Acotar Fanfiction - Blog Posts

Writing ACOTAR fics???

So I just finished reading the ACTOAR series(super late I know) but I'm absolutely in love with this series 😭

I know I just started writing for Fourth Wing but maybe writing some ACTOAR fics can help with the ACTOAR hangover??? Let me know if that's something y'all want to see :)

Pairing: Gwyn x Reader

Summary: You wanted to be first to tell your best friend Happy Birthday (and maybe you just wanted her to yourself for the night).

Inspired by this post: sleeping in the same bed, as they’d often do, but one morning waking up cuddling

Word Count: 1.8k

Notes: It's literally just a fluff piece and I wrote in one go. I'm planning on doing a series of little prompts like this, based on the friends-to-lovers trope.

You hurriedly wiped down the counters as the clock ticked down. You made quite the mess while baking, despite your “clean-as-you-go” attitude. Time got away from you so quickly, and at this rate you would be late. Again. You always had a hard time shaking that nasty habit. But at least all the treats were wrapped neatly and stored safely in the basket. If you had been using your own kitchen, you might have just left the mess for later, but Nesta would rip you a new one if you didn’t leave her kitchen cleaner than you found it.

You gathered your things and triple checked the basket to make sure everything was there. It did little to ease your nerves, which had been increasing drastically each time you had plans to spend time with Gwyn. You couldn’t identify exactly why you found yourself overthinking every conversation, couldn’t identify the meaning of the rush of emotions you felt with every touch.

You spared a glance in the mirror and wished you had more time to make yourself a little more presentable, but time was not on your side, and Gwyn would have finished her work by now. You rushed to the library, giving Clotho a quick “Hello,” as you rushed past her desk, to the stairs, to Gwyn’s room. The plan had been to sneak down to her room while she was still working and surprise her then, but by the time you got to her door, you could hear her moving around on the inside. You drew in a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves.

Before you could knock, the door to Gwyn’s room flew open and her bright teal eyes nearly knocked the wind out of you. “Were you planning to come in at some point?” she teased, her delicate brow arched and a playful smile on her lips. 

You stammered over your words for a second as your brain scrambled to form a sentence. “I was gonna give it another few minutes,” you responded, earning a chuckle from the female.

Gwyn tilted her head, motioning for you to enter. You stepped in, and the room you’ve spent many nights in suddenly felt a little unfamiliar to you. It was just the nerves, you told yourself, the stupid nerves that you just couldn’t shake no matter how hard you tried. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Gwyn asked.

“Well,” you started, setting the basket down on the small table in the corner, “I brought you a little something.” You motioned for the female to join you at the table.

“You didn’t have to-” she began as she approached.

“Stop it,” you cut in, giving her a warm smile. “It’s my best friend’s birthday, obviously I had to get you something.”

The female removed the lid to the basket, and her eyes widened for a split second as she peered into. “You know, my birthday is technically tomorrow,” she said as she began pulling out the various sweets you had made for her. Her long, delicate fingers peeled at one of the wrappers, exposing the delicious smelling brownie - her favorite dessert. You knew she wouldn’t be able to resist eating one of your fudgy creations for long. Your eyes were glued to her lips as she brought the brownie to them and bit in. She moaned in delight at the taste, and the sound sent shivers down your spine.

“These are incredible,” she sang, your cheeks warming at the praise. You had baked for Gwyn a million times, and heard those exact words come out of her mouth on more occasions than you could count, but this time it felt like the Mother was hand-delivering a blessing.

“There’s plenty more, all for you,” you laughed, her delight filling you with warmth. “But there’s something else at the bottom.”

She handed her brownie to you so she could continue digging through the basket. You knew she would get distracted by all the sweets on top, but you didn’t want your actual gift for her to smash all the desserts you had worked so hard on for her. She eventually got to the bottom and pulled out the flat, teal box, which you had picked specifically to match her eyes. Gwyn gasped softly as she opened the box, and you found yourself holding your breath as she examined what was inside.

Gwyn carefully lifted the object out of the box to take a closer look. It was a small painting, not much bigger than the size of her hand, that you had commissioned from Feyre. It was of the moment she cut the white ribbon for the first time, something that you knew she considered to be one of her proudest moments. You had even ordered a custom golden frame to be built for it. There was a note on the back that you had handwritten for her, but decided to let her discover that on her own someday. Her bright smile filled you with longing.

“I love it,” she whispered, and you watched as she recounted the moment in her head. It made your heart swell, and you swore you could feel every little thing that she was. It was almost as if you had experienced that moment yourself. “I know exactly where I’m going to put this.” She strode across the room, graceful as ever, and placed it on the small end table near her bed. 

You weren’t usually good at gift-giving - it was hard to be when your friends already had everything they could possibly want - but you were proud of what you were able to pull together for Gwyn, even if it wasn’t much.

The rest of the night wasn’t much unlike any of the other nights you spent with Gwyn. Except the two of you shared the various sweets you had made for her, opting out of a real meal for dinner. Nights like these, where you got to have the female all to yourself, were becoming the greatest joys of your life. Her voice was the sweetest melody, her laughter a symphony, her smile a concerta put on just for you. 

As the night began to wind down, the two of you had wound up in Gwyn’s bed. Again, a familiar scene to you began to feel like something more as you watched the female try to fight off sleep.

“It’s almost time,” you whispered, reaching over to brush a strand of copper hair out of her face. Gwyn’s lips curled into the softest smile, humming in response. The two of you laid there in silence for a moment, staring into each other's eyes as you waited. As that feeling in your chest began threatening to burst out of you, you quickly looked away to check the clock again. You watched as the second hand ticked and ticked closer to midnight. Just a few more seconds.

You turned back towards Gwyn, giving her a toothy grin. You drew in a deep breath, then gently took one of her hands in yours. “Happy birthday, Gwyneth.”

She wrapped both hands around yours, those big, beautiful eyes staring into yours, making your heart race so quickly that you were sure she would detect it. You put your everything into stilling it, praying to the mother for help in making sure the sound fell on deaf ears. Her thumb ran along your bracelet, the friendship bracelet she had made for you, and she closed her eyes momentarily. “I love you,” she whispered, her hands squeezing around yours. 

These were words you heard out of her mouth dozens of times before, but this time felt so different. There went that stupid heart of yours, beating so hard you thought it might fly out of your chest, over words that didn’t carry the meaning you so desperately wanted them to. Your prayers to the Mother were clearly being ignored.

“I love you too.” The words took some of the weight off of you as they left your mouth, but you knew the deeper meaning behind them was lost upon your best friend. You wiggled closer to the female and pressed a soft kiss to her hands. For a split second, you thought you might have heard, or maybe even felt, Gwyn’s heart beating as wildly as yours. Or maybe your mind was just trying to play tricks on you. “Get some rest, you have a long day ahead of you.”

Gwyn nodded, and those beautiful eyes disappeared for the remainder of the night.

You were the first to rise in the morning. You tried to blink the sleepiness out of your eyes, but the comfort of the bed and the warmth of Gwyn’s body pressed against you fought back twice as hard. The realization took a moment to fully hit you, but when it did, well, butterflies are the understatement of the century. This was a first for you, and your heart didn’t know how to take it. But after confirming that the female was still asleep, you figured there was no harm in letting yourself enjoy it.

You shut your eyes again and gently nuzzled your face into her neck, breathing in her scent. You kept your arm draped over the female’s waist, resisting the urge to pull her closer to you. These precious few moments made you pray to the Mother once again, thanking her for this small kindness. The way your bodies fit together felt natural, felt right, and each second that passed was like a wish come true. You let yourself drift back to sleep, because you knew you couldn’t be the one to end this.

Not long after, Gwyn began to stir in your arms. The movement was enough to bring you fully to consciousness. You felt her stretch her body out, like she was trying to wake herself up fully, so you carefully removed your arm from her. The female rolled over wordlessly and her eyes met yours. It felt like an eternity as you laid there, once again staring into each other’s eyes without a word being exchanged. It caused you to stir, inside and out, and unsure of what else to say or do, you blurted, “Happy birthday!”

And there was that amazing laugh, the one that made your heart pound and your brain roar and your instincts go crazy. Gwyn sat up and stretched her limbs out once again. “Good morning to you, too,” she laughed. Your heart sank for a moment as you watched her climb out of bed to get ready for the day, but now wasn’t the time to mope. You had a whole day planned just for her, and you were going to do everything in your power to make sure it was perfect.

one year with rhys

i wasn't going to dive into smut yet but then i remembered this clip from family feud that made me laugh

content warning: facerid*ng, f*ngering, eating out

You've been sitting around at the townhouse by yourself while Rhys takes care of matters in his court. It's your one year anniversary and Rhys was very apologetic when he had to leave, but alas duty calls. As you sat in the library reading a book, you felt a gentle tug through the bond. You opened your mind up to your mate and heard him say, "I'm sorry I've been gone all day darling, I promise I'll make it up to you tonight." You sigh and rolls your eyes before sending back a quick okay.

Another hour passes by before you hear someone walking through the door. You can feel your mate before you see him. As he walks around the corner you can see the flowers in his hand and the grin on his face. You jump up and say, "Oh Rhys.. they're beautiful." "So are you, darling." He grabs you by the hand and interlocks his fingers with yours as he leads up upstairs to your shared bedroom.

As soon as you cross the threshold, he pushes you up against the door and his lips are on yours. You moan into the kiss and grab onto his hair at the nape of his neck, giving it a gentle tug. He groans when he feels the tug against scalp and bites down on your lower lip. "You're such a vixen, y/n." You giggle and say, "You love it." He nods in response to your statement and begins to lead you toward the bed, throwing his body down onto it and dragging you with him.

He gets a cheeky grin on his face and you say, "What? I don't trust that look Rhys." "I want to try something, I think you'll like it." Rhysand grabs your hips and guides you up his body until your core is hovering over his face. He bunches your dress up around your thighs and runs a finger over the wet patch on your panties. "Is this all for me?" You moan and say, "Yes baby.. it's for you, only you."

He looks up into your eyes before sliding your panties to the side and sliding a finger inside you. You throw your head back and moan. "Rhys.. fuck!" He adds another finger and begins to pump them in and out of you until you're writhing around above him. "Rhys.. please do something." "Oh, I will." He grabs your panties and rips them in half, making you squeal. "I'll buy you another pair, darling." "You better."

He grabs you by each thigh and pulls you down until your wet core is resting completely on his face. You look down in anticipation before you feel him run the tip of his tongue between your folds. The sound of your moans encourage him as he starts sucking on your clit. You grab his hair and starting grinding down on his face. This makes him let out a groan that causes vibrations at your opening. He keeps licking and sucking until your thighs start to clamp down around his head. Knowing that you're close, he adds a finger, and then another and starts thrusting them deep into you. Your whole body shakes as you come on his face, your eyes closing as you feel him lapping up every drop of your release.

Once you catch your breath, you slide off his face and curl up beside him. You watch as he wipes his face with the back of his hand and then leans in to kiss you, tasting the remnants of your own release. "Rhys.. that was amazing. You should come home late more often." You both let out soft laughs as he turns onto his side and wraps his wings around the both of you.

author's note: this is my first time writing smut so I hope it's good! as always constructive criticism is appreciated <3 even though the reader is presented as a female, i tried not to use any body descriptive words so everyone would feel included :)

SANTA TELL ME [pt. 1]

@ofduskanddreams I was so excited when I knew that I was gonna write for you, like really excited. I'm sorry I got a bit late but I hope you really, really like it.

This is the first part of a multi chapter fanfic and I hope that you really enjoyed it.

Warnings: English is not my native language so I'm sorry for any possible spelling mistakes.

Azriel didn't expected his life to be like this when he was a child.

Well, maybe it did, but definitely did not expect to be a courtier in his work just to make alliances. He, as a matter of fact, was a better courtier than his brother was, he loved Cassian, but he was an asshole and sucked in all the aspects of the work it has to be done.

He was okay with being a spy, with interrogating and murdering people, well, not okay with it, but he learned that it was for the better for the Court and did know his job was relevant and it had to be done. Sometimes he thinks of it and doesn't know what to do with his life if it wasn't for the job he has been doing for the past five hundred years.

But having to work even in the holidays. He was maybe not a big fan of the rumbling and the stupidity of all the things he had to endure during solstice, but was one of the only holidays he had, and maybe was a little angry with Rhys for accepting in his name to go a week into the Winter Court to see the holidays there and make a treaty between the Winter and Night Court, but it did pissed him off.

He was expected to accept it since Mor was back from the fucking Continent and Amren wouldn't go, and his brothers and his mates were obviously out of question being the first solstice as a pair for Cassian and Nesta and being the first solstice of Nyx, so he was the better option. Well, the only option available, cause Elain was out of question again.

Between the three of the brothers he was the most patient one, since his life consisted in waiting and waiting for his job to be done, but he was done waiting and wanted to scream to Rhys for the fuck he happened to be the solstice.

That he could join them for the night after solstice for the annual snowball fight, and definitely he would make them pay for this, cause Cassian agreed it was a good idea to make it happen.

But tonight he did not have any patient, so when he throws the glass he has on his hand to the wall it shatters in many pieces, oh how he wanted it to be one of his brothers, he was fuming.

And nobody could do anything about it, not now that the answer had been sent to the Winter Court.

He needed something to calm down, or it will be a very long week. Seven days, he had to survive in the Winter Court for seven days before he could wipe that attitude off Rhys's and Cassian's face with the floor.

Oh how he hated them in this fucking moment.

He hated not being in control, he was a fucking control freak, how could he not when all his choices where out of his hands for all his childhood and early adulthood, even now he hand not all the control in his fucking life. He adored his family, he really did, but not now, not when they make decisions for him without even noticing until the night before he had to go.

Oh he would not go unnoticed. He had a clear idea of what to do hen he arrived, but definitely he would destroy Cassian and Rhys in the annual snowball fight, he had won many before and would won many after this one. He outnumbered the other two of them, not even adding up his victories did they compare to Azriel's.

He didn't tried to sleep, it was useless, he knew he couldn't sleep in this fucking situation. So he started thinking of anything he could've forgotten, even though he knew he hadn't forgot anything.

When he had calmed down he picked a book of the library he had in his plain room, he had read it at least a dozen times, but he hadn't get any knew book that caught up his attention a simple bare minimum, so he kept re-reading the books he already read.

He spent all the night reading till the sun was up, then he had put down the book and took his bag full of clothes, plans, and information he had not memorised. If he was being honest, he remembered quiet well, but being an asshole knowing almost everything normally made people feel uncomfortable, so he pretended most of the times he didn't knew, other times he was extremely cocky about it, reaching the top level of being an asshole.

Cassian was already up when he came out of his room, but choose to ignore him, he really did not wanted to talk to someone so early, he would shout at him if pushed far enough, and he would push, even though he knew it was not good for any of them.

He was gonna go out for several days and eve though it was all bullshit it was better than having to see all happiness around him revolve while he was unsure about everything.

The bag on his shoulder didn't felt like any weigh was there. A remember of all the little things he needed to be set up in another place. A feeling of discomfort waved from his chest. His life was a scattering mess again and again and again, and he couldn't pull from the waves that were pushing and pushing him far below from the surface.

He loved Nesta and Feyre like her sisters, he really did, but before them he was taken care by Rhysand and Cassian even though he did in fact not tell anyone he was hurting, and here they were, far apart from each other, maybe it was unintentional but he did not wanted to go to the Winter Court. It was freezing there, and when it was really winter in all the other courts it was almost unspeakable how his hands really hurt with all the extra freezing.

Not any gloves could fix that shit.

So he started flying, snowflakes in Velaris were merely starting to fall, and when he was out of reach of the city he had called home for centuries now, he winnowed far away. Just when he reached the border of Nearon, the capital of the Winter Court, he started to feel his hands begin to frozen up.

How he hated winter and how he loved it at the same time.

He hated how it make him shiver every time he saw something like a cave or a hole on the ground full of snow, he remembered very well how it was back in his fathers house, the cell full of worms and snow in winter. He hated how his hands ache all this time after the incident with his step brothers, he hated the memories of all of that. He mostly hated winter.

But he loved it when it was not freezing but chill outside, late winter reaching spring, with the chill and the sun bathing all his body without being feeling hot. The snowball fight was the only time he loved snow.

He looked his surroundings, while his shadows explored all the zone. In less than ten seconds there were two white heads that caught his attention. Kallias and Viviane, High Lord and the Lady of the Winter Court.

"Shadowsinger, a pleasure to see you" said Viviane with a wide smile.

"Pleasure is mine" he said with a nod.

It didn't take him long to have it his own way while both of them started speaking of something about the holidays. Azriel was unsure why but his shadows were starting to wander far, far away from him.

"This week we wanted that our visitors meet our traditions so that they could maybe catch some for their Courts, and maybe start a new trade way." Kallias didn't say anything else.

He didn't comment, but was in fact curious of who else would be visiting in this holiday another Court for work and allies purposes.

It wasn't till he saw the palace from far far away that he smelled a smoky scent. Burnt wood, cinnamon and leather, that what it smelled like, and he knew quite well who that scent belonged to. If the holidays weren't terrible enough they might just get worse.

Eris Vanserra was grinning in their direction. Azriel couldn't be more pissed of.

NO ROLE MODELZ | Azriels x FEM!reader

Summary: Y/N is from the Court of Nightmares and the bond snapped for her and Azriel, but she doesn't want to leave.

Warning: Angst

There was only one thing you loved more than the stars, and that was your little sister, Asterin was five at that time, and you had grow her up, your parents never at home.

Your father, Alexei, was a Lord of the Court, so obviously you had been in the reunions the High Lord and Lady had offered all times, but you scaped at the moment you saw the opportunity.

And that was what you were gonna do the second you saw it, but while searching a way to scape you saw two beautiful hazel eyes that cached your attention. And it was at this moment that you knew something would change forever, something snapped.

The bond had snapped to both of you. A warm thread was in your chest, you could see it glow when you saw that eyes again, but you felt terrified when you realized what was about to happen.

Males in the Court of Nightmares where such dicks them all, all wanting the females to left their family to stay in their house and provide children to them, like if they were only good for that, and you hated it, cause you knew that the male would take you from your family and Asterin would be alone with your parents, the worst part was that she would have to be left with what your parents give her.

You have received hundreds of beatings from your father, most of them when your sister was born, like you had to take care of her at the exact moment she was born, and you did, but everything she did wrong was a strong beating to you later, and you had received all of them, not wanting your father to take retaliation on your little sister. She was only five for Cauldrons sake!

But when the male was Infront of you it was even worse than you thought. It wasn't just a fucking male, it was the fucking spymaster of the Night Court, the fucking shadowsinger, the damn Azriel.

Your father had hated him even more that the High Lord, he was the reason his mate was gone, in his eyes was like that, the reality was that she had tried to murder the High Lord and his cousin, Morrigan, and almost got the job done, but it didn't count to Alexeis eyes.

If he discovered it you would be in such a problem, you started hating this even more. You had wished for a mate before Asterins birth, but know you couldn't let her alone at her fortune.

"Don't, please don't, I can't do this" you plead, almost like a whisper.

A Court of Shackles and Glass

Chapter Four

Word Count : 8.7k

Warning(s) : N/A

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter (coming soon...)

Lyphon

I always preferred eating outside to eating inside. I want to eat where there is sun on my back and I’m surrounded by fresh air with a cool breeze that quietly passes by, ruffling my hair a little. Maybe surrounded by beautiful flowers or plants or trees. But in general, eating outside is better. I don’t care if it’s a feast or a small snack, it doesn’t really matter so long as I’m filling my stomach and I’m not stuck inside a dull castle.

