreed. “It's not. And yet…”

He spun her once. Twice.

“I cannot keep my eyes off you.”

Elain's blush grew deeper. She felt her pulse hammering wildly in her neck and watched Azriel's gaze dip to the fluttering spot. 

Hunger laced those brilliant eyes. 

Elain took a shaky breath and knew he tracked that, too.

“You look astounding yourself tonight, Azriel,” Elain said as he turned them in beat to the music. 

“I look the way I always look,” he answered. 

Elain shook her head. “No, you're different here. Darker and colder and more… more, somehow.” She couldn't find the words to describe his magnificence, the power he emanated. 

Step. Turn. Step. Turn. 

She watched as Azriel seemed to hesitate before answering. “Not more terrifying?”

Elain squeezed his fingers in hers ever so slightly.

“You've never scared me, Azriel.”

She saw his mask drop almost imperceptibly as a slightly wrecked look stole across his face. In the blink of an eye it was gone, replaced by a small amused smirk. 

Azriel spun her and caught her so her back was pressed to his chest. They stepped together to the music.

“You thought about impaling me on your fork the night we met,” he breathed into her ear.

Elain shivered at the warm air whispering over the sensitive flesh of her ear. His hand on her waist tensed in response. 

But Elain smiled gently at the memory, shaking her head. 

“The moment you spoke to me with that beautiful poetry of yours, any fears I had were soothed.”

They stepped and spun so Elain was facing him again.

Azriel grumbled, blushing. “I do not speak poetry.”

Elain fought a knowing smile.

“You do not recognize the beauty within yourself or your words, Azriel.”

All eyes in the ballroom were tracking Nesta and Eris as they danced, but Elain and Azriel saw only each other as they stepped and turned, stepped and turned.

Finally, Azriel answered in a tone so gentle Elain nearly lost her step, “I suppose that is true.”

Elain saw a wave of emotions pass through Azriel's churning eyes, quick as a bolt of lightning. Tenderness, warmth, recognition and finally…desire. 

And then they were guarded again.

But as they danced in silence now, Elain grew warmer as she watched Azriel's eyes slowly- so slowly- drag from her eyes down to her mouth, then along the expanse of her neck, across her collarbones, and down, down, down, over her chest and waist and hips, all the way to her feet. 

They rose back up and settled on her mouth. Elain swallowed thickly.

She felt Azriel's hand shake in hers as they stepped, turned. Stepped, turned.

He leaned down to speak into her ear once more as they danced. 

“In case you were wondering,” he breathed, “My offer stands. You can take all the time you need to think about it. I’ll wait for you. I would wait centuries for you.”

Elain’s breath caught in her chest. 

She wanted to say yes. Stars and Mother above she wanted to say yes. 

But the rest of her family had all done their part for their Court. They had fought, and bled, and killed, and sacrificed. And what had Elain done? She had planted flowers. 

Was she willing to bring them further turmoil by rejecting a mating bond when they had all sacrificed so much for the fragile peace they now had in Prythian? 

Should she at least give her mating bond a chance? 

Here was her every wild dream, the most perfect male she could ever conjure, offering himself to her. And yet she could not bring herself to say yes.

She didn’t deserve to say yes, not when she did next to nothing to serve her family or the Night Court. 

She felt paralyzed. All she knew was that waltzing in the Shadowsinger’s arms felt so, so painfully right.

“Azriel…” she murmured, her voice brimming with aching longing.

His eyes shot to hers. They were filled with dark hunger. 

Step. Turn. Step. Turn. 

“Elain,” Azriel answered. The single word was filled with so much. Warning, plea, yearning, thirst, and just the smallest drop of hope.

But then the final notes of the waltz were sounding, and Azriel had slipped back under his icy mask.

As the music came to a stop and so did their steps, Azriel bowed his dark head once more.

“Thank you for the dance, Miss Archeron,” he said in an utterly neutral voice.

And in the next heartbeat he was gone, just a trail of shadow swirling behind him in his wake.

Elain watched him walk away, fighting a losing battle between her aching heart and her duty. And as she watched him go, she chose to lose that battle. She chose her heart. 

The next time she stole a moment alone with him, she would give him her heart, she decided. 

She would say yes, expectations and Cauldron be damned.