And the Spring Court is the perfect place to have a picnic. It was Lucien’s idea originally, Tamlin was hesitant but complied, leading us to a field and setting everything up. Lucien explained that there several snacks, foods, and treats were set up with tea and some fruit juices. He had helped me avoid sitting on any snacks or creases that would cause a spill. Now we all just sit in silence, enjoying our lunches.

In the background I can hear birds singing as a gentle breeze dances with the vines of a nearby willow tree. A small creature is running through the grass, probably a bunny. I imagine it’s still quite beautiful here. My family had visited this Court a few times for official business. Each time I was enchanted and thought it was gorgeous here. Our plants never looked as lively, vibrant. Our gardens could never compare to the one’s of Theron’s for example. Even after he taught us how to garden better. Maybe it was the soil. Maybe our home could never host life properly, or at least normal life.

Of all the Courts I believe Spring was always my favourite. Winter was too cold, though Gyn always loved it’s frigid weather and her ties to it. Autumn was too cruel, or at least the Vanserra’s always had incredibly untrustworthy characteristics to them, except Lucien, who has proven he’s nothing like the Vanserra’s I’ve met. Summer was nice, but it usually had more tropical plants, less fields of flowers and more water. Dawn was always nice though, a comforting feeling place that always played neutral parts well. Day was…so lively. It was always bright and everyone had a never ending energy until the sun set. It was exhausting, but the libraries were always magical and incredible. We could get lost for years inside them and we’d be content with it. The Night Court was dreadful, misery everywhere and no light underground. Velaris was nicer, but I always felt a little cooped up there, I couldn’t explore a lot. At home Gyn would take me on walks, we’d explore for hours, she’d tell tales of things, I’d listen. We’d be home well past sundown. Despite how much older my brother and sister are, there were still some spots they’d never found before. Creatures they’d never met. Our home can be a living hell, but it never fails to offer endless adventure outside, endless fantastical elements with calm danger.

There were some nights where I was upset, and I’d thought I was quiet and sneaky, that I could get away with crying myself to sleep. Whether it was from stress or genuine hurt, it never mattered. Achlys and Gyn would scoop me up in my blankets and we’d leave with the moon being the only thing illuminating our path. To calm me down they would hum or sing lullabies, show me beautiful, gentle animals and flowers, and tell me stories of a brave Prince who greatest battle was against his heartless Father, the King. It worked everytime. I would fall asleep, comforted and happy. I always woke up in my bed, smelling flowers, a vase of them beside my bed, freshly cut and from one of their personal gardens. Gardens Theron helped plant, gardens that could rival those of the Spring Court’s. Which makes sense, Theron was a male my age who became the High Lord of Spring. He was smart like Boreas and Cosmas, befriending my siblings so he’d have their protection and support. Though their original intentions faded after time, we all did become and stay genuine friends. Long gone are those days though.

Sighing I take another bite of my sandwich. It’s funny, thinking of such old memories. And now that I think of it..this is where I met Reqius. He was a servant, one of the gardeners, he attended to several sections of roses, all of which he expertly kept alive and gleaming..yes I met Reqius in the Spring Court. And now all I have left of him is Ellian. That poor, sweet boy. By the Mother I hope he’s alright. He was always strong and brave, even after what happened to Rima and Terris. He had Reqius’s kindness and determination, so of course he was never easily shaken.

“Enjoying your sandwich, Lyphon?”

Lucien’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, returning me to the Spring Court and our lunch. I hum, nodding.

“Yes, it’s well made, thank you.”

“There’s nothing to thank us for. The chefs made everything, we merely brought everything here.” Tamlin speaks up, his voice rough enough that he clears his throat afterwards.

“Yes, well, you still allowed us to eat outside, which is a nice change. So thank you for that.”

The two are silent for another few minutes, everyone enjoying the snacks or sipping drinks. Tamlin speaks again though, that serious High Lord attitude appearing again.

“I have news.”

I imagine Lucien perking up at this, interested by the announcement and excited on my behalf.

“Did Lyphon’s family contact you?”

I chuckle a little before Tamlin can answer. While the notion is nice, the reality isn’t quite the same.

“I doubt they would. They know that we know better and that we’ll return on our own time, I doubt they’re worried about me or my siblings. I would be more surprised if they did.”

“His family did not contact us, no. I had asked Helion about any records regarding his family, and recently he has invited us to stay a week in the Day Court. Because of this invitation I believe he has found something. He never disclosed that however. So the beginning of next week is when we will visit.”

I hum quietly. Helion…High Lord of the Day Court. I’ve not even the slightest idea about who he is or what he’s like. I can remember one of his ancestors though, or who could be his ancestor. His name was Atalo. He was clever with a quick tongue and charming personality. I suspected that it was all a charade, a carefully made mask, but no one ever batted an eye at him because of it. He was also quite intelligent, and generous enough to allow some to visit the libraries. I wonder how alike the two are. Somehow I doubt Helion will be too serious, like Atalo.

Visiting for a whole week…that should be interesting. It would be nice to visit the libraries again, see any new editions to them. Plus, it would be interesting to see what records Prythian has on us. I’m sure there’s a few ugly patches, but as far as I’ve been aware we were never all that bad, we helped more than we challenged or caused trouble since we had several of our own issues to deal with.

Humming I switch trains of thought.

“Lucien, you previously mentioned you aren’t from Spring. Are you from Autumn?”

Lucien is quiet for a moment, softly humming as he thinks, likely deciding whether to answer me or change the subject. He sighs a little, taking a sip of whatever drink he chose before settling on his answer.

“I was..but I left and came here instead since Tamlin and I were old friends. He let me stay and made me his emissary.”

I hum a little, carefully searching for my glass and taking a sip of my juice. There’s clearly more to the story, but I won’t push, it’s likely a touchy subject anyways.

“I see..tell me. Are the others High Lords cruel?”

Tamlin grunts, almost scoffing.

“It’s a mix. Beron is notoriously cruel, along with Rhysand. Tarquin is more on the kind side. Kallias and Thesan tend to be more neutral. They’re not cruel, but they don’t jump to be kind either. Helion seems to be between neutral and kind, but I’m sure he has the capability to be cruel.”

I chuckle quietly.

“Anyone has the capability to be cruel, should they be pushed far enough. Even the kindest of people can crack and eventually shatter, usually leading to a terrible consequences for everyone surrounding them. Though some are just naturally cruel, whether they intend to be or not.” I say, my head falling back a little. If my eyes weren’t so bad I’d be staring at the sky, maybe watching clouds float by, observe their odd shapes.

That being said though, I’m hoping Gyn and Achlys aren’t stuck in Autumn or Night. Sure we had friends in both in the past, but that was a very long time ago and those ties have been cut. Briefly I wonder what it would take to rebuild those alliances. Probably a lot of bargaining, honestly.

“You sound like you speak from experience.” Tamlin says, sounding almost thoughtful.

“Yes, well, I’ve seen it many times before. The kindest souls being pushed to their very limits and yet still, being expected to act as sweet and unbothered. The cruel ones see them as nothing but stupid pawns to walk all over, and when the time comes when they snap..somehow everyone is surprised.” I hum, “there was one such case many years ago with a family, who had been causing us a lot of trouble, and we suspected it was entirely on purpose. We learned quickly they were abusive to their servants, one in particular.”

“I can still recall the marks on their body that couldn’t be as well hidden as the others. It was disgusting. And he was a sweetheart too. Achlys was concerned and warned the family that they’ll end up biting themselves in the ass. But Gyn and I saw it coming miles away. Gyn had a dagger made for them and offered them a job in our main palace. They said no, at first, deciding to stay loyal, hopeful…”

A silence follows, it feels somber and still. Even the breeze feels a little stiff and tense. We all know the ending.

“They endured half a year more..and then they snapped. It was at a banquet they were hosting. We were in attendance. Their eldest son threw a fit, the perfect image of a spoiled, narcissistic brat that thought he ruled the world. He took the brunt of it, and then…chaos erupted. He apparently carried the dagger with him everywhere, and he’d used it to slit the son’s throat.” I sigh, what a night that was. “In a matter of minutes he’d pulled us outside, given us a load of evidence proving their involvement with underground dealings that spelled out their plans of eliminating us and taking the title of ‘Ruling Family’. He’d also set fire to the manor. The family ended up demanding us for compensation, and we refused. Revealing the collected evidence and arresting them. Thankfully, he’s doing much better now.”

I smile a bit at the memory. Had it not been for that devilish family, he probably would’ve been much happier for longer. Not stuck in some hell with a loyalty for the demons surrounding them, hoping them to truly be secretly angels. The poor soul.

Tamlin hums at the story, Lucien stays quiet, mostly. I can hear his eye moving a bit from time to time. I wonder if his eye ever gets dry, probably not as it’s enchanted for one, and likely not made of flesh. I’m sure both my siblings would be fascinated.

“Where is he now?” Lucien asks after a moment, I’m guessing he’s checking that he’s not poor or homeless, something we’d never allow to happen. Homelessness is a death sentence in our Court, it’s basically a crime to allow anyone to sleep anywhere outside, not unless they were given strict permissions from us.

“He took up Gyn’s offer. Though he requested to work in her palace instead. She complied, so now he works and lives there. It’s a good ending to that story. I can’t imagine why anyone would abuse those who serve them, especially if you rely on them. They say there is strength in numbers and well…who will help you when they turn on you? Or when you fall? You’ve essentially made sure there’s no chance of anyone catching you. So what will you do when you need help?”

I hear nothing, so I imagine Lucien nodding at the information, satisfied with the outcome perhaps.

We return to the silence of before, continuing to snack on our food, drink our drinks. I listen for anything nearby. The wind stays gentle, there’s the odd bird singing a few notes, and sometimes a small critter running somewhere. If I’m not careful there is a good chance I’’ll relax too much and fall asleep.

“Well, it’s time I go back inside. I have a meeting in a half hour and plenty of paperwork to sort through.” Tamlin speaks up, standing up afterwards. He leaves, walking back towards the manor, Lucien sighing a little.

“I suppose lunch is over then..ugh back to dreadful work then. Do you want to come inside with me, Lyphon? I’ll have the servants gather everything.”

I shake my head.

“No, I’ll stay here a while longer. Thank you though.”

Lucien stays quiet for a moment before turning and heading back to the manor, leaving me to my lonesome.

Gyn

I’m relying heavily on muscle memory to get me through this. I haven’t had to fight or use a weapon against someone in a very long time, so actually training again is…interesting. At some points I briefly get excited when I recognize the preparation of a move from my opponent or when I guess their next move correctly. But those moments aren’t very common and honestly they feel more like deja vu than getting a question right on a quiz.

Across from me Tarquin is braced and ready for any possible oncoming attacks on my end, not that any are coming, I’ve sort of forced myself into defensive to the point I’m not sure I’d ever let myself try anything offensive for fear of making a fool of myself. Thank the cauldron Tarquin doesn’t seem to mind though.

We circle each other. While I eye him warily he simply looks at me with amusement. I suspect we both think a child could fight better than I am. Sighing I go back into a defensive stance, this is starting to tire me out more than yesterday.

“You’re not even going to try to attack me once?” Tarquin teases, making me scowl. By the gods this makes me think of Achlys again. We’d both mock and tease each other when training together, pissing each other off endlessly.

“Maybe some other time Tarquin, besides, didn’t you say you wanted to practice some offensive moves?”

He chuckles, shaking his head.

“Yes, well, that was with the hope and assumption that you wouldn’t make me overuse every move I’ve learned. Not once have you attacked me. Since when have you ever been strictly on the defensive?”

“Today. I haven’t had a reason to fight recently, so this feels abnormal to me right now.”

He raises a brow, looking rather amused by something.

“And you think I’ll go easily on you because of that?”

I scowl, an expression that’s probably quite common for me.

“Not at all.”

Tarquin smirks, going in for another jump attack. One arm keeps his midsection protected, the other raised with a sword in hand. I’m already on the edge of the rink, so I angle my body more leftwards and back up, moving along the edge. If he jumps me or hits me hard enough I’ll definitely loose..though right now that isn’t sounding too bad. I’m getting pretty worn out, my breathing is already a little strained and my movements are slowing down, even if by a little, my reaction time is slower too, and I’m sure by now he’s picked up on that. Though he hasn’t bothered to capitalize on it..for some reason.

The attack is followed by a few more, smaller and more controlled ones, ones that require less energy but are still effective, especially when used correctly. His movements are swift, and I actively have to put more effort and energy into dodging than before, a few strikes nearly hit.

Tarquin makes one last move, light glinting off the steel as it narrowly misses the bridge of my nose, instead severing a stray hair halfway. The thin strand falls, but rather than landing on the sandy floor of our little sparring arena, Tarquin catches it, pinching it between two fingers. His smirk grows as he holds it up for us both to see.

“You’re getting slow.”

Sighing, I can only nod. The arm carrying my own sparring sword drops, the blade feels heavy in my hands and I’m all to aware of the sweat dripping down my neck, back, and sides.

“Yes, well, I’m getting tired.” Breathing and speaking are two things I cannot do simultaneously, right now at least. “Honestly, I’m not sure I can even continue after this..goodness, I yield. If you need me-”

“You do not yield.”

“Excuse you?”

He chuckles seeing my expression. But repeats what he said nonetheless.

“You. Do not. Yield.”

I raise a brow, though my annoyance still clear. Huffing I take a step back, or try to. It would be enough for me to technically lose. But Tarquin isn’t having any of it. He grabs my wrist, pulling me towards him and backing up into we’re both in the center of the ring, inches apart. I’m not enjoying the victorious look on his face.

“You are not allowed to yield or leave this ring until you’ve attacked me. And no ‘low effort’ attacks either, I want you to treat me like an actual opponent. Fight me like you would on the battlefield.”

Only then does he back up, going into a defensive stance. I narrow my eyes this time, more from concern and warning.

“I’d really rather not, Tarquin.’

“Just try.”

Exasperated and getting pretty foul mooded, I back up. He looks confused for a moment before I charge, running at full speed with my sword pointed right at his chest. He raises his arms higher, twisting his sword to use it as a sort of shield. He moves forward too, planning to take the sword head on, but I move left at the last second, raising the sword to strike him in the head, and then kick him in the knee instead.

He grunts as he almost kneels. Swiftly I kick at his nose, then at his chest, both attempted strikes are blocked by one arm, the other being used to raise his sword and aim a strike. He stabs at my chest, I barely raise my own sword fast enough to block that. I jump back, giving us both space as he stands to his full height and starts to approach, smiling.

It’s his usual smile, the one that’s soft and in any other context would make me think of calming waves and shining pearls. But right now it just puts me more on edge. I wonder if he smiles at his enemies like this before killing them.

Huffing slightly I run at him full speed, keeping my sword and body lowered. At the last second I dodge to the side, spinning just enough to get behind him and kick the back of one of his knees before pressing the sword against his throat, not enough to do any real damage, of course.

He grunts as he lands, using a hand to keep the sword’s edge away from his throat. He must not have been very affected by the attack however, since he’s quick to roll forward, taking me with him. I think I feel my spine crack a few times. I groan as we stop with him and planting of his body weight laying atop of me, specifically my chest. Now I’m taking in even less air. I’ll probably pass out in a minute.

Hissing I put more effort into moving the sword back towards his neck. My arm shakes as he pushes back. While he’s a bit more distracted I raise my legs, high enough to wrap them firmly around his diaphragm, before squeezing like a boa constrictor. This might not work out well for me though. I wouldn’t be surprised if he can hold his breath longer or be able to last longer without oxygen than the average fae.

He almost tenses up immediately. One hand works on keeping the sword away from his throat, the other works at untangling my legs or at least loosening them enough that he won’t have to fight for air every breath. He’s not giving up fast enough though, so I reach out with my free hand and place opposite his hand on the sword. Twisting the sword in my other hand, I make sure it’s flat against both our palms. Despite wheezing a little, Tarquin manages to chuckle slightly.

“How are you supposed to slit my throat with the sharp edge facing away from me?”

A strangled laugh escapes me, I sound a bit exasperated, desperate too.

“If I get it close enough, strangling you will all be too easy. All I need to do is angle it properly between your neck and jaw.”

He barks a laugh, the sound startling me and I’m temporarily unsure of how to react. Is he ok? Is he pushing himself too far? Do I need to do something? He stops before I can check for any health problems though.

“You nasty, nasty girl.”

“You’re the one who told me to fight like you were my enemy. I don’t necessarily need a quick victory, I just need to win..or lose. Whichever will make you let me leave faster.”

He grunts as I pull the sword closer to his throat, cursing the hand trying to remove my legs switches between hitting my side with the hilt of his sword and with as much force as he can use at the moment, and trying to push the sword away. Each strike to my side feels like fireworks of pain exploding and worsening with each strike. He doesn’t even need to hit me anymore for my whole side to ache and throb, but it’s worse at the main strike point, which would be my bottom rib.

With a rough gasp I tightening my legs around him as much as I can, both legs shaking as I struggle to keep squeezing his diaphragm. It’s paying off though. His breathing has become short, quick gasps that I know aren’t getting him much air. Close, so close to victory. Until I’m not.

His one arm raises again, poised and ready to strike.

“No-”

Pain explodes in my entire side as the hilt of his sword strikes the bottom bone again. I feel a crack, probably the rib fracturing. Lovely. Unfortunately I falter, one hand slipping briefly from the sword, giving him enough time and strength to rip the sword from my hands and toss to the other side of the arena. He hits my fracturing rib again, I hiss, agony and lack of energy causing my legs to loosen, practically flopping to the side as Tarquin quickly unwraps my legs.

I barely notice him turning until it’s too late. Instantly air is whisked from my lungs and I try to inhale, only to meet the resistance that is his weight pressed onto my diaphragm through his knee. The point of his sword presses against the middle of my throat.

Oh if Great Great Grandfather could see me now..I would surely never be able to return home until I floored him in the first 10 seconds. I would be quite the disappointment. I might’ve had an excuse as a child. But not now. I’m fully grown and I’ve already been trained. To think Ulysse was so successful I can barely fight now. Cauldron I might just cry myself to sleep tonight. Coming from a family who takes pride in their strength and ability to defeat others…of course I feel like a weakling now. A failure almost.

Anger boils up inside at the thought. After everything I’ve had to go through to prove myself, to get a peaceful, quiet living, this is what I’ve become? It was really this easy? To defeat me, weaken me, make me give up?

I basically snarl like an animal as a grab a fistful of sand and throw right as his eyes. I don’t give him time to process as he raises a hand to block the sand, possibly get some out of his eyes. I punch him in the throat, then raise a leg to kick him in the crotch before using that leg to shove him away. As he lands, wiping the sand from his eyes, I stand up, marching over to my sword and picking it up. When I turn he’s still keeled over, coughing though. I have to make this quick. It seems we both are going till the other taps out, so I’ll have to force him to. Pressing a blade to his head won’t do that, but almost slitting his throat probably will.

Before he can get up, I stand over him and put the blade in the curve between his jaw and his neck, before carefully pulling up. I don’t actually want to hurt him, but I need him to give up. He almost curses, scrambling to push the blade away, but I don’t let him move it. He’s trying hard not to cough, but it’s clear he’s about to and if he does blood will likely spill..well maybe, I’m not entirely sure how sharp these swords are. Huffing he hits my leg three times.

Sighing with a bit of relief I move the sword away, tossing it to the other side near the stands that hold other practice blades. Moving a few feet away I sit down on some of the steps, wincing as my side throbs again and the pain spasms when I cough a little. Tarquin practically has a coughing fit for a minute, but he’s okay otherwise, thankfully. When that’s done he stands up, takes a few deep breaths, and turns to me.

“Congrats.”

Quietly he walks over, offering a hand. I take it, almost distracted by the contrasting feel of soft yet calloused. He pulls me up into a standing position.

“Ah well, thank you. Though I’m certain you did more damage than me. Much more. So good job for that.”

He frowns at that, eyes instantly going to my side. One hand reaches, about to touch the growing red patch, but I grab his wrist before it can.

“Please don’t. My rib was fractured. I know you’re gentle, but that will still hurt.”

Concern colours his eyes as they flick back up to meet mine.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize- let me take you to the healers.”

He’s quick, I’ll give him that. I can’t form a response fast enough before he’s slipping the hand hovering above my side into my own hand, tugging me towards the exit.

“No- it’s fine, Tarquin. I’ll be fine. Just let me rest and I’ll look after it once I’m more energized.”

Stubbornly though, he shakes his head, pulling me along.

“No. We’re going to the healers. I won’t risk you accidentally harming yourself further by using this chance to practice your abilities more. I trust you know what you’re doing, but I’d rather have you healed immediately than wait for you to do it yourself.”

Sighing I increase my pace to match his, following him as he expertly moves from hallway to hallway in search of the healers wing. Or just healers. I’m assuming there’s a mini-hospital in the castle, but I could be mistaken.

We both fall into a comfortable silence. Him, determined to find a healer and searching. Me, lost in thought as I stare out any windows at the vast sea. The silence is softly broken though when Tarquin asks a question.

“What was that, back there? Do you hate losing?”

I’m quiet for a moment, thinking.

“No..not quite, at least. I- I think it was more just, in my family, strength is something that we were raised to put a lot of pride in. Me and my siblings, we were all raised with the ideal that we couldn’t afford to lose, not even once.”

“Couldn’t afford to lose..what do you mean by that?”

“I suppose a simple way of saying it is that by my family’s standards, loosing means you’re weak. And in a family that values strength highly..well my Great Great Grandfather has a set of standards that, if not met, mean he’ll make you an outcast or just straight up disown you.” I wince at a few memories that pop up. “The Mortis name carries a lot of protection at home..if you’re apart of the family or at least respected, you’re well protected and regular or weaker creatures won’t attack you, you won’t really be challenged. But otherwise..you’re open game.”

Tarquin hums, nodding slightly.

“I see, well. I think it’s a bit foolish to place all your seashells in one basket, if strength is the only thing your family values..then they’re blinding themselves to many other wonderful things, and building up themselves for failure. Or at the very least, a very miserable family. You didn’t need to beat me for me to know that you’re strong, Gyn.”

His words make me smile, the smile growing into a giggle as I grin at him.

“Thank you, for that. I’m sure it could take me a while to fully agree, but I’m at least aware that my Great Great Grandfather should try using more baskets.”

He chuckles, smiling back. We walk for a few more minutes before we arrive at a door labeled ‘Medical’. He knocks, the door swinging open immediately. A fae woman looks between the two of us, then at my side and motions for us to come inside.

Tarquin leads the way until the woman motions for me to sit on a bed. I seat myself on the edge, and she begins her examination.

“Is your side the only place of concern or are there any other injuries I should be made aware of?”

“Only my side, I’m fine otherwise. My rib is fractured, I don’t know how severely though.”

“I see, very well.”

The woman grabs a clipboard, scribbles a few things down before reaching and, quite gently, brushing her fingers across my side. I grit my teeth as fire follows the light touch, exhaling slowly to stop myself from screaming or cursing too much. Both Tarquin and the healer notice the reaction, of course. And the few tears that threaten to spill. Tarquin gives my hand a squeeze, muttering an apology. I just give him a light squeeze back.

“Well, I’m not sure what the cause of this injury was, but your rib is a hair away from being broken. It’s an easy fix, thankfully. Though I will need to touch you to heal you..”

Tarquin’s eyes widen at her statement. I almost chuckle, but instead respond before he can.

“That’s fine, just get it done with, please.”

The healer nods, nimbly she works at healing me. I hiss at the pain, but it lightens up fairly quickly. It only takes her a few moments to heal my side completely.

“There we are. Everything is fine now, you’re good to go.”

I nod, hopping off the bed.

“Thank you, do I need to pay you?-”

“No, I’m a healer that works under the palace, so I have no fees for anyone I heal. I simply heal anyone brought here and get paid at the end of the week.”

“I see. Well thank you.”

She nods, turning and taking her clipboard with her, heading into an office area. I’m about to say goodbye and head to my room, but the guilt ridden expression on Tarquin’s face stops me.

“Are you alright-”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that I had nearly broken your rib. Had I known that would happen I probably would’ve just let you go and rest. I probably should have in the first place. I’m-”

“It’s fine Tarquin. You did nothing wrong. You fought me fairly and I just happened to be injured. This isn’t the worst I’ve ever experienced either, so please don’t let this weigh heavily on you. I appreciate that you didn’t bother going easy on me..at least I don’t think you did. I would find it quite insulting if you decided to baby me after insisting I stay to fight.”

He seems slightly less upset, but still feeling guilty. He nods, acting a bit like that was all I needed to say to convince him. Sighing I shake my head. He almost turns to leave, but this time I stop him, wrapping my arms around him in a hug.

He tenses for a moment, but he returns the hug.

“I’m okay, Tarquin. It’s okay. I strangled you for cauldron’s sake. I should be apologizing to you instead. So please don’t be upset because I got hurt. So did you.”

He sighs, conceding.

“Alright. Fine. I’ll try to…forgive myself I suppose.”

“Thank you, are you busy today?”

“No..I only have one meeting today, thankfully. And that’s just before dinner.”

“Good. Let’s go on a walk. I know you’ll still feel bad or down for a little while, so let’s go on a walk. Clear some of the air. You usually feel better after walks or visits to the beach, right?”

He smiles a little, nodding, letting me push him out of the healers room.

Achlys

The High Lord’s office reminds me of what was my Father’s. A simple yet intricately carved door opening to a spacious area meant for greeting or waiting with two couches facing each other with comfortable and soft pillows placed in the corner between cushion and arm. Then a few small steps that lead into a sort of study area. Both walls lined with bookshelves, two long tables placed two feet away with several cushioned chairs placed around them. Papers, books, quills, and ink pots line the tables too. And then there a few more small steps, leading up to where the High Lord sits, waiting or writing and signing away behind a fancy or elaborate desk that likely has a few hidden compartments for secret or important documents.

I suspect that an important part of the design is intimidation and condescension. I can remember a few times where the long walk from the door to the desk was nerve wracking, all the while my Father wouldn’t even spare me a glance, and I hated how it felt like he was superior and above me, that I wasn’t worth his time, but those rotten documents always were. Just like how he tried to make my baby sister the same, making her sign dozens of practice sheets everyday since she turned 12, and scolding her when she tried to get her work done faster, claiming she wasn’t even reading the pages, that she was making herself to become a poor High Lady.

I work to quiet down the building anger. Snapping at a High Lord has never really done me any favours. And it’s not even like Eris is the one who’s made my sister slave away at a desk for hours on end.

Sighing, I step into the High Lord’s office. It’s warm, probably from the fireplace near his desk that burns away.

Eris looks up from the pages in front of him, placing his quill down. He beckons me forward, waiting patiently while I walk forward. It takes a moment for me to finally reach the desk and sit down in one of the seats placed in front of the desk.

His amber eyes track me the whole way, following me like a predator would when they’re not sure whether they’re stalking prey or another predator. He doesn’t appear tense, but he’s also not relaxed in any sort of way. I’m sure I am only another dangerous problem that has made itself known.

We both stay quiet for a moment, waiting to see if the other will speak first all while staring each other down in silent scrutiny. I decide I’ll be the first to speak.

“You called, High Lord?”

The barest hint of frown. The barest hint of amusement.

“You’ve made me curious. Your family has always brought me fascination, and it is easy to recognize that your siblings would be incredibly helpful to me, and you would be more comfortable if you were all here.”

I don’t bother hiding the disgusted frown that grows on my face. Sure, it would be nicer if we were all together again, but it would be even better if we were together away from this place, outside of the hellish Autumn Court.

“We won’t be your slaves, High Lord. Nor will we ever be. No Mortis ever bows before anyone else. While a reunion would be nice, don’t expect my siblings servitude as a returning favour.”

He chuckles quietly.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. But you’re smart, and something tells me that you already have a few guesses as to where your siblings have been placed.” He hums, “I’m going to assume you know you have nothing in Prythian. You can threaten me all you like, but we both know for the time being they are nothing but empty, dangerous words. So let me extend a hand. You tell me about your sister and brother, and in return I will send letters to the High Lords on your behalf. Does that seem fair.”

The disgust melts into a suspicion that does well to disguise itself. I can feel the muscles in my face relax away back into the neutral mask every High Sovereign’s child has become intimately familiar with. My gut tightens though, a sense of unease washing over me like a filthy water that makes you itch to bathe.

“That’s..quite generous of you. Why make such an offer? It seems like you have quite the disadvantage in this deal. Only receiving information and finding my siblings for me in return? I have no doubts you have something else planned. Something that requires that information.”

“Not at all.” He shrugs, “I’m merely curious about your family.”

He smirks, glad I haven’t seen the full picture yet.

“But I’m also playing the long game here. In the end that information can play key roles for me in getting what I want, and I’ll have the satisfaction of having more information as the middle man or messenger. You will never know if I have more information on your siblings, their conditions, and their whereabouts and you’ll have to trust that I’ll share that info with you when I receive it. But, if you decide that you won’t take the deal, you’ll need to collect the information yourself and I’ll willing to bet that you’d rather take the quicker route and find them faster.”

This is a familiar feeling to that of being locked in a chess match against my cousin, Melchor. He’s intelligent in a way that he can trick you into making moves that only benefit him all while making you think it was the better move. Subconscious trickery. But Eris has revealed some of his hand. Nothing too important of course, he’s only given me a slight hint at his intentions and personality in the wad of information I could’ve guessed on my own. It almost feels like a battle of wits.

“Let’s say I do take the deal. Realistically, there isn’t any guarantee that the High Lords will respond in the first place, nor is there any real guarantee that they will respond truthfully. If they’re smart, they, like you, will know or realize how much of an asset my siblings are. And if they’re as scheming and cunning as when we were younger, we’ll be nothing but bargaining pieces for them.”

“That is, assuming, that all our High Lords are in fact the cunning, cruel creatures that made the High Lords when you were younger. Like my Great Great Great Grandfather, Eldmar.”

I almost shudder at the name. I remember Eldmar, quite well actually. He left quite the impression. He had a regal and authoritative presence and he was quite a clever man. You never knew what he was thinking, and he was always able to control any conversation or negotiation he was a part of, always in his favour of course. He was scary in how strategic he was. It was always odd, being around him. I recognized that I was the more powerful one, and yet I genuinely felt like I was outclassed when I was near him, that I was the weaker one.

“And are they? Like their ancestors? Or are have things changed that much already?”

His eyes narrow slightly, an amused twinkle in his eyes. They haven’t changed that much at all then.

“Some..are different than what you might expect. But I suspect that is because of different circumstances. Most aren’t that much different though, so I can’t say your suspicion is miss placed. How about you just tell me where you suspect they are, and I’ll tell you what their chances are with that Court’s particular High Lord. And I’ll still send letters.”

“Or you could just tell me about the different High Lords that rule today.”

“No. Either you tell me your suspicions and about your siblings, or I let you go about your own research. And I won’t provide you any aid in that case.”

I roll my eyes, but consider the different pros and cons. He’s only asking for information, information he plans to use later on for his own goals. Though his terminology was vague enough where if I agree, I’ll be saying I’ll give any information on my siblings that he requests. But..he’ll also contact other Courts and try to find my siblings. If I went out on my own and went searching for my own answers, I would have a much harder time. I have nothing tying my to Prythian, so getting a job would be difficult or earning any money. I could be perceived as a threat and treated as such if I ever approached any High Lord. I have nothing. But he has something and is offering some of his resources. Groaning I make my choice.

“Fine. Our cousin hated us dearly and I’m going assume placed in locations that played on some of our biggest fears. I hate caves and my prison was placed inside one. My sister is terrified of deep waters, so he’s likely placed her prison somewhere with lots of deep water. Likely the Summer Court. Lyphon hates being buried alive, so somewhere where it wouldn’t be difficult to move a lot of dirt. My best guesses are Spring, Day, and Dawn.”

Eris considers the information, nodding slowly before moving his papers aside and grabbing blank pages and placing them in front of himself.

“I’ll send a letter to Summer. And one to Spring as a starter. We’ll wait for the replies and proceed from there.”

The sound of a quill writing away fills in the silence. I read each word and line as they’re written, following without problem. Reading upside down is something I learned when I was still young. It’s quite handy.

---

High Lord Tarquin,

There isn’t a chance that you have a female by the name of Gyn Mortis under your care at the moment, is there? Or a large, strange prison somewhere deep in the waters that surround your Court? Recently I’ve found one such prison in my Court, it’s prisoner making me quite curious. I wish to find his two other siblings that have also been imprisoned. He has informed me that he suspects his sister resides in your Court at the moment. Should she ask which brother is in my Court, simply answer her elder brother. Do lend a helping hand and bring this family back together?

—High Lord Eris

---

High Lord Tamlin,

How does Spring fare? Recently a strange prison was found in Autumn and the prison had made me quite curious. It is in my interests to help in finding his two other siblings. He has informed me that he suspects his younger brother, Lyphon, could be potentially be found in your Court. Should you find or have found him, please contact me.

—High Lord Eris

---

Once the letters are written and sealed, ready to be sent, he places aside for later, returning his attention to me.

“So then, tell me about your family. Your sister and brother, preferably.”

“What exactly do you want to know? Anything?”

He smiles softly, the smile disappearing quickly.

“Anything. Indulge my curiosity.”

“If you’re really so desperate. Tell me what you already know so I don’t waste either of our time.”

He rolls his eyes, sitting back in his chair while he toys with a quill, spinning it between his fingers as a drop of ink threatens to spill.

“My my, so spoiled and demanding. I don’t know intimate details, only history and impressions about someone based on the writings of the author. I’ve studied the various wars your family was apart of. I’ve gone through all the records my family has about anything that involved your family or Court.”

“And what have you learned about us? You’re smart, I’m sure you’ve already read between the lines.”

A small, prideful smirk grows on his face. He’s glad someone’s finally noticed, I’m sure. Eager to brag or maybe he’s just glad someone finally hasn’t underestimated him. If there is one thing I’ve learned about Autumn, never underestimate a Vanserra, especially ones that parade themselves as weaker or uninterested. Not that Eris checks those boxes, but still. New High Lords are always underestimated and yet to earn the respect of their fathers or forefathers. An unfortunate thing, but it comes with the presumed lack of experience. Observation and experience can be two very different things at times.

“Your family seems oddly peaceful for one that presents itself as violent and threatening. I’ll guess your patriarch is quite selective in what your family gets themselves involved in. All things considered he might even have some morals.”

I snort at the comment. Oh if only he knew or met our oh so wonderful Great Great Grandfather.

“He’s never had morals. He does things when he gets bored or because he gets irritated. He doesn’t do things for ‘good’. Gyn and Lyphon have morals, maybe not as many as some, but more than most in my family.” I don’t stop my snicker, “take a war over freeing slaves. The Knight would fight to stop the annoyance of begging for help and freedom. It could go either way, he would slaughter for either side. Gyn would fight for their freedom. I would simply offer to kill them all, free them that way. And well..Lyphon would probably use everyone’s bodies to help him fight.”

I laugh, quite loudly actually, but it’s true. Lyphon never spared a corpse, if it was available and not too badly damaged it could help him.

“Though, he would likely follow Gyn, he’s like a sheep or a puppy in that case. He looks to her for help and guidance at times. They always connected well, and Gyn was determined to be a good older sister, make life less miserable.”

Eris quirks a brow but hums, spinning the quill the opposite direction now.

“Interesting. I was under the impression that your family had a strict hierarchy, that you all looked to and obeyed your Great Great Grandfather.”

There’s a dark chuckle from me.

“Not necessarily. Pops rarely appears and even more rarely reclaims the control he’s generously given to some of his descendants. There is, I suppose, an hierarchy of sorts. It’s mostly based on power and the relations we have to The Knight. For a while now Gyn and I were considered 2nd in commands, we didn’t rule the Court, naturally. But we were given respect and power for being successful results of selective breeding and proving to be quite useful.

“I’m liked for my obedience because I’ve never had a problem with the orders given. Gyn, on the other hand, can be too timid to speak up against our Great Great Grandfather. So she’s subtle in the ways she defies him. Fighting in wars, but sparing those who wish for peace, and offering them a home, though in a different form. But Pops loves Gyn, so he never punished her. In fact he took interest and praised her for her knowledge in biology and her strength. That being said, we are family you know, not sheep. We only obey as often as we do because we trust Pops’ judgement. He’s never been wrong.”

Eris narrows his eyes slightly, a look of consideration and realization on his face.

“You sound like you trust each other a lot…not quite something I’ve heard of from a High Lord’s family. Usually, from my experience, most High Lord’s and their families aren’t usually on good terms with each other. But it sounds like you might just have..a decent family.”

I frown slightly at that. It’s true, most High Lord’s families I’ve met could be compared more to a den of wolves that have been starved a few days. Or snakes. Something nasty that’s thirsty for blood, rich with envy, and hungry for power that they may or may not use correctly. That being said, my family isn’t all that much better.

“I’m not sure I can agree with you, on that point. We may trust each other for certain things, but we’re as ugly as the rest. Look at me and my siblings. Ripped from our beds by a traitorous cousin and shoved into metal boxes that leeches power from you until you’ve been freed before being tossed into places where he hopes we won’t be found. There is no shortage of hatred, fear, and blood in our family.”

The confession shouldn’t give away too much information, and I don’t believe it can really be used against us. It might sound like it could be easy to sway someone in our family into betraying and killing off family members or imprisoning them. But Pops is quite..meticulous in his control of the family and its members.

An entire tradition has been made out of him rooting out anyone he finds don’t meet his standards. His word is law in the family and if he judges you to be worthless in the family, then you’ll be removed. Countless cousins, aunts, uncles all killed or banished because they’re too weak or useless. Our family is more comparable to a unit in the army than a proper family, I think. Some of us are close, but usually it’s a relationship and bond built up over the years, not something you feel or recognize naturally. Sometimes it just feels like we’re dolls in a doll house, and Pops is the master that controls us.

The door of the office opens and we both turn to see who’s entered. It’s a servant, carrying a silver tray with a tea pot, two tea cups, and some small dishes and utensils for anything we might want to add.

Eris gestures for the servant to approach. They’re quick and quiet as they approach and place the tray on the desk between us where no papers are. They’re just as quick to leave. Reaching forwards Eris takes one of the cups, pouring himself a drink.

“Feel free to refresh yourself with a drink. I don’t imagine this conversation will be over for a little while..”

I hum, reaching forwards to pour myself a drink.

“Maybe not.”

~~~

Thank you for reading and for your patience. Writer's block sucks. Enjoy your day/night.

~~~

Btw, this fanfic is available on Quotev and AO3.

A Court of Shackles and Glass

Chapter Three

Word Count : 7k

Warning(s) : Descriptions of corpses, blood, and possible gore/violence.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter (coming soon..)

Lyphon

There was something to be admired about my siblings and their strength. I could sense them from a mile or miles away when we were all at our height of power, though none of us really knew it. I’m sure even now if they entered the Court there would be some slight change, some shift and a little more silence from the wildlife.

Achlys and Gyn truly were ‘The Knight’s Children’. I’d barely been a child when there had been a massive war between several Courts and some far off kingdom. It was a mix of who was against who and the alliances are a little foggy in my mind, but there was one thing that truly stuck out.

One of the Courts managed to form an alliances with our Court and rather than sending out large armies to crush our enemies like usual, Great Great Grandfather had appeared to personally order Achlys and Gyn out into the heart of the battle. He had some sick sort of humour and aura when he arrived. I nearly threw up and passed out, I was terrified for both of them. But our Great Great Grandfather only laughed at my reaction and winnowed us to watch from above. He wasn’t surprised by what happen, but everyone else was. Achlys crushed opponents using their own armour, killed them using their own weapons. He turned every metal thing they had on them against them. And when he seemed to get bored, he either buried soldiers alive or crushed them with boulders made of crystal. Meanwhile Gyn flooded the field with our enemies blood and turned the rest into trees and flowers. That battle had finished within 10 minutes, maybe less. It was horrific.

And then we all went home like nothing happened. Well, Great Great Grandfather challenge me to become as powerful as them, to become their equal. I never fully reached their power, but I came close enough that I was rewarded for my efforts.

For ages and ages I practiced and trained out of pure terror and drive. I didn’t want to disappoint my Great Great Grandfather who clearly saw something in me. But I also wanted respect from my older siblings. So for centuries I perfected my skills and powers, pushing myself to the limit until I couldn’t anymore. And then, when another war came and we were summond by our allies, I was thrust into the fighting too. I never disappointed any of them that day, Gyn and Achlys almost seemed to see me a little differently too, but they kept their looks subtle and their thoughts silent.

And now..I’ll have to restart the entire process. I’m stuck in the Spring Court until I’m strong enough to winnow home again, until I can at least make myself somewhat useful to my family again. I can’t go home completely weak and useless, Great Great Grandfather wouldn’t allow it. He might have a sliver of sympathy or empathy for us, but if we’re too weak in his eyes, we’re not family. We’re something to either dispose of or forget.

Sighing I try to focus on something else, anything else. All these thoughts of home and our Great Great Grandfather are making me anxious, dreading something that isn’t even set in stone. Hissing slightly I will the thoughts from my head, eagerly breathing in the smell of the unditsturbed earth around me.

I frown slightly at the sight of breaking headstones, all barely readable with moss covering many they’ve been so forgotten. I’m aware that this cemetary is abandoned, I asked for one that was abandoned specifically, but it doesn’t stop the disgust and disappointment from seeping into my mouth like a foul poison. Was no one truly here to take care of this graveyard?

Enough, enough. I roll my neck, wincing when loud pops fill the air as I cloes my eyes. Now is not the time to be nitpicky. I have to concentrate and focus purely on my task. I’d love to rush ahead and attempt to resurrect everyone here, but that would leave me so exhausted I wouldn’t be able to move, leaving an entire field of half living creatures to wander and terrorize everything. And High Lord Tamlin wouldn’t be pleased. So I focus on one single soul, one deceased. The grave before me.

Knowledge of names and personal history can be helpful, but it’s not really that neccessary. Truly, all you ever need to do is find their soul, follow that invisible, string from corpse to soul. It’s fascinating, following the string. Some have many strings attached to them from all their different lives, some only have the one. Mates will always have a tether between them, connecting both souls for all eternity. If left for enough time, the string will be weathered, a little harder to follow, but still connected. There have been multiple times though where I attempted to resurecct someone, only to have their new body appear before me, questioning why I summoned them while they were alive and living. Strings always look the same, they never tell you if someone has moved onto their next life or not, so I’ve learned to be cautious, look for any signs of life outside the soul.

Stretching a hand out and pressing it to the ground, I search for the string, reaching subconciously for that small, invisible line tying bones to soul. It’s closer than I realize. The body must be in a shallow grave of some sort, not buried six feet below, maybe half of that. Carefully I follow the string, tugging and pulling softly until I can feel the soft ground below shift. Dirt is moved and pushed away until the pale, stained ivory bones and rotted flesh of a hand and arm push past into the open air.

More dirt is pushed away until the torso of the living corpse can sit upright. An annoyed scowl is present on the man’s face, though the skin around his face is missing a few chunks, showing off dirt stained and holey parts of his skull. His hair is on the longer and more light brown side while his eyes are a dark brown. He’s quick to glare at me, though I ignore the look completely, too focused on my victory to care.

I resurrected a whole human, fully. Quietly I stand up, moving to the next grave beside him, earning me a scoff. I move some dirt away, digging a little with my hands until I’ve dug around two feet. Shutting my eyes again and pressing a hand to the cool dirt, searching and finding the string practically immediately. This time the corpse of a woman sits up, looking around confused and grimacing at the sight of the decomposing man beside her. She avoids looking down though, refusing to see the state of her own body.

I almost giggle giddily as I repeat the process another two times. Two men and two women watching me with mixed emotions as I pant quietly. I’m reaching my limits, but four is a good number. Shakily I reach for a fifth grave. I’m becoming out of breath and the smell of death and dirt and insects and rot and mold will not leave my nose. It probably won’t for several hours. Coughing I snatch at the string, yanking it with a little too much eagerness. Unsurprisingly a hand shoots out, gripping my neck with a surprising amount of strength for a dead man. My lungs instantly loose access to air, though the smell still preasent and nearly heavy in my lungs. My limbs feel like lead, slack at my sides, though still warm from bloodflow. A slow, thumping headache creeps in after a moment. My head feeling as if burning hammers are playing drums in my head. The other bodies watch nervously, as though wondering if my death would free them or trap them eternally. Clicking my tongue I stare right back, managing to open my mouth and rasp out a quiet, ‘help me’.

One of the woman stands, wobbling over on weak, half eaten legs. Her hands prying open the wretched hand around my throat. I cough as air fills my lungs again, I nearly double over. Most of the headache recedes and I watch the arm flail around, swatting and clawing at the air. The woman retreated back to her grave, content to lie down and avoid looking over here. It would seem the only thing alive for this grave is the arm, everything else is still dead. So then 4 corpses and an arm. A good start.

With a grunt I wave my hand, silently commanding them to bury themselves again. I smile softly when the command is successful. I still had enough to do a mental command as well then. Leaning back and resting my head on a headstone, I snap my fingers, all the strings being pulled taught again as the souls rejoined the afterlife, whatever it is.

Gyn

The uniqueness of my family and our abilities has never been lost on me. I’ve always been aware of how different we are compared to everyone else. It’s not necessarily bad, but it’s noticable and not many perceive it as good.

I’ve been told before that none of us felt..like regular High Fae, and to be fair, we’re not. Our lineage and family tree is more mixed than most and in the way that I suspect some were convinced into making deals for power sakes. The goals of my Great Great Grandfather always speak for themselves, clear through the silence.

While there are plenty of differences for others to focus on, many have stuck to prescense and powers. From all my years of being alive I’ve yet to meet another creature with our powers. The first word ever used to describe our powers has always been ‘gorey’. It’s a fair assessment, especially for me. I’m the third in my family to specialize in the manipulation of cells. Not just blood or bones specifically, but cells, the very thing keep so many of us alive and moving and thinking. The complexity of cells is fascinating to me, so at least I wasn’t really bored when studying biology. And as helpful as it can be, being used to create new life or healing many, many people, the fact that it can be so terrifyingly deadly is always what’s focused on.

I’m not sure if it’s my natural expression, or my prescense even, that makes people think, convinces people, that I fully wish to kill and harm everything around me, and I will if I want to. I never really had the intention or the wish to slaughter everyone, even if the chance presents itself. Even in wars I was hesitant, and whenever I was given the opportunity I would ask my enemies if they truly wanted to fight me and die or live a more peaceful, quiet life. Everyone around me disapproved of what I was doing, they scoffed and would mock me. Achlys would demand what the hell I was doing, he never too far and mocked me or called me horrible names since he knew that I wouldn’t be able to handle it coming from him. But I could see it in his eyes, the ugly envy that made him silently demand why he couldn’t be given such a destructive gift, why I was ‘wasting’ it. And I never fully answered his questions, until he snapped and yelled at me. I was stuck staring at the floor, wishing I would just cry like a normal person. And I could say was :

“Why can’t I try to save just a sliver of people? Why can’t I try to give some happiness and peace to souls who never wanted their lives thrown away like the garbage their treated as? Did you even bother pause and look at the world around you, in the heat of everything?

”You never notice their fear, how their hearts pound and their breathing quickens as we approach. For fuck’s sakes Achlys, we’re living death to them! We embody reapers coming to tear out their souls and laugh as we break their bodies. Is it really so bad that I stop and give a choice to some. How many in my garden are actually miserable, how many want to leave. Tell me that. And tell me when have I ever trapped anyone in my garden, refused to let them leave. Believe it or not, I hate their fear.”

Achlys never asked after that..he must have really listened since during any war or battle he always brought me a small group of soldiers afterwards, all brave enough to have some faith in us. I’m definitely glad that my brother is so understanding, I’d probably be hopeless without him.

Anyways. Lyphon’s powers aren’t what I would call ‘gorey’. Yes, he raises the dead, but what do expect from a corpse? Unless they’ve died yesterday, it’s not going to be a pretty sight. Achlys’s powers aren’t gorey either, he works with metals, earth, and stone. It’s more how we all choose to use these powers. Course if we’re fighting someone or an army a lot of blood with spill. The blood will stain our hands red over and over again until our skin matches the colour of the blood beneath. But that’s the way it’s always been, and I doubt it will change.

Sighing through my nose I roll my neck and open my eyes. My room is a very comfortable, wonderful room and a place I’d love to practice in. However, I don’t want to scare any servant checking in on me. Nor do I want Tarquin to watch me practice in case he becomes worried or looses some trust in me to paranoia. Not that I think he would ever loose trust in me because of this power, it’s more I want to be better prepared for when I do tell him. I can’t try to demonstrate something and let it go horribly wrong, unable to fix the problem I made. Plus I don’t need the immediate pressure of eyes on me right now. There’s too many things that can go wrong.

So, with that being said, I’d gone exploring for the past week, hunting for any place that would work for privacy and calmness. And I found the perfect beach yesterday. It’s a good distance from Adriata with white sands and soft, gentle waves that could lull me to sleep if I let it. And at night the waves and sand glow with any movement or weight put on them. Unfortunately I told Tarquin I would return by dinner, which is normally at 6, so I can’t really stay late today. And sunlight is better for reading. I want to master a few things before attempting to change my eyes in any way.

I brought a few anatomy books and one about meditating and keeping calm. The anatomy books are for reminders, I already know everything, but I’d like a bit of a recap just in case. And the mediatation book is just so I don’t freak out or have a meltdown. Having a panic attack when something goes wrong won’t help me, so learning breathing exercises and routines to keep calm is a good aid.

Humming softly I close my eyes again, letting myself search through my body, refamiliarizing the feel of each type of cell when they’re healthy, checking for anything concerning. I only open my eyes once I’ve made sure that everything is in fact healthy and functioning correctly. As tempting as it is to close my eyes again, I focus on watching my hands. In the past I always used my hands as practice do to their simplicity, other times I was just having fun, making the ends of my fingers and nails turn into claws or talons instead.

For old times sake I decide to do that, slowly having my nails grow until they’re long and pointed but slighty curved and thicker. I let the nails grow around my fingertips until it looks like the ends of my fingers are sharp, white talons. Humming I reverse the process, which goes smoothly, to my relief.

It seems quick, rushing to try this next thing, but I’ve already practiced enough and from what I remember this shouldn’t exhaust me too quickly. I could be wrong since when I tried doing this for the first time in my life I had already built up plenty of stamina beforehand. I suppose I’ll be using this moment as a comparison for later.

There was one other thing that I brought with me, a small, miniscule really, jar of a few teeth. Disgusting sounding I’m sure, but they’re my own and it was an easy process, pain free. I just had these ones fall out and then some grow in their place. Simple and easy.

Grabbing the small jar, I take out a tooth, placing it in the center of my palm. I sigh, closely my eyes to take a few deep breaths. This always required more focus, even if I’d done it a thousand times before.

I start small, changing the shape of the tooth into a ribcage, letting it grown into a full skeleton of a bird with the muscles and ligaments following soon after. The body grew as exhaustion slowly crept up on me. Before I could realize everything was finished the now living bird in my hand hopped two or three times, chirping a little and singing a few notes. My eyes fly open, widening at the image of a beautiful, living swallow. It’s head, back, and wings were all a stunning blue that faded into a silver going into it’s tail. It’s underbelly was white and soft looking. It’s eyes were so dark but fixed on me as it watched curiously.

I was successful. I made a small bird, grew it from a tooth. Soon I could make something bigger, maybe a dog or a bear. Or even a horse. But start small, I’m already getting tired, which is what I get for only going on walks for a week and neglecting to practice. Giggling I pet the small bird, it’s feather were soft and smooth. It chirps a few times, flying to stand on my shoulder. What a day, I’ll need to start practicing on the way here. Based on the sun it’s around an hour till dinner, so now is a good time to leave.

I pick up my books and jar, humming softly and then grunting as I stand, brushing off any sand on my legs. The swallow sings along to the humming, much to my delight. Turning I head back to a path that leads up a sort of steap hill. The beach is only accessible through the path since there’s sort of a cliff or wall of dirt blocking it off. That or you jump down, but I wouldn’t recommend it since it’s at least a 10 foot drop.

I’m almost panting when I reach the top. I huff, feeling shame build up at the realization that I’m probably not as fit as I’d like to think. That or I was using too much air to hum. I’d rather the latter honestly.

At the top I look back down at the beach, at the cool blue waves. It really is a haven in the Summer Court sometimes. I sometimes wished I could stop time and just enjoy where I was a little longer, I definitely wish I could recreate a place like this, visit whenever I like and just rest. Though maybe later in the day, midday is way too hot. Cloudless sky with a hot ball of fire just glaring down at you, not great. And I’m moon pale, one of these days I’ll be lobster red and wincing at every muscle movement as I apply aloe verra to my burned, tight skin. Honestly I’m not even sure if Tarquin burns, I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t. I wouldn’t be surprised if no Summer Court citizen had ever burned in their lives.

The swallow chirps, hopping a few times and drawing my attention. Curious I look at it, watching as it flies off my shoulder and onto a familiar one. With a start I realize the little bird landed on Tarquin’s shoulder. Tarquin was here. What was he doing here? Did he see anything?

The High Lord chuckles quietly, petting the bird a few times before turning to me.

“Afternoon, Gyn. How was your practice? I’m hoping you thought it went well.”

His smile is gentle, something akin to a soft breeze or a quiet sunrise. I almost feel stupidly tense, like why am I so tense about him knowing anything? But another small part of me is restless and anxious, demanding to know how much he’s seen and knows. Still, I don’t want to make it seem like I don’t trust him, that could hurt or insult him and he’s been nothing but kind and understanding. Really this fear is probably for nothing. But it’s not quick to go away and I only barely make myself look less upset.

“It went well..I’m making progress. I-” I pause slightly, swallowing my words and briefly looking away at the grass. “I don’t want to sound rude, or defensive..but what are you doing here? I thought you would be busy in Adriata till dinner.”

There’s another quiet chuckle.

“You don’t, you’re being reasonable. I wasn’t as busy as expected today, and I had some free time. So I decided to try and find you, and wouldn’t you know it, you found the glowing beach.”

“The glowing beach?”

“Yes, me and my cousins would come down here at night sometimes to swim or have some fun. Usually we had to sneak out, but it was fun and beautiful. It was like our own secret place that only we knew about. And here you are, practicing here. You picked an excellent spot. If I was anyone else I probably wouldn’t have found you.”

My eyes widen a little, drifting to look at the beach again. I can almost imagine a teen version of himself, Cresseida, and Varian just running down the path towards the waters, diving in and later dancing and singing around in the sand, probably bringing bottles of alcohol and getting drunk. The thought makes me hum, I almost smile.

“Yeah…I don’t want to..ruin any good moods, but how much did you see? It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s more that I just- I…I don’t want you to be afraid of me or concerned everytime I try to use my abilities.”

He’s silent for a moment, timid breezes attempt to fill in the emptyness. The swallow chirps occasionally, Tarquin petting it he while thinks, considering something. My gut tightens, my fingers curling into my hands to create tight fists that turn my knuckles white. My eyes flick from sand, to grass, to sky. Why do I feel like a child caught breaking a rule, about to be scolded by a too calm parent?

“I..saw everything, or at least what I think is most of what you were doing. The claws, this cute little bird.” Somehow, I’m sure my heart has plummeted into my stomach. Tarquin seems to notice, my face must really love to tattle my emotions. But he moves closer, a little bit like he doesn’t want to startle me, or make me uncomfortable. He stops a foot away, maybe closer.

“But I’m not scared of you. I’m not sure I could be. Concerned..a bit yes. I don’t want you hurting yourself just to try and perfect what you could do in the past again. And whose teeth were those?”

My gut loosens, some burning following, but it’s better than a tight coil and a wish to disappear to avoid a possible negative reaction. My fingers uncurl and stretch or flex a few times, my nails leaving little moons in my palm, none bleeding thankfully.

“Mine. It didn’t hurt, I just had them fall out and replaced with new teeth. None of what I was doing was painful, it was just a little tiring to make the swallow..I’m sorry I was defensive before. I wanted to master a few things before showing you, that way you’d worry less.”

“It’s fine, Gyn. I should apologize too, I knew you wanted privacy, but I still came here and watched, unbeknownst to you. But I’m not afraid, and I can trust that you won’t..permanently hurt yourself.”

I’m the one that stays quiet this time. I don’t really believe it’s necessary for me to see if he’s lying, but I scan his face anyways, eyes darting around for any tells that weren’t there. I sigh a little, nodding. I’m relieved about his obvious honesty, but still a little tense about being found and observed without my knowledge. I’m going to have to focus on sight next time, sensing any life nearby. There are plenty of silent or illusive creatures at home, I used to almost constantly make sure that every sense was heightened enough to sense each and every living thing, yet make sure I wasn’t overwhelmed by it.

With a sigh I turn, starting to walk. “We should head back to Adriata. Can’t have everyone worrying over a lost High Lord, can we?”

Tarquin smiles, a bit tightly, jogging to catch up, but keeping a steady pace once he was beside me. We both fall into a comfortable silence as we head towards the golden city.

Achlys

The Forest House may be mostly underground, but it’s beautiful. Inside it’s warm and decorated in reds, oranges, and golds. Portraits and paintings hang neatly on the walls, serious and cruel faces staring down at any passer by. I almost smile.

Servants work away in hallways and rooms, cleaning and keeping their heads down. Sentries silently stand at doorways or move to their next station, staring me down as if they’re ready to kill me if I give them any reason.

Sighing softly I look ahead, Fenix is leading me to the throne room, presumably. He seemed rather annoyed that his brother found out about me and took interest. So much so that he’s asked that I meet him, tell him a little bit about why I was found in his lands.

Naturally I don’t believe for a second that he really sees me as anything more than a potential pawn or a threat that he needs to get rid of, and considering that no Court but Winter would know about us, he wouldn’t need to worry about being discreet.

Everything about Autumn is about cunning and power. Even centuries back, I can still remember Regus Vanserra. Quite intelligent that one. He was the fourth son, it was unlikely in the first place that he would become the High Lord. But he waited patiently for years pretending to be nothing but a social prince with no interest in becoming anything more. Behind his parents and brothers backs he plotted though, forming alliances with Gyn, Boreas, Esord, and Nytarur. The heirs he knew would be the next generation of High Sovereigns, and ones he did not want to make enemies of. Regus played the long game, slowly poisoning his eldest brother and Father, training to kill the rest of his brothers when the time came. And he was successful. He made his eldest brother and Father’s deaths look like heart problems, and the other two brothers died in hunting ‘accidents’. He took the title and became quite the High Lord. Part of me was glad he decided to ally with Gyn, because then we weren’t his enemies.

I’m sure that any descendant of Regus is cunning and especially good at tricking others, weaving them a web of lies that they get trapped in but leaves him unharmed. I’ll bet Gyn would agree, she was in Prythian a lot longer than me, she got to see the generation after us. And apples don’t really fall far from the trees.

Fenix and his four guards stop at a pair of well carved oak doors with golden handles and a depiction of the Autumn forest and five of the past High Lords, Regus, his father and grandfather, and who I am guessing are his son and grandson. Everyone waits for a moment, quietly standing a foot from the doors. Then they open, groaning a little as they move. Our little group moves inside, my senses are assaulted by the smell of cinnamon and something smokey. At the head of the room, sitting on the cushioned stone throne, is a male with Autumn’s infamous red hair and eyes coloured amber. He doesn’t smile or sneer when we enter, merely keeping a cool, calm face as he watches us. Around his head sits a gold crown crafted to appear like flames resting on his head. So this is today’s High Lord. He’s dressed well with colours that compliment him and jewels that match, but not too much of anything, a perfect balance that doesn’t feel obnoxious.

Our little group moves until we’ve made it just past halfway in the room. The guards salute and Fenix offers the High Lord a bow, though it’s more mockery than an actual sign of respect or acknowledgement of power. I wait for after everyone’s finished to bow myself, smiling a little. The High Lord raises a brow.

“So this is the male you found..what is your name and why were you found in my Court?”

He’s good at his acting, I’ll give him that. His tone is careful, a planned boredom. His eyes hold a steely ice that was carefully crafted probably over a matter of years. I know for a fact that the entire Court buys every look, every word. It’s just a pity that I was surrounded masks for so long it became easy to learn when one was using it, unless someone was an exceptional liar. I’ve only met few who were able to fool me. Gyn, Cosmas, and a mortal King that ruled while I was in my 200s. No one ever knew when Cosmas was being truthful, it felt like a gamble every time I talked to him. And Gyn is as careful as I am, picking up on others emotions and anything we can learn about others and then using that information to our advantage. I just didn’t expect her to use the information against me, it was fine since I got her back a century later.

I grin at the High Lord. This could be fun.

“Achlys. I had a jealous coward for a cousin who used an ancient prison to contain me, throwing me into a cave in this Court. Don’t worry, High Lord, I’m only a temporary guest.”

He’s quiet for a moment, digesting the information and deciding what to do. It’s not every day something like this happens afterall.

“Which Court are you from? I’m sure your High Lord would have no issue collecting you.”

I can’t help the chuckle that escapes me at the question. Fenix doesn’t really react, just a bit of tensing around the shoulders. The guards keep still, but a few glance nervously at me. Either they’re nervous because of my chuckle, or they think I just tried to ensure my death.

“I don’t you’d be able to. Besides, those of my Court are incredibly picky about which apples they like to keep on the tree. I’m sure I’ll only be here another month and I’ll be out of your hair.”

The High Lord narrows his eyes, hiding the curiosity and covering it with annoyance.

“And why won’t I be able to contact this Court of yours, hm?”

“Well Prythian has forgotten about my home. My Court is mere legend in your history books, if we haven’t been erased entirely. It is not found in Prythian, nor any other continent. We call it the End Court.”

There’s a glimmer in his eyes, something like…recognition. My own mask slips on, keeping the amused face and uncaring attitude. But why does he seem familiar with the name? The Court hasn’t been in contact with Prythian in centuries, but he knows of it. It would appear that I rang a bell and I didn’t know he could hear it. I’m curious about how much he actually knows.

“Achlys of the End Court..an interesting claim. And how am I to trust that you aren’t insane or attempting to deceive my Court?”

“I’m sure you can find records. We made deals and alliances with this Court multiple times. Though, I suppose I wouldn’t be surprised if those records were burned a long time ago. You have to admit though. My prison is nothing like what you’ve seen in Prythian.”

“And how would you know that?”

“Because I’m well traveled. Not even the Night Court has the metal needed to create such a thing. And most of the prisons here aren’t just enchanted large cubes that act as a power numbing cell, they’re made of stone and have multiple cells, multiple inmates, less chains, and usually more light.”

He hums, leaning back slightly on his throne.

“What else is there to tell me? Are there more prisons like this around Prythian?”

Should I tell him? With them outside Autumn they aren’t within his reach. However, that if they’ve already been found by now, he could already know about them. Every Court has their spies, keeping their High Lord well informed of everything. Instead of answering I stay quiet, raising a brow and keeping an amused face. I’m sure you already know, High Lord.

He grunts, practically confirming my theory. They’ve been found, and he knows exactly where they are. I’m sure he sent out spies the second I was found, I don’t doubt he knew of me then and got Fenix to confess of my existence, thus giving him a chance to get a closer look and attempt to give me a role.

“I’ll let you stay, however you’re under my rule here until you return home.Till the day you leave, your loyalty is to me.”

It’s a fair deal, and I wouldn’t want to cause issues for my family by causing nothing but chaos here. Naturally there a few things that I won’t do if asked and I’ll always put my family first, but for now I can play along. My siblings wouldn’t be too impressed if I started a war the moment I was freed.

“Very well..”

“Expect to summoned during the week and that you’ll join every meal while having at least two sentries watching you at all times. I don’t think I want to let a wild hound loose in the Court.”

I almost snort, I’m being compared to a dog now. Wonderful. But I’d expect nothing less of a Vanserra. First Fenix with his condescending eyes, always trying to sneer at me as if I was mud on his new boots. Now a High Lord yet to see me as anything other than a mosquito. Patience is a virtue and I can exorcise it.

If he’s expecting a response I don’t give him one. My face has gone to a neutral, just watching him. He stares back, subtly studying me. Once he’s satisified, he returns to the bored mask.

“You’re dismissed. Leave.”

He waves a hand and we all turn, this time with me at the head. Fenix lets out a low growl, not happy with the meeting or me being ahead of him. The doors open again, letting us leave and walk back into the hallway. Subconciously I lead the way, heading straight to my room at my regular pace, which the guards and Fenix scramble to keep up with. Fenix hisses, grabbing my arm and yanking. I don’t stop, but I look over my shoulder at the angry male.

“You walk behind me. Don’t think for a second that you have any power in this Court. You are nothing but a tool for me to use, do not think otherwise.”

I almost scoff, raising a brow at him before shrugging him off.

“I don’t like slow walkers. And I’m heading to my room anyways, calm down.”

The Autumn prince snarls a curse and snaps his fingers, two guards grabbing onto my arms and yanking me backwards. Hissing, I almost go to kick one of them. Fenix walks in front now, motioning for them to follow. Both guards kick my legs, forcing me to my knees, before walking, dragging me with them. A little rude of them. Clicking my tongue I stand again, matching the pace of the guards, who glare and attempt to kick my legs out again. It fails when I move quick enough to dodge and then on at a time.

The one on my right snarls, punching me in the gut. I cough a little, but stay standing. Fenix stops at a door, pulling it open and walking outside into a courtyard..of sorts. Sentries off duty train with wooden and metal swords, sparring or beating a punching bag like it killed their spouse and owes them money. In the center though, is a post. One with several metals loops attached, like something you would tie a rope through or hook something to. Fenix tosses a pair of cuffs to the guards, the left one catching it and snapping one around one of my wrists.

Ah..I see where this is going. Either way at least some of my blood is spilled. I’m either going to be flogged or I’ll be mobbed. Of the two, I would prefer the former. Less broken bones, typically only one area is targeted. Not like Fenix really cares, he’s just trying to teach me a lesson, make me fear or respect him to any degree.

The training sentries go quiet and stop whatever they’re doing to watch as I’m pulled towards the post. I don’t bother fighting much, there’s over a dozen men here, all with weapons on them. Normally I would use this against them. However, I don’t need to piss of a High Lord that controls fire by killing everyone here. Nor do I want to exhaust myself by using my powers that much right now. The guards are quick to loop the remaining cuff through a large loop and snap it around my remaining wrist, forcing me down on my knees and tearing the back of my shirt afterwards. Both snicker as they back away. Glancing quickly behind me I can see Fenix choosing a whip and calling a large male over, handing him the whip. I think it’s leather with some sort of dust on it. The Autumn prince looks at me, almost smug but burying it in time.

“A mutt like you needs to learn quickly that you’re nothing here and will remain that way. No disrepect will ever be tolerated. 50 lashes.”

I almost roll my eyes but I brace myself anyways. Gyn isn’t here to act as my healer, this is going to hurt since I still feel pain. I can hear the whip unravel, some anxiety builds. This isn’t the first time this has happened, it’s not the first time I’ve been punished using whips or tools specially made to counter High Fae’s instant healing. Doesn’t mean I enjoyed any of it though.

There’s a quiet swish before the whip strikes my bare back, a fiery sting following quickly after. Fenix knows what he’s doing, he makes the whipper wait a moment before another strike. I wonder if this will scar permanently or if Gyn can return my skin to normal, even when healed. I wonder briefly if either of my siblings have to face something like this, and I pray to the Cauldron they don’t have to. I keep still as they continue to strike my back, thankfully not hitting the same spot twice, but I can feel warm blood trickling down my back and sticking to what remains of my shirt, gluing it to my skin. My abilities numbed a while ago, around lash number 10. They must coat the whips in faebane for maximum pain and scarring then.

At 40 lashes my punishment is interrupted by the arrival of another Vanserra, one of Fenix’s brothers. At least I think that’s who he is. His hair is long and red, eyes brown with a cunning, almost morbidly curious look in them. He watches me for a moment before moving to stand next to Fenix, who looks rather annoyed by the interruption.

“What do you want? I’m busy at the moment.”

“I heard something was going on in the Sentry Courtyard, so I decided I would come and see what all the commotion was about. What is this exactly? A misbehaving servant?”

Fenix is quiet for a moment, glaring down at me.

“Yes..that’s exactly what this is.”

“Really? I thought he was Eris’s guest. I don’t think he’d be impressed to find out you’ve taken a whip to his back. He might take one to your back.”

Fenix’s scowl deepens, disgust grows like a mold in his eyes. He snatches the whip from the sentry’s hands, pulling his arm back and swinging it forward with most if not all his strength. The whip strikes my back swiftly, leaving a fresh, wretched pain and trail of blood in its wake. I hiss at the feeling, fire spreading once again with a ferocious sting.

“He’s not a guest.”

His words are filled with venom, enough that I’m gritting my teeth and leaning my head on my arms. Mother save me, this isn’t going to end that quickly. Mentally I sigh, of all places I get sent to Autumn. I’m really feeling like I’m fucked.

~~~

Thanks for reading, feel free to give feedback. Enjoy your day/night.

~~~

You can find this fanfiction on Quotev and AO3. On Quotev I go by Ciar, on AO3 I go by Gyra (they're different because some names are already taken).

A Court of Shackles and Glass

Chapter Two

Word Count : 5.6k

Warning(s) : Brief mentions of depression

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Lyphon

There's something calming about laying in a field of grass and small flowers, listening to the soft hum of the wind and the occasional gentle melody from..whatever sings here. Everything smells so nice and fresh here. There was nothing but darkness and chains in the prison, so to be able to do this, to be here, outside of the wretched cursed cube, feels like a miracle.

I soak in all the sounds and smells and the feel of anything, wind or grass. It's all so refreshing and..different. There are some places like this back home, but most places are crawling with creatures that could absolutely hunt and kill you. Plenty of the plants aren't all that nice too. So to be somewhere so peaceful and safe feeling, it almost feels like a miracle.

I close my eyes, letting my eyes rest a little. Despite wearing a bandage around my eyes, it can still be a little bright for me. Light and red still bleeds past the bandages. While it may be dim, it's a slow process, getting used to the light again. Lucien, the male who smelled of apples and a burning hearth, had been kind enough to give me a bandage for my eyes. We're both hoping I adjust quickly so I can use something else. Tamlin, the High Lord of the Spring Court, where my prison was place apparently, had been generous enough to give me a guest bedroom in his manor, which doesn't seem to be in the greatest condition based on how much rubble is on the ground and how poor the quality of some of the house feels. I suspect it was much better some time ago, but right now just based of touch, it feels like it's seen much better days.

The grass shifts beside me, like someone stretching out as they sit down. I turn my head slightly. The smell of the rain and earth greet me, followed by a sense of something powerful and great being there.

"Good afternoon, High Lord. What brings you here today?"

High Lord Tamlin sighs a little quietly. He's been asking me a few questions every day, learning more about my home and family, having anyone willing search through any records that could verify anything I've said. I warned him that I'm not sure if Prythian ever kept any records on my family or any trades or alliances or even enemies. My home Court has long been forgotten I'm sure, and we never really tried to reforge any relations with Prythian. Naturally this makes me incredibly suspicious, possibly insane looking. However, appearing in a buried prison that looks like it wouldn't belong anywhere in Prythian sort of helps my case.

"Tell me about this End Court of yours again, everything."

"Very well. It is miles above the Night Court, you likely won't find it on a modern map, perhaps a very ancient one if you like to keep those around. The terrain varies, but it is mostly made of forests, mountains and great rivers or lakes. There is a cliff facing Prythian that my siblings and I would sit on the edge and watch any approaching ships and visitors. The inhabitants also vary, however majority are beasts, and not the kind it's easy to win against. There's even a colossal dragon that towers over the Court when it wishes. Lucky us my sister, ever the beast tamer, befriended him. That being said, there are Fae that live there. Mostly in towns since the forests aren't always the friendliest.

"My family has been the rulers of the Court since the beginning. That being said though, there are at least two other figures in the End Court that hold power in politics. Technically the Court is, or was, divided into three different territories. A third was ruled by a creature known as 'The Emperor'. He's known for his shapeshifting capabilities and immense power. He doesn't even need a spellbook to cast spells or curse someone. Half was ruled by my family or at least the High Sovereign. And the final sixth is ruled by another creature known as 'The Sorcerer'. He too has great power, however he doesn't tend to get involved and most of his territory is fairly empty creature wise. In..not very recent events, The Emperor decided he would allow the High Sovereign to rule his people, so long as they never forgot to respect him and that he rules a third of the Court. And that, High Lord of Spring, is the End Court in it's barest of bones."

The High Lord hums, staying quiet for a few moments. If he really wanted to know everything, I'm sure we'd be here for a few days, going through it all, and I don't even know everything.

"The End Court, do you believe it was created with the rest of the world? By the cauldron?"

It's a question I wasn't fully expecting..and not one I really have an answer too, but I can't give him nothing.

"I...don't know. Probably. It's what most of my family believes, but it's not clearly stated in any records or history books we have. I've asked my Great Grandfather about it and he..was incredibly vague, I didn't really get an answer from him. I do know that once he did mention he suspected that the End Court originally acted as another version of the Prison, the one found in the Night Court. And my family was it's wardens. It would make sense, but I honestly don't have much proof of it."

High Lord Tamlin hums again, taking in the information. I sense he's getting a little annoyed with the less than proven information though, an annoyance steadily building at the more I tell him, the more people come back with nothing to confirm my answers. If I'm not careful, or I can't prove anything, I could very well be endangered.

"So then, what exactly do you have as definitive proof of these claims? No records have been found of anything mentioning or discussing the End Court nor anyone with the last name Mortis, aside from one man, many many millennia ago."

"That, is likely my Great Great Grandfather. Many called him 'The Knight',  but he was far from the virtuous kind you might imagine. The Mother sent him to the End Court. Either as a death sentence, or a way to control him. Either way, he's still alive and perfectly capable of reliving his bloodiest days."

I almost chuckle, he was one incredibly feared man while he was still in Prythian. But I wave a hand in the direction of the trees in front of us, a squirrel, or at least a formally living one, comes running over, eager to be pet and fed and played with. I can hear the disgust in High Lord Tamlin's inhale, the slight increase in his heart rate. The smell of death and rot follows the animated squirrel, who I pet happily. The smell is not pleasant, but it brings me a strange comfort. And it's a relief at the success of this squirrel. I feel as if all skill I had with my powers has really gone down the drain, all the lack of use really coming in to hit me like a charging drake. I've started going through the forest on walks, joining some in hunts, searching for anything dead, anything small. And so far, this is the second successful squirrel. It's depressing to think of how I was able to raise armies, how my siblings could take down legions, and that now we're all likely husks of our past selves, all because our pathetic, moronic cousin imprisoned us just to stand a chance against us. Even if he's dead I won't let him rest for long.

"Anyways, it would be much appreciated if you asked around about my sister and brother. They too were imprisoned, I don't know where, else I would've made a specific request. But they're both my older siblings. Achlys is the oldest, he was a general back home and he was skilled with any metals or earth, by that I mean stone and dirt. He's a bit more on the...lively and zestful side. My sister on the other hand is named Gyn and she's excellent regarding anything with cells. Father focused on teaching her how to rule a Court...which makes sense. Like I think most Courts, the High Sovereign is chosen usually chosen through magic and based off power. She's the most powerful, and we've had one or two High Ladies before her. She's quiet, but smart..although she can really get exhausted just by being around someone. They'll both confirm what I've said and I'm sure they could even take you to our home, they were always stronger, and faster to learn and adapt."

I take a few breaths and clear my throat, I've already spoken more than I normally would and my voice is turning hoarse because of it. I'm little tense at the silence though. I know there's always a pause for when the High Lord of Spring is thinking through everything, absorbing the given information. But I already feel like I'm starting to walk onto a tight rope, what exactly can I give him that will prove everything? I'm hoping Achlys and Gyn have better luck than me, that they're already twice as strong and well trusted by whoever found them.

"Achlys and Gyn?"

"Yes. They're both older than me and...you'd feel the power difference, it's a little hard to ignore..my sister is compared by my family to my Great Grandfather and his Father a lot, power wise. Although, if you're really feeling bold, you could always send a ship, maybe journey there yourself?"

"Not happening."

I hum, it was mostly a joke, but it would be interesting if he actually liked the idea and considered it. Without another word the High Lord stands, walking away.

"Nice chatting with you..." I whisper, in some ways he reminds me of Great Grandpa, in the manner of a cold and pure business attitude, stoicism, and a need for something definitive to prove something..most times. In a way it's almost nostalgic for me, although a bit tiring. Lucien's company is a bit nicer, at least he's good at talking to people and understanding their emotions and motives. It reminds me of my own siblings and how they have different and similar traits of their own. Achlys is great with people, but sometimes cannot read a room for the life of him. Meanwhile Gyn is good at reading people and understanding them, however can be bad at social interaction.

I sigh, silently praying and wishing for their safety, their success, and that they find me.

Gyn

It's incredibly warm in the Summer Court, and bright. Definitely very bright. The Court is beautiful, truly, I have no doubt about that. However..in Adriata I have quickly learned there is a lot of gold, or very bright, reflective surfaces. Mostly water, which is deathly blinding for me on a good day. But there is also a lot of shiny, bright gold and white stone. Looking outside honestly feels like I'm kissing any eyesight I had goodbye. Permanently.

That being said, Tarquin, the High Lord of the Summer Court and the one who'd originally had the prison opened and me freed, has been incredibly kind and considerate, he even gave me a room underwater that stays dark most of the time. And he does his best to shield me from any light he thinks may be too bright while I'm outside my room. In return he's asked for information, which it's only fair I give him. To both of our surprises servants had found very, very old records that had mentions of the End Court and trades done between the two Courts. They'd even found an old map, though it does need a little updating since it's from when Grandfather was a child. But either way, it was a very pleasant surprise for everyone.

I hum quietly as I ascend the stairs towards the dining room. I tend to at least try attend every meal, it was tougher at the beginning of the week, when I was still weaker and needing practice and healing, sometimes servants would actively try to debate with me on not eating in my room. But it's easier now, my eyes are better, almost fully healthy now. Though, back home it was never really this bright, except on the cliff, where all you would see is the vast, sapphire sea and bright sky, if it wasn't too cloudy. Speaking of the sky, I've yet to see even a hint of a cloud anywhere between Adriata and the horizon. I can recall Tarquin laughed when I brought it up, stating bad weather was a rare occurrence for Adriata or the Summer Court in general, which managed to surprise me.

The servants bow their heads a little as I approach, pulling open the lovely doors to the dining room. I smile, thanking them by name. I did my best to learn everyone's names, though some servants had gotten too startled or were completely convinced I was tricking them and didn't give me a name. I still thank them regardless. My humming falls silent as I enter the room, shielding my eyes with my hand and smiling as Tarquin looks up. He grins.

"Good morning, Gyn. Did you sleep well?"

"It's getting a little better each night. Slow progress, but still progress." I take a seat, wings already shifting to get in the most comfortable position possible, despite the chairs not being made for those with them. Tarquin hums, taking a sip of whatever it is he's drinking.

"I had commissioned you a chair, by the way. Everytime you sit down I can't help but notice you look incredibly uncomfortable. It should be finished by the end of the week."

"That's too kind of you. Neither of us know how long I'll actually be here for, and besides, I'm used to this. I've met many who have never even considered getting chairs or stools for those who have wings."

"I'm not sure why you struggle to just say 'thank you' so much. And besides, you promised you'd visit. And for while you're here I don't want any of my guests uncomfortable. So I commissioned you a chair. I don't care if you leave tomorrow. Just say thank you. Don't tell me I've wasted my time and money on you."

I wince. I guess that was a bit rude, wasn't it? Mentally I scold myself. Manners and responsibility were the two things Father focused on the most when I was a child, it seems suddenly I forgot both of those things and needed reminding.

"I'm sorry..yes, thank you. It's very generous of you."

"See? Was that so hard?" He chuckles, stabbing his fork into half of a strawberry.

"...a little."

He laughs at that, going back to enjoying his breakfast. Sighing, I serve myself a few things, nothing too much though. We both eat in silence, either lost in our thoughts or listening to the crashing of waves. Occasionally Tarquin glances at me, clearly curious and wondering something, but it feels more like he's trying to solve a puzzle. He only speaks once we're both done eating.

"So...you've talked to me about your Court and what's it's like living there, yes? What about your family? Would you be willing to tell me about them?"

Slowly I nod. "Yes. I can tell you about them..um, ugh where do I start. Well, I have two brothers, who I believe I've already mentioned. Achlys, my older brother, and Lyphon, my younger brother. Our Father had been the acting High Sovereign until there was an accident and my Great Grandfather took over again. My Father passed away..a while ago, and it was soon after his death my Great Grandfather announced the next High Sovereign would be chosen soon. It was that night that my cousin, Ulysse had drugged us with a very heavy dose of something meant to keep abilities in check. With a small force he had dragged down to where the prisons were, the chains slithered out like snakes and one by one we were dragged into the prisons, sent off to wherever for however long."

Tarquin, leaning forward a little as he listens, a sympathetic look in his eyes. It's a little surprising, but it's nice someone is actually interested in what I'm saying. So I continue.

"Before everything that happened Lyphon had a lover and three children..I'm hoping they're all alright. The kids were fairly young when we were basically kidnapped, so I do hope they don't hate Lyphon when he comes back. I know his spouse was very understanding and loving, so I doubt they'd let them hate him." I hum, almost going deep in thought. "But I'm sure everything is alright, they are all strong and capable. And I'm sure my Great Grandfather will take care of them too."

Tarquin smiles softly, waiting patiently for a moment to see if I'll continue speaking. He speaks once he's sure I'm finished.

"I'm becoming curious about your Great and Great Great Grandfathers. Your Great Grandfather certainly seems to play a large role in your family.."

"..yes. The history of the Court and my family might or might not be necessary, but I'll still tell some of it anyways. My Great Great Grandfather...was..how do I put this. He..was a conqueror, a warlord that excelled in waging war and slaughtering thousands. He was a force all feared, so much so the Mother sent him to the End Court as a means of distracting and trapping him..my Great Great Grandfather is someone even the Emperor fears, and many say he was once meant to die like anyone else, but Death refused his soul, so now he can never die." I almost shudder at the thought. "No one in my family, but my Great Grandfather have seen his actual appearance. I can remember learning how everyone in my family, once they become between 10-15 years old, they're summonded by him. There's a tower he stays in, and my Great Grandfather brings you there. You'll be judged by him and you're either deemed a 'Knight's Child' or not. Very few of us have actually been deemed a 'Knight's Child'."

I'd met my Great Great Grandfather once, in person. The moment has never left me since. Nothing could have prepared me for him, his icy hands and vibrant, crimson eyes that just carve their way to your soul. It felt like the rawest form was suddenly exposed and being examined by the reaper. I'd never frozen so bad in a moment, I'd never felt a fear so carnal before, nor would I later in life. Some might laugh at the rumours, the tales of him, the creature he could become when high off bloodlust. But when come face to face with him, suddenly all courage bleeds out from your body and you're nothing but a pathetic mouse or insect under the eyes of a titan who had every right to kill you on the spot.

"Gyn? Is everything alright?"

Tarquin waves a hand in front of me a few times, making me jump slightly as I snap back to reality.

"Yes, sorry, just got caught up in a few memories, that's all."

"Are you sure? You'd gone rather pale and you..almost looked afraid."

"Yes, I am fine. My Great Great Grandfather was just terrifying to meet. Nothing happened, it was really just his prescense."

He frowns, but relunctantly nods.

"Anyways. My Great Grandfather is really important in the family. He's been basically someone we all look up to, but truly respect. He's on the colder side, but he can be loving in his own way. We have similar or matching abilities, so he was the one to train and teach me since no one else could fill the role. He's been ruling the End Court for some time, and we all trust his judgement, though he can be a bit blunt about it. And...I'll admit he's a lot like his Father, he's powerful, very much so. If he wasn't in the End Court, I'm sure he could or would have followed in his Father's footsteps.."

Tarquin hums, smiling a little.

"It sounds like you admire him."

"Admire, respect, whatever you want to call it. I do love my Great Grandfather, he's done a lot for me and helped me in many ways. I owe him a lot, honestly."

He chuckles at that, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip from a well made goblet with the style of crashing waves and seafoam. I smile, starting to dig into my chosen foods. Everything is always excellently cooked and appears both beautiful and delicious, this morning is no exception.

"I like speaking with you, Gyn, and I do enjoy your company. Would you tell me about your brothers and Father?"

I nod as I swallow a mouthful of a pastry, seriously who makes the food? It's incredible!

"Sure. Achlys is my older brother. He's older by about 12 years and he is quite...he's something else. He reminds me of fire in the way he burns with passion while being warm with love and care. But like fire he can be quite dangerous and chaotic. He makes an incredible general, but he has a bloodlust I've only seen in some of my family members. I respect his capabilities, but I also know he can be hot headed and hold a grudge, especially when family or friends are involved.

"Lyphon, on the other hand, is opposite to that. His attitude towards others is cold and harsh, something like a blizzard or some sort of winter storm. He has his own way of showing his appreciation for those he loves, and no he is not secretly some mushy, lovey dovey softie behind closed doors. He can be judgemental and ruthlessly correct any mistakes, even small ones, however he can understand you if you merely explain to him your motives or cause for purposeful 'mistakes' and everything is done out of love and a need for perfection from fear of something going wrong and someone getting hurt.

"As for my Father...well he was interesting while he was still alive. When I was a child he had me attend lessons preparing me to become the next High Sovereign since I was somewhere between 10 and 12. He would never give me even an inch with anything. He was strict and seemed to love teaching and encouraging responsibility and independance. I could beg for hours just to be able to play with Achlys, demand why he was never in lessons, why he could have anything he wanted and I had to do hours of homework and chores to even get a sliver of what free time he had. It was always the same answer 'you will be High Sovereign one day, your strength bleeds through you into the air like dust. You must be prepared for that day.' But he never answered me whenever I demanded why I had to be taught so young. He merely would mumble something about children being impressionable."

I sigh at the memories. I resented every lesson and night of dreaded, rotten homework made up of false. fictional reports, documents in need of signatures, and emergency events. For a while I envied Achlys, but eventually I gave up, merely looking down and going about everything like nothing mattered anymore. I had given up on the idea of having any sort of free time or fun, my childhood had been ruined and taken from me because my Father deemed it 'neccessary'. But...there were moments where Achlys shined, 'kidnapping' me to go have fun and explore and get me away from the evil paperwork. There were even days where I myself ran away into the woods to spite my Father, to get away. But that was a different time, and many things happened then.

The mood feels as if it's dipped a little, Tarquin watches carefully, almost studying me. I clear my throat.

"Sorry, that was a bit much..and biased. My Father wasn't terrible. But um..do you have anything planned today? I'd hate to keep you from anything important."

At that Tarquin smiles.

"Fine, I'll let you get away with that one. But actually no, today I am completely free. I was thinking I could give you a tour? Since your eyes seem to be better."

I smile, nodding.

"That sounds like a good idea, thank you. Though I'll probably need a wide brimmed hat.."

He chuckles. "That can be arranged."

Achlys

The hearth stays dead, I refuse to let it live. While the warmth of the fire would be nice, comforting almost, I'm ready for that light. Heavy, thick curtains hang from the windows, blocking out all light. Sunlight, moonlight, doesn't matter. Both are too bright. Starlight is..bearable, but the moon isn't usually fully gone from the sky or dark for very long. So the curtains stay shut all day and all night.

I hum softly as I play with the metal that makes my bedframe. Fenix, ever eager to hold things above my head and demand I pay him back with lives, gave me a room with many things made of metal. While most might find this place too cold and uncomfortable, almost insulting, I find it to be a sickening gift. Constant training and practicing has kept me exhausted the past week, but it's good. I'm improving quickly, growing back to my full strength. Soon I'm sure I could even leave on my own, venture out to find my siblings, maybe play hero. Their prisons were also solid metal, ancient and powerful metal, but still metal. And they're all massive too. It would be easy to find them and drag them up and out of wherever they are.

My humming stops as I sigh, a little heavily. That would be nice, wouldn't it? Swooping in and saving my siblings and being seen as their awesome big brother again, be seen as a hero in their eyes. The relief in their eyes when they would see me at the entrance to their cells, happily sputtering how they're relieved I'm okay and how I've found them. Yeah...that would be great.

I can remember many times I would rescue you them from whatever at home. Lyphon would go exploring in the woods alone, brave and strong, but not nearly as familiar with the creatures as me or Gyn. Wouldn't you know he's pissed something off and it's about to try to kill him for it, but I would swoop in last minute, getting him back home and going back to either calm or knock out or kill whatever it was. As for Gyn..well Dad really could be stupid. So focused on raising the perfect High Sovereign, so stupidly blind to how depressed he had made his daughter. I could remember how desperate she was to just have a smidge of the childhood she was supposed to have. So I did what I thought could help, I'd 'kidnap' her and take her to Great Grandpa's for however long and we'd have fun. Great Grandpa understood everything and he would never give us away, he even helped us a few times. Those were fun days, thrilling too. Dad would be livid when we returned, but I always managed to get her out of everything, and myself sometimes. It was always worth it, hearing my sister finally laugh and giggle, see her smile and actually react to everything, to see her look alive again. What I'd do to hear my siblings laugh again.

I close my eyes for a moment, letting the darkness envelope me momentarily. There's a strange peace in the silence of ones bedroom at night. And one that allows me the peace and time to think properly. Ulysse had mentioned Prythian as he laughed at us. Assuming he was laughing that we'd all be stuck here in prisons, that narrows down possibilities. There are only 7 Courts in Prythian. My gut tells me that we're not all in the same Court, that would be too risky for him. So that narrows it down to 6, then 5 if I figure out where one of my siblings is.

Ulysse knew some of our biggest fears based purely on incidents that happened when we were kids and the stories that were told. So, going off me as an example and good starting point. My prison was placed in a cave, a large, deep cave. I've hated caves since I had to fight a wyrm hiding in one, a vicious, massive wyrm that reeked and nearly ate me. So then, Gyn hates deep, dark waters. Twice she was dragged down into the deepest lake and forced to escape before something or someone captured her and kept her at the bottom. There's water everywhere, it surrounds Prythian, but only one Court is really known for its water, and why not put her somewhere she'll be surrounded by it 24/7? She'll have been placed in the waters of the Summer Court. Lyphon..is trickier. He's terrified of being buried alive after the Emperor used him as leverage and buried him in a coffin in the family cemetary. We only got him out because of interference from our Great Great Grandfather. I'm doubting he was placed in the Night Court due to it mostly being mountains. So there's only 4 Courts left. Spring, Day, Dawn, and Winter. I'm really hoping it isn't Winter. But the list has definitely narrowed down.

Huffing I open my eyes, a new determination in them. Sitting up I examine my bed briefly. It's a four poster bed, each corner holding a metal ball the size of my fist. Concentrating on one of them, I restrain the urge to reach for it and touch, that would make this too easy, the metal begins to twist and take a new shape. It stays quiet, much to my satisfaction. It only takes a little while before it stops, now appearing to be a simple, but strong flame. I nod, onto the next one. 

It takes me a total of two hours for me to finish changing all four metal balls into perfect, sharp shapes. One corner fire, another a tree made of flowers, the third a clam with a pearl in the center, but sharp teeth protecting it. The last one a dragon egg hatching with a small dragon peeking out. I'm panting a little, exhausted but definitely happy with the work. They're all perfect, not a single mistake. I grin as my energy slowly returns within a few minutes. My stamina is returning. Soon the earth will tremble with every step I take, I'll be returned to my normal self, and my siblings will have a protector again.

Heaving a sigh I flop back onto the bed, head hitting the pillow and eyes closing. That's when it will be better, once everything is back to normal. Once we're home..and that sewer crawling dustmite pays for his betrayal. Yes, it will feel alright again. But until then..

Pieces of metal fly towards me, smoothly they fall and gently land in my palms. Somehow, these are easier to make than the actual shapes around my bed. The points form sharply enough you could stab someone with it. Perfectly shaped little holes form to make room for gems. They all form to fit our heads without discomfort. Once I'm home, I'll forge proper versions, but for now, once I see them again these will do.

Opening my eyes I check my work, just as I imagined. Three crowns, each unique to their own soon-to-be wearer. Harsh, sharp points join around in a circle for Lyphon, a crown that could be compared to daggers being placed in a circle to create it. Detailed, bone and vertabrae like pieces form elegant but sharp jewel, tear, or leaf shaped arcs around in a tiara form for Gyn. She'd definitely appreciate it and its detail. As for mine...one a true king, a true warrior would wear. A more traditional style, but a mighty one nonetheless.

I hum content as I sit them next to me, shutting me eyes to sleep. Soon. I would find them soon.

~~~

Hello, thank you for reading. I hope you're having a good day/night. Please remember to take care of yourself.

~~~

P.S. This fanfic is available on Quotev and AO3

A Court of Shackles and Glass

Chapter One

Word Count : 2.8k

Warning(s) : None

Next Chapter

Lyphon

Everything is painfully dark in here. I can't see any of the walls of this damned prison, nor can I even hear anything, not even the whisper of a breeze. I haven't able to since I was locked inside this dreadful place. All my movements are restricted by chains linked to cuffs locked around my ankles, wrists, and wings. By now the feathers have definitely gone dull. No doubt Achlys will pout for weeks about his lost beauty and demand to find Gyn to fix his problems again. I won't lie though, finding Gyn immediately to fix whatever is wrong with me now sounds like a good idea. Assuming I'm even going to be freed from this hell.

It was certainly a bold move on Ulysse's part, a stupid one, but a bolder one than I'm sure any of us could've expected. While it cost us to underestimate him and his ambitions, it will cost him more once we've been freed. Especially when one of us is an expert in anatomy and tends to use psychological warfare more than her actual weapons. They used to say, probably ages ago, to never underestimate the wrath of a Mortis. I can only assume Ulysse went against that warning, since he didn't seem all that concerned about Great Grandpa and his love for his Great Grandchildren. I wouldn't be surprised if Great Grandpa killed him honestly. I'm half expecting to see a grave when we get home.

A sharp, faint ring echoes through this lifeless prison. One that makes my ears twitch, aching to hear anything else. What was the ringing caused by? Is the top finally opening? That makes me excited and afraid. I'll be exposed to light again, and I haven't seen anything remotely bright or dim for who knows how long. I'll need to find Gyn fast, she'll be able to heal any damage, and I'd rather not go blind instantly and eternally.

It feels like ages before there's another faint, echoing ring, followed by another and then another and then another. I have no idea what that sound could be. If it's people, I could be freed. If it's a beast...I'm basically a sitting duck. Damn you Ulysse and your rotten soul. Hissing, I look up, or at least what I think is up, it's hard to tell when everything is pitch black here. The sound is coming from above me, so I'm assuming, and hoping, that I'm not upside down right now. If I strain my ears enough, I can hear something like a voice, or voices. I can't make out exact words, but voices are better than growls or hisses.

A low, aching, and loud groan suddenly sounds, like ancient metal doors scraping and opening against each other, and right in my ears. I wince as I cover my ears, which does very little to help block out the noise, but it's better than nothing I suppose. The groaning on gets higher in pitch until a loud slam echoes in this prison, making my ears ring to the point I'm convinced they'll start bleeding at any moment. Light peers in from above, and despite it being moonlight, it still almost feels blinding. A few tears fall, my eyes burning despite my arms shielding my face now.

Sound floods in more clearly now, no doors are blocking my ears from the outside world. Voices whisper and gossip about what could be in the endless void that is the uncovered cube of ancient metals. Rumours begin to build about the markings on the outside being to protect anyone from a cursed creature inside, how they should shut the doors again. A sense of desperation builds at those words, and whether I know better or not, I call out.

"Don't shut the doors."

There are gasps, a few shrieks. My voice is a little rough from lack of use, but not as bad as I imagined it would be. Soft footsteps approach from above. Two more people have come to watch at the edge, to try and spot where I am. A soft breeze blows in, the coolness practically making me shudder. Wind, finally, I can feel something from outside. But the wind also carries the scents of the two newcomers. One smells of apples and a burning hearth, the other of rain and the earth. The rain and earth smell makes me tense, more alert. It's now I can sense the power, it may have been eternity, but I can still recognize the power and aura of a High Lord.

"Well well..so it appears there is someone down there. Who and what are you? What Court do you reign from?"

One of them speaks, I don't know who that is, but I don't think they're the High Lord, not that I'm feeling lucky at the moment. Still, giving them an answer can lessen suspicion, make me less..dangerous in their eyes maybe. Or, it can make it worse when they won't recognize my name and Court. One answer is better than no answer, if I give nothing they might close the doors, and here I have no windows.

"Lyphon Mortis, son of Erebus Mortis, late High Lord of the End Court, and the younger brother of Achlys and Gyn Mortis."

Silences follows, someone says something low enough I can't catch it. People start moving away, but the doors don't creak, so they're being left open. Something falls and whips the air in here a little, somewhere above my head. The voice from earlier speaks again.

"We're going to need more rope."

Gyn

The entirety of this massive prison groans, metal upset and screaming for whatever is happening to stop. I wince at the sound, but it's better than the random rush of water or incessant, rage-inducing dripping from behind me. My own bones almost groan with the prison, they've been aching for ages now, stuck in an uncomfortable, terrible position. Legs bent and sat on, torso leaning forward, arms stretched to the sides, and wings clamped shut. All limbs chained to the walls, my neck chained to the ceiling, but unable to move from the tightness of the cuffs and taughtness of the chains. My legs beg for me to stand, my back pleading for me to slouch or at least shift, and my precious wings just want to stretch and feel the wind against my feathers again. Oh what I'd give to fly again. And all of my body pleading for me to stop soaking in the water as high as my chest, nearly to my face at this point, some hair dangling and dipping into dark waters. The two wings on the lower end of my back is already half in the water, soaking and making me want to shiver again.

The prison wasn't always this water filled, but slowly it's built up. And given enough time, I'd likely be stuck here, eternally drowning but unable to die. True hell indeed.

With a groan the prison suddenly tilts backwards. Water rushes at me, drenching my entire body and leaving me holding my breath for a moment, then choking and spitting out water for another few. Unfortunately, despite gravity trying to pull me back into the water, now below me, the chains don't allow it, I'm dangling above the water. There's another groan and the prison rights itself, returning to it's original position. I wince and brace myself for the oncoming impact of the rushing, practically tidalwaving, water. There's a loud rush and a strong force hits my wings and head. I nearly black out, but I'm left awake, under water and with a nasty headache. I scream, the sound muffled by the water and turning to bubbles that rush to top. When the water sinks back to chest height my scream echoes, the shrill noise nearly deafening me.

I hack and cough as small droplets rise from my lungs and drip back into the dark, chilly water. I groan, head wanting to hang but instead making the collar choke me. With a wince I right my head again. Air blesses my lungs as the only good thing of today. What the hell was that just now anyways? I can only assume Ulysse made sure this prison was cast underwater, so maybe a large sea creature? No..maybe not..but what else could it be? This prison is ancient and massive, nothing small could move it.

I grunt as the prison moves again, this time there's a draggin sound by the doors ahead of me, something like..sand? Possibly dirt? My body shakes when the prison abruptly stops moving, the chains rattle and clink, swinging for a little bit. The ancient doors that keep me locked in here more than the chains open, light from the day floods in, reaching my knees. The darkness flees from the front, behind me probably becoming ever darker. The sudden brightness makes my vision go white, eyes burning with a pressure behind them that makes a strangled scream escape me. I struggle to turn, to look away, let my eyes adjust and not go blind instantly. A few hot, burning tears fall and quickly slide down my face and neck. All six wings flap violently, trying to free themselves and block the light, protect me, unfortunately it doesn't work. Gods it hurts. Another pained noise comes from my throat, something between a sob and a cry. As much as I'd love to feel embarassed right now, I don't have it in me.

Footsteps approach, swiftly, each one echoing in this hollow chamber. At the sound I realize most of the water has flooded out. Voices shout warnings and commands to stop, to back away and 'get away from them! They could be dangerous'. I wince, twisting my head again, skin scraping against the rough, damp, and cold collar around my neck. My arms pull and push, trying to cover my ears and eyes, it only makes them scrape badly against my shackles though. More tears flow and another mix of a sob and cry echoes in the prison. The footsteps approach faster until some of the light vanishes from my vision, the pressure behind my eyes easing away.

The smell of the sea and lotuses envelops me, catching me a little off guard. The stranger in front of me gently takes my face, turning it back to face forwards again. The first thing I see are bright turquoise eyes, concern is laced in them and I can't help but feel guilty. But at the same time, I'm a little captivated by their eyes. They're a beautiful turquoise, almost like they've captured the sea and trapped them in a pair of eyes. It almost catches my breath, and my wings almost flap a little. They smile slightly, which is when I notice the stranger's dark skin and white hair, I almost smile back.

"Be careful, you're going to hurt yourself..now can you tell me who you are? Where you're from maybe? Or why you're in here?..Do you understand me?"

His voice is soothing, almost melodic. I smile faintly, but for very briefly, I need to give him answers.

"I understand, don't worry. Thank you for the concern..my name is Gyn Mortis. My home is likely not a place you know of, but I'll say anyways. I am from the End Court, it is north of the Night Court. I am in here because my Father, it's former High Lord, died and my cousin imprisoned me and my two brothers in seperate prisons. Rumours had been going around that one of us would inherit the title, so out of jealousy he forced us into these. I do not know how long I have been in here and I can only guess where I am."

I end coughing after speaking. I haven't spoken in a while, nor this much. The stranger pats my back, chuckling a little while looking a bit surprised.

"Easy there, don't push yourself. And I'm sorry, you're right, I don't know of the End Court..but I will try to help you."

I smile a little, nodding and whispering thank you. He turns to call behind him, ordering for a blanket and a locksmith.

Achlys

The flame, small as one on a candle, seems as bright as the sun. I try not to wince or squint, acting like my eyes aren't ready to bleed at the brightness. I'll need to find Gyn, get her to make my feathers beautiful again and fix my broken, breaking eyes. But that'll have to wait until this jackass lets me go.

I sigh as the russet eyed, ruby haired male in front of me stares me down. He and some of his servants had found me and managed to get me out of the damned prison, which immediately returned itself home, no doubt family members will either shout for joy or throw a hissy fit when they're informed of the returned prison. The servants stand a few feet behind the male, heads all facing downwards, all of them apparently finding the dirt ground of the cave fascinating.

Russet eyes squats, the fire right between us now. I opted to sit rather than stand, it seemed more comfortable and I've already had to stand for who knows how long anyways; I was switched between standing and sitting every so often, but for the longest time now I had to stand, making my legs feel weak, tired, and stiff. I could swear he's smirking slightly. It's tempting to just slap him, maybe see how he reacts. I don't, of course, but it's nice imagining it happening.

"Well then, I've freed you, whatever you are. So you owe me one. Now you're going to kill my someone for me."

I narrow my eyes this time, almost tilting my head. If I didn't know any better I'd think I'd returned home with the prison. Of course I was only freed to be indebted to Russet Eyes. I hiss lowly, much to Russet's amusement.

"Don't look so pouty. It's only one life. Besides, it'll probably be easy for you. I doubt they locked up a human in something like your little prison." He smirks again, I almost scowl. "Don't tell me you're nothing but a weakling. Gods, I didn't save someone useless did I? What a waste of effort."

At that I nearly punch him, I'd certainly love the feeling of his face being broken by my fists, blood pouring everywhere. I almost smirk at the thought, that would be wonderful.

"Shut it. I have no doubts I am more powerful than you, nor do I have any doubts that my skill is greatly higher than yours."

He snorts as I stand, moving to leave. If someone hasn't already found my siblings, I might as well find them myself. He stands though, pressing a hand on my chest, just over my heart. A warmth builds until it's borderline burning and there's a chance my shirt is about to be set on fire or start smoking. I glare at him, cracking my neck as I flex my fingers. It's been some time, but now that I'm not trapped in that damning prison I can use my abilities again. It feels good to watch his daggers rise and hover a hair above his scalp, like some mock crown that could kill him at any moment. Though because of how long it's been it's not as stable, some of the daggers occasionally wobbling. Clenching my hands into fists the daggers fix themselves, staying still and perfectly angled to stab into his head. I'm going to need to practice more, make sure I'm back to my original skill and strength again.

Russet raises a brow, humming faintly. "What is your name?..You're not from here, are you?"

"If you're really so curious, red locks, it's Achlys. And I come from hell."

He bristles a little at the nickname, but snickers at my last answer. "Red locks..no. You can call me Fenix Vanserra, welcome to Hell 2.0."

~~~

Hello, thank you for reading this. Feel free to let me know what you think. Have a good day/night. You deserve to be happy.

~~~

P.S. This fanfic is available on Quotev and AO3

IM CRYJFNNFFNNGNG I LOVEDD THIS UGH

Soft Spot

Azriel x Reader

Word count: 3k

Synopsis: Azriel is very particular about his lovers; typically hard-hearted women chosen so they don’t develop an emotional attachment. Reader is one of these lovers, except she’s the sweetest and cheeriest on his roster. This causes Az to begin breaking his rules about intimacy, especially when she unwittingly ends up at his home for work one evening and spends the night.  

Warnings: Smut

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

Azriel Shadowsinger. Methodical, efficient, focused. Rigid dietary habits, discipline in training, unwavering proficiency in espionage. The spies he trained were held to that level of diligence—hell, even the priestesses he oversaw knew he expected order even in his absence.

That detail orientation carried over to his sex life. The lovers he sought were deliberately chosen to allow him to maintain the level of control he desired. Women that understood what he wanted—how he wanted them. Women that didn’t grow emotionally attached, that understood it was purely a physical transaction. Women that he could keep from his busybody family, situated in parts of Velaris that weren’t in their usual line of frequenting.

Azriel found a positive correlation between softer, sweeter women, and their likelihood to form emotional attachment, and an equally positive correlation between women who fucked rougher, who were colder, more jaded, and their ability to remain unattached. Those who didn’t demand he slept over after, that he take them to dinner.

You were the closest thing to an exception, being the cheeriest on the roster, yet you never displayed any attachment to him. Never looked disappointed when he left without eating breakfast. That was one of the things he liked most about you; you were lively—more than any of his other lovers—so he could enjoy the more girlishly charming, satiating parts you offered, but you stayed within the limit of his preferred emotional detachment. It was like a controlled dosage of indulgence.

Keep reading

The Shadowsinger and The Mistress of Love and Lust Pt.2

As the first rays of dawn break over the horizon, I finally allow myself to rest, leaning against him, our bodies entwined. His once bloody and torn wings are now starting to heal, the skin slowly knitting itself back together. There's still a long way to go, but we've made it through the night, and that's a victory in itself. I let myself relax against the man who I had loved for centuries the one who is now my mate, we haven't even gotten to talk about it the way we are bound to each other. To be completely honest I don’t know if I should even be sleeping beside him since he has said nothing to me other then “Mate” that doesn't mean he accepts it but it also doesn't mean he doesn’t.

I close my eyes, allowing the exhaustion to take over. But even as I drift off, I know that when I wake, I'll be ready to face another day, to continue the fight, to heal and protect my mate. I also know that he will do the same for me even if he doesn’t accept the Bond because that is just the type of man he is one with a heart. You may not be able to tell under all the brooding and shadowy exterior but he is one of the kindest most genuine men I have ever met.

His soft whisper rouses me from my sleep, "Thank you, Cici," and I squeeze his hand in response, and blush lightly noticing our proximity and the way we are both covered in his blood. “uh how about a bath?” I ask easing up from the bed moaning my exhaustion taking over me. Before my pain fully takes over I could’ve swore he said something about how he’d only take one if I joined him. I feel my old scars they are sore and my eyes are slowly lose their sight. I think quickly and using the last of my strength I winnow to Cassian and Nesta’s tent. “Cass? Nes?”

I stumble in blindly bumping into a wall- wait not a wall my best friend, Cass! “Cia are you alright?” he asks shaking me lightly and looking me over. “Where's Az is he ok” he asks frantic. “H-he's fine but I need help,” I say shakily. “My powers are weak and without anything to refuel them before I'm done with Az….” My eyes are welling up with my bloody gold tears and I let them fall.

Cass scoops me into a warm, brotherly hug. I hear Nesta approach, “What do you need to refuel?” she asks me and I can’t help but assume she is crossing her arms like I have watched her do for years when she gets curious. I smile, my senses and skills really show when I'm blind it almost makes me want to stay this way, but I will miss colors and glitter being able to see my family's smiling faces.

“Blood,” my voice shaky as I say it. Nesta huffs and hear footsteps shuffling around next thing I know I loose the presence of my best friend and I'm left myself. I can’t help but let my tears fall. I hear them again and Nesta approaches me grabbing my hands. “Eris said he’ll help he said he's done it before,” she says in a hushed tone.

Which brings me back to the time I spent with Eris camped in a cave hiding from threats, as he survived on animals we killed and my powers keeping him afloat as I kept myself replenished with his strong High Fae blood. He was the first High Fae I had ever drunken from. He allowed me to keep drinking from him as long as he stayed strong and healthy we survived 4 months out in the wilderness that way.

“Where is he?! I need it now,” I say agitated wanting to get back to my mate. “He is going to the healing tent to gather supplies,” “Alright thank you so much Nes,” I said leaning up to give her a kiss on the check which ends up rather sloppily on her ear. She laughs, a sound I haven’t heard from her in awhile. Eris helps me and gives me a few bags of fresh blood so I don't have to wonder around like that again. I rush back to Az fully recharged and ready to help him as much as I can.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ And I wouldn't marry me, either.

You were Azriel's mate, but it took losing you three times for him to realise.

[this is long. i'm talking 5k words long so i've split it into two parts. anyway, azriel is the best bat boy and no i won't hear anyone out. i'm so excited to write for him and hope you enjoy. it's very angsty but that's what i love. i hope i can write more for him and maybe other characters if you like. it's been a while since i've actually read the series so if any information is wrong, do let me know. also it was my first time using the term y/n and yes, i cringed NOT PROOF READ... enjoy]

warnings: references to sexual assault and references to suicide. nothing explicit but please don't read if this is sensitive to you.

Part 2 soon…

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The first, was the worst...

You were Rhys's half sister, the bastard daughter of his father. But when your mother had died giving birth to you, Rhysand's mother took you in and raised you with your brother and sister. You were so little and adorable that your sister loved you at once. Rhys did to, at some point of your life, you were sure he actually cared about you.

But when his mother and sister had died, his eyes shifted, he started to look at you with contempt. After all, you were only his half-sister. The worst half. He only kept you around because it's what his mother would have wanted.

And because there was no way Cassian and Azriel would ever let anything happen to you.

Besides, Rhysand knew when to use you.

Although Azriel was his spymaster, you were pretty good at staying swift-footed too. And you were frankly, very terrifying when you wanted to be.

You tread with power through the war camps, all of them looking at you as you went. All of their gazes wrecked with a predatory gaze. They either wanted to have their way with you, or kill you. Or both.

Rhys had said you could handle it, it was only supposed to be a check in. Cassian hadn't liked it, neither had Mor but it was Azriel who had almost- and for the first time- disobeyed his high lord to accompany you. But no, your brother wanted you to do this alone, so alone you would.

Just to show him you could.

'I can come with you,' Azriel had said, standing in your room as you tied your boots up. 'I won't even have to be seen.' At that, his shadows wrapped up your calf.

You smiled at them, as if they were his own pet. 'I'll manage just fine. Besides, i'm sure that's what Rhys wants, me needing a man.'

It had done nothing to calm your friend. The worry was still stuck between his brows, marring his handsome features. You'd held his cheeks, your wings hiding the two of you. His large ones (enough to swallow the both of you) over-lapped yours.

It was the last time you'd feel your wings.

The war camp wasn't as easy as you'd hoped. It was terror and horror in a place. You'd been to the court of nightmares, you'd gone to the slaughter of the spring court after they killed your family. But this, this was hell of another kind.

You had no idea how many days you'd been locked up, wrists bound in chains and hanging from the cell roof above you. Blood rolled down your arms from the force you'd tried to use to get them out. Your eye was swollen shut and your body trembled in pain.

All because they wanted to know your brothers secrets, and you wouldn't budge.

Your check was only supposed to be a day, but you were sure it had been longer. Days of endless pain and torture. Your uniform hung in rags of stripped material, your hair matted with blood and hiding your face.

You'd used the last of your energy to keep your walls up. You weren't anyone's mate, you didn't have anyone on the other end trying to feel what you felt. But should Rhys come looking (though you doubted it) you didn't want him to feel it. You didn't want anyone in your mind.

The gates opened with a sickening clash.

One of the Illyrian's knelt in front of you, his wings hiding those coming in behind you. 'Listen sweetheart. I don't want to make this any harder than it's about to get. All you have to do is tell us your brother's hide outs.'

You grit your teeth, staring down at the ground.

'So loyal, to a man who doesn't care if you live or die.'

Suddenly, your wings twitched as hands grasped them. Brute hands, the sort you wouldn't want touching any part of you.

Fear spiked in you, horror twisting your gut. 'What are you doing?'

'I told you I didn't want to get things messier, darling.'

You whipped your head from side to side, trying and failing to get a look at the assailants behind you. Your wings were being held apart, no matter how hard you tried to bat them away. You knew the sort of people they were, and what they did to girls like you.

That's when the begging started. 'No, no please. Anything. I'll do anything! Beat me, kill me, rape me, not my wings, please!'

'Anything?' the bastard asked, tongue poking out from his lips. 'Then tell me where your lord's hideouts are?'

You should betray him, you thought. He would never lose his wings for you. Perhaps it was stubbornness that kept you from, or maybe you were clinging to the last bit of love you want from him.

The bastard scoffed, 'anything, she says. Your brother has his own bitch wrapped around his finger.'

That's when they started hacking at your wings.

Your screams tore through your throat, blood spitting and dripping down your chin. Tears soon joined when they hacked away at the bone, the membrane, the flesh of it all. The three of them worked through your screams and your tears and your pain, tearing and cutting at it like it was nothing more than paper.

Not your whole life.

Let them hear you. You hoped your brother heard you, you hoped all and every court heard the pain.

Eventually, even you couldn't keep screaming. The only sound was the hacking away at your wings and the drops of blood.

'Now look at these beauties. I've got a perfect spot on my wall for these.'

They left you after that. There wasn't much more damage they could do. It already felt like they'd destroyed your life. You had never really thought about your wings, they were just part of you, as much as your wit or hair was. But they'd took it and now, you felt empty. Never would you fly with Azriel again, or use your wings to smack Cassian over the head.

Rhys, your dear brother, had took that from you.

The days blended in together after that. You were pooled in your own tears and blood, vomiting up anything they forced down your throat. No, they'd made it very clear they didn't want you dead. They just took pride in making it feel like you were.

At some point, you'd stopped reacting to the gate opening. You let them do whatever they wanted with you. Your wrists were still chained, arms still hanging up, your clothes hanging on your thin body in strips of dirt.

'No...' you heard a mumble. 'What have they done to you?'

Suddenly, the chains gave way and you lurched forward, with no strength to catch you. Luckily, you didn't have to, as strong and warm arms pulled you into his chest.

'Hey, wake up, look at me, dammit.'

Azriel.

You'd know the voice in the darkest days, in the pit of your worst nightmare you'd know.

You try to speak but your head's heavy, your lips are stone and your arms can't lift to hold onto him. You're exhausted, you're dying. The only thing you could do use all your strength to try to open your eyes.

'Please, please, look at me. You have to look at me,'

You were trying, you wanted to tell hm, snap at him, but you couldn't.

You felt Azriel shake, or maybe you were. Then, there was wet drops landing on your cheeks- you flinched.

'I'm sorry, i'm sorry. Rhys! Rhys! hurry up, please!' he was screaming. You'd never heard him scream before.

You heard the rush of feet at the cell doors, you knew it was your brother. You knew it from the presence of him, from the shuffling of feet and chocked sob. Your brother didn't cry, least of all for you.

'Her wings, oh mother, her wings,' said Azriel, his voice barley above that of a whisper.

Your wings. You didn't need reminding. They were gone, long and far gone. You were without a part of you, the very part of your soul that loved to be free. Never would you watch the stars up close or fly over everyone. Never race Cassian or make jokes with Az.

No, this would destroy you.

'y/n,' your half-brother called. 'No, y/n. Can you hear me?'

Your lips parted, mumbling. 'Hurts.'

Azriel's grip on you tightened. 'I know, we're gonna get you out of here, just hold on for me.'

You wanted to tell him you would hold on, you'd always need to hold on to him. That, no matter what he asks, you'd do it. To kill, to live, to breathe, to die.

And that's when it clicked. Amongst all the pain and the doubt. In your blood soaked clothes. In the fear you wouldn't make it, there was a tug. Weak and one-sided, but there. You knew you'd be safe with Azriel, knew you would always be with him.

Mate.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The pain subsided to a dull ache, there and beating but not excruciating. You were warm and covered in a soft material. Nothing like the cell you'd been kept in. Your fingertips sunk into something soft- a bed. Your bed. It was familiar in its lavender scent to you and the silk wrapped around you gave you some semblance of warmth.

Your wings.

Even coming to consciousness was difficult. You were exhausted but light, without the weight of wings holding you down. You'd never realised how much you needed to feel that weight, to feel pulled down in order to be free.

Gone, all gone.

Your hand twitches around something cold, a shadow holding your hand, creeping up your side.

'You're awake, thank the couldron.'

It wasn't Azriel, master of the shadows. It wasn't your mate. Mate. The word replayed like a terrible song in your mind.

How dare the mother do this to Az. How dare he- nothing but loyal and kind- get stuck with a person made in darkness, who bled shadows, who's heart was so full of hate there wasn't room for love. They'd cursed Az, with you.

But luckily it wasn't him, it was Rhysand.

'It really happened,' you whispered, voice hurting from the screams.

He sighed. 'I'm sorry, i'm so sorry. We-we thought you weren't going to make it, you'd lost so much blood.'

In spite of the pain in your shoulders, you made a shift, turning from him as he ranted on about your condition.

'y/n... sister, please,' he said. He'd never called you sister before. He'd always been content to treat you just like you worked for him.

'Leave me alone.' you couldn't bare to look at him, couldn't bare to face him. The shadows at your hand grew heavier, as if more were piling on. You stretched your fingers away from them, trying to get them off you.

'Are you in any pain?' asked Rhys.

'Get out,' you mumbled.

The end of your bed dipped where Rhys settled, hand splayed on the covers, begging for your hand. 'y/n.'

'Get out!' you snapped, body tense and straining. You felt your wounds open up, blood wetting the bandage around you. But you didn't care. You'd happily bleed if you couldn't fly. A part of you, sick part of you wanted to be left there. It would be better than false sympathy.

Be better than your mate being disgusted.

'Get out!' you yelled again, voice tearing through an aching throat.

'I just want to help you! please, let me help you!' said Rhys, standing from your bed and walking around, trying to face you.

'I don't want your help!' you screamed. You reached for the closest thing you could, a jug of water and chucked it toward him. You aim was terrible, marred with pain and exhaustion. 'Get out!'

Though hesitant, Rhysand slowly started walking back to your door. He did it all looking at you, his hands out to show he wasn't gonna hurt you, but you didn't care. You went for the glasses next and chucked them but they landed against the door which he disappeared through.

Before it slid close you caught sight of Cassian , Mor and Azriel. All crowded, all waiting to see you.

You'd be happy if you never let them see you again.

'Can we see her?' you hear Mor ask.

'Give her time,' said Rhys.

The shadows at your hand grew heavier, darker, tighter.

'Go away!' you yelled at them. To anyone else, you probably looked crazy, screaming to darkness. But the shadows understood. They departed, slithering away and under the crack of your door where you could see the shadows of feet.

Tumbling from bed, you stumbled over and locked the door, leaning on it to and catching your breath. Your nightgown was starting to get sticky with blood all over again. When you closed your eyes, you pictured the cell, the rough hands holding you down, the chain keeping you up.

And the pain, it all washed over you. The hacking at your back, the sting of a slap. It hit you like a tone of bricks as you slid to the floor.

There was a knock, rattling the door.

'y/n,' Cassian. 'Please let us in.'

Us. You felt him on the other side. Your mate, his presence lingering. His shadows under the door, wanting to come in but keeping their distance.

He didn't know. It hadn't snapped for him, you could tell. It was one tug on your end, a chord in your heart. At least he couldn't feel what you did. At least you could shoulder it alone.

'Please.' his voice was almost your un-doing. He sounded so sad, so desperate. It hurt you just to think you were hurting him.

Tears streamed down your face as your curled your fingers into a tight fist. You assumed Mor had left with Rhys, leaving you there with the males.

Cass was always like a brother to you. Granted- a brother you had slept with once or twice- but he was your best friend. You'd always been close to him. But you'd always been good, a happy person.

You couldn't be that for them now, perhaps ever again.

It lasted like that for hours. Cassian and Az begging to come in, you curling into a ball with tears down your cheeks and blood down your back.

Eventually, they gave up. You couldn't hear them anymore and the shadows of their boots had disappeared.

Except Azriel's shadows that still lingered under your door. Maybe he'd ordered them to be there while they left you.

Eventually, you managed to find your footing on shaking legs. Your room was large, one of the largest. It was just as much a mess as it was when you'd left for you mission, clothes thrown over the place, books propped open on the pages you'd left them on. Everything was the same but could never be again.

It took you longer than you'd care to admit to get to your windows and throw the curtains close. Candles light at your request, the house looking after you as it had since you were a child.

You caught sight of yourself in the full length mirror. It seemed smaller, everything in the room felt too large and you too small, as if you were being swallowed by the expanse of it.

Your frame was small in the mirror, your hair disarrayed. Your eyes were red and shutting of their own accord from the tears that had drained you. The starving in the cells had made you look weak, made you feel weak.

And your back. There was no more looming black figures there, no more fluttering. There was just nothing. In spite of the ache as you lifted your arm, you felt around your back, feeling the hitch there, the lump from where they'd been torn from you.

You cry. You sob. You scream.

The scars were long and the nightdress was sticking to you by the blood you'd shed. All you could do, was hold yourself up as your body wracked with tears.

A breeze came from your windows, shadows tugging at the curtains.

You felt him before you saw him. You wanted to tell him to leave you but you couldn't talk without chocking. Without feeling like you couldn't breath.

Azriel had you in your arms before your knees could hit the ground. He fell with you, softening your body on the floor. His arms held you into his chest, his legs caging you into his body. His head rested on yours as he held you. He didn't try to talk, he didn't try to help. It was just him, you and his shadows.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Azriel remembered dozing off with you, his head on yours. His arms holding you into him, as if it was up to him to keep the sadness away and take it for you.

Afterall, you were his best friend. He should have been there for you, and he'd failed terribly by letting you get hurt and your wings stolen from you. He could hate himself every day for it, for letting you down. But it would never amount to what you felt for yourself and that killed him.

He could see it in the way you cried, in the way you were already keeping everyone out. He'd rather die than let you go through all the pain alone.

When his hands had been scarred by his brothers, you'd help heal him, tell him about everything he still was and all the power he still held in his hands. In the worst days, when he didn't let anyone touch him, he let you.

It was always you.

Azriel wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep, or how deep. He was sure he was still with you, still in your bed.

His shadows crept up on him, engulfing him slowly and whispering to him. Your name, just your name on repeat. It was enough to lull him back into sleep, to keep him calm.

Gone. Missing. y'n. Roof.

He shot up and ran fastest than he ever had in his life. It was as if he'd never been asleep but had been fighting a battle with the way he raced over.

He burst through the doors, the cold hight air hitting him.

You stood facing the stars, your bloody back to him. It wasn't as much blood as when he'd found you, but it was still enough to put a lump in his throat.

Immediately his shadows fell to you, cascading down your body and wrapping around your waist. There was a breeze in the air, pushing your hair back and exposing more signs of the pain and torture you must have gone through.

'I'm not gonna jump, if that's what you're thinking,' you said. You didn't even have to turn to him. The shadows probably told you enough.

'Why are you up here?' he asked, walking to you slowly and with careful steps. As if every step closer could you push you away from him.

'I'll never feel the win properly again,' you answered.

Azriel gulped down his own pain. You’d never sounded so small. ‘Can you get away from the ledge?’

'I'm not on the ledge.'

'You're too close for my liking.'

'Leave if you don't like it.'

'Don't do this,' he said.

'Do what?' you asked, folding your arms over your chest. You were cold, out in the hight but you wanted to see the stars. Needed to see them.

'Make me leave. Make everyone leave you. I know that's what you're doing. It's what you do every time,' you could feel him dawning closer. His shadows were all around you, almost drowning you.

‘Every time,’ you scoff, stepping down and turning on him. ‘It’s not every day you lose your wings Azriel! But don’t let me stop you from leaving, flap them and go!’ You yelled, unable to stop yourself, no matter how hard you tried. You didn’t want to hurt him, you just wanted to be alone.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

'You jump and I’ll catch you,' he said. He was a step away, he could just reach out and touch, just a gentle caress. 'I swear it, whatever you do, I’ll follow. I’m not letting you get away.’

He watched your back shudder as he reached out, brushing knuckles against your shoulder blade. He heard your sharp inhale follow.

'Don’t think I won’t follow, y/n.'

Finally, you turned around in his shadows. You couldn’t meet his eyes but at least you could face his chest.

His hands were gentle on your shoulder as he rubbed it gently. 'Can I get Madja to clean you up?' He asked.

You nodded as he led you away. You truly did not deserve your mate.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Fifty-two years later...

When Amarantha had trapped the high lords of Prythian under the mountain, it hadn't be a conscious choice to follow your half-brother down. How Amarantha had allowed it, you weren't sure, but perhaps she wanted to use you just like her brother, or she thought it would bring more pain for him to see you suffer under there too.

You and Rhysand had barley spoke the last two years.

It had took you almost two months to heal fully enough to leave your room, another few months to face your family again. But even then, everyone knew something had changed in you. You didn't laugh as loud or smile as wide.

Rhysand was careful to ever let you out on a mission. Mor tried to take you out every night. Cassian spent all day every day with you and Azriel- he'd healed you better than any nurse.

Still, you had not told him he was your mate.

Still, you thought he wouldn't want it.

Still, you cared for your brother enough to not want him to go alone.

But being under the mountain, you could avoid your mate. At a painful price.

Until her. Rhys's mate. He hadn't shut up about her since he first met her, much to your dismay as you had to sit around and listen- having absolutely nothing better to do. And it only got worse when she turned up under the mountain. She was declaring her love for Tamlin- again, annoying your brother, and throwing Lucien into danger- which rather angered you. You had nothing against the ginger.

Rhysand had once sent you to find the girl to summon her as part of a bargain he'd made. He didn't want to go, he didn't want to look too forceful. You'd been lucky enough to find the two tangled up in each other against a cold wall, clothes ripped and hips moving together.

'Well, well well,' you'd intterupted.

Tamlin all but growled at you, but feyre was looking over you- evidently confused. She had no idea who you were. You, in your skimpy outfit that Amarantha kept you in (they all dipped low at your back, showing off your scars) and your eyes that were like a night sky.

'Amarantha's looking for her pet and Rhysand is looking for his. Honestly, i'd be a bit more worried if I were you. You know, considering Lucien still has an eye to lose.'

The two parted with your words as you sent Tamlin back to his master, the high lord glaring at you as you went. While Feyre tried to fix herself.

'Rhysand is over there, better not keep him waiting.' That was the first time you met her, having no idea how much trouble she'd be worth. The family that she'd become.

But Rhysand made sure you knew it all. From when the bond snapped in him and he'd stumbled. He ranted and ranted as they climbed out.

If only you were so talkative about Azriel. If only you could talk about him with your brother. But you'd tried not to painfully think about him. Climbing out of the mountain. It was all you could think of.

Maybe he'd have forgotten you? it had been fifty years. He'd probably realised how happy he could be without having to take care of you.

Rhys was allowed out of the mountain, he'd felt the breeze in his hair but you hadn't in fifty long years. You stood there a moment, bathing in the warmth as everyone left, as everyone ran off for their families and courts and the war that was inevitable. Eventually, Rhys offered you his arm. 'Shall we go home?'

He winnowed you there, on the balcony of your home. In a cloud of black smoke, the two of you appeared.

He went first, slipping through the doors slowly- like it could all be taken from them any minute.

You were hesitant, taking a moment to glance at the landscape behind you. It hadn't changed, not at all. The mountains were still there, everyone was still alive. Your home. In the last years it hadn't felt like home, but how could anywhere ever feel so close in your heart.

When you could find your feat again, you managed to slip through the doors. You were suddenly aware of how little clothing you were wearing, just enough to cover your chest and run down your legs. A chill settled down your back, your scars would be on show. What a way to great them all after fifty years.

Mor had her arms around Rhys's shoulders, crying into his shoulder.

Behind them you caught Amren, with something like tears in her eyes. You were just about to tease her before a body barrelled into yours in a blur of red syphons and your feet were lifted from the ground.

'Cassian.'

His arms tightened around you. You shoulder started to dampen with tears, his tears. The last time you'd seen him cry around you was when he'd seen a dog with only three legs. 'I'm keeping you on a leash from now on, stupid idiot.'

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, a smile gracing your lips. 'Is that a promise?'

He held you longer, tighter, not daring to let you go but at least settling you on the ground. He sighed against your head, controlling himself. 'He's missed you, you know,' he said. He was the only one you'd told, about your mate. 'Now that you're back, tell him. He deserves to know.'

Cassian slowly pulled away, holding you at arms length and smiling at you. He kissed your cheeks and then your forehead before parting to Rhysand.

Mor approached you next, slapping you in the arm.

'Ow!'

'Why would you follow him?' she snapped.

You blinked at her before she took you by the arm she'd slapped and embraced you, like a sister would. You dared not looking over her shoulder to find the one who hadn't come to you. Maybe Cass had got it wrong...

Mor pulled away, wiping at her eyes.

Azriel was as beautiful as the day you left him. His hair was the same length, he was the same height. He was just as you left him. It was hard to tell fifty years had passed on him.

And inside of you, tugging in your soul and heart you felt the familiar string of gold throbbing. But you still didn't feel that tug. You'd hoped it would have faded from you after half a year separated. Or at least have snapped for him. But no such relief.

He approached you, slowly. As if he was scared of scaring you away. But you just stood there.

His arms were delicate and soft around you as he brought you into his chest. He still smelled the same, cedar wood and shadows. Shadows that wrapped around you, shielding you from the rest of the room. They caressed you, head to two.

You held onto each other for what could have been another fifty years, but this time, it wasn't so painful.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Although nobody wanted to part after yours and Rhysand's return, you were exhausted. A trip to Rita's could wait another night or two. The only thing you wanted to do was hide in your room.

Strangely, your room looked lived in. As if somebody had moved in since you'd left. A moment of anger replaced grief. Had they brought someone else and given them your room? but then you smelt it, Az.

Lying in bed that night, exhausted, you couldn't find sleep. You closed your eyes and pictured Amarantha. You'd never been afraid of her, you weren't afraid of anything. But you re-played the horrors. Watching servants beat Feyre, watching Amarantha use your brother and on the occasion, even you. How she flaunted. How the most powerful lords were weak.

Under your door, shadows seeped in, rushing across the room to you. You smiled, watching your hand disappear in their darkness.

'Azriel?' you called.

There was shifting on the other side of the door before he slipped in, clicking it shut behind him.

You sat up in bed, shadows moving with you. 'Couldn't sleep?'

He wondered in, looking around your room. 'Sleeping's been... hard.'

You rolled over, opening the blanket and nodding your head. You couldn't think about the bond, not yet. Not while he looked so.... ruined. Beautiful- the most beautiful person in the world, but sad. As he climbed in next to you, you could see the dark circles under his eyes, his shoulders slumped and his wings too.

His eyes scanned over you. You were in a thin and silk night dress that only brushed your knees, but the way he looked at you, mother you could've been naked. 'Fifty years,' his voice sounded barley controlled. 'Fifty years. You followed your brother down for fifty years? Why would you do that?'

You gulp. 'I would've done it for any of you. Except maybe Amren, she'd probably enjoy the peace for fifty years.'

You go to brush your hair back but Azriel seizes your wrist. He was angry. That's why his voice was rough and his chest rising and falling with barley controlled emotions. Could he feel it? your nerves, your lying?

'You left. You should've stayed, y/n, you know Rhysand didn't want you under there with him,' he said. 'For fifty years I haven't been able to sleep through a night thinking about the pain you must have been going through. After I swore to keep you safe, after I promised to catch you every time!'

'You couldn't have stopped me. You didn't promise, Az.'

His grip grew tighter. 'It went without saying.'

You looked around his eyes, seeing the pain and grief there also. Slowly, you brought your other hand up. He flinched as you took his cheek but eventually settled as your thumb ran over his cheekbone. 'I won't leave again, ok? I promise.'

He gulped, letting go of your wrist and looking down. 'I slept here,' he mumbled, but just loud enough to hear you. 'I couldn't sleep in my room. This was the only place I could rest.'

Your heart stuttered. Your hand dropped from his cheek. This man was your mate. Your mate. Your only love, whether or not the cauldron deemed it.

Azriel took your hesitation. 'I-i'm sorry, you probably didn't want to hear that. I've probably ruined your one place of peace-'

'Stay,' you said, before you could think of what you were asking. 'Sleeping wasn't exactly easy under the mountain either. I just trust I won't have to put a wall of cushions between us.' as if you wanted that. As if you haven't thought about his calloused hands all over you.

Azriel smiled and stayed the night.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The third time he almost lost you, broke him...

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Hiii, how have you been?

Can you please write something for Eris x mate reader and it’s like late at night and they’re sleeping but Eris is having a nightmare and is tossing and turning and this wakes up the reader. The reader tries to help but traumatized baby gets alarmed and accidentally burns his mate ☹️☹️. Very detailed i know but it was just a though I had 😭👍

Daylight

Eris Vanserra x Reader

a/n: requests are open!! Eris is so Taylor Swift coded. In case the title wasn’t obvious, this fic reminded me of “Daylight” by Miss Swift.

warnings: depictions of a nightmare, descriptions of burn injury

The sound of Eris mumbling and turning in his sleep roused you awake. You sat up to look at him, heart aching at the sight before you. His furrowed brows, quivering lip. Mumbles of ‘help me,’ and ‘leave me alone.’ Another nightmare.

You moved up the bed, gently pulling his head into your lap. He remained asleep, so you began running your fingers through his tousled hair, murmuring words of comfort.

“Eris, baby. You’re having another nightmare,” you said, tracing your thumb along his cheekbone. “Wake up for me. It’s alright. Just a night—“

“Don’t touch me!” Eris yelled as he startled awake, his hand clinging to your arm. A searing, white-hot pain sunk into your skin, eliciting a yelp from you.

Eris released your arm instantly, horror and worry painting his expression. “I—I’m so—I’m so sorry,” he told you, voice shaky, barely above a whisper.

You looked at the handprint-shaped burn on your forearm, wincing. Your words were soft, gentle. “You didn’t mean to. It’s alright.”

“I’ll go summon one of the healers,” Eris declared, rising from the bed.

“I’ll come with—“

“No. Just…just stay here.”

Eris left the bedroom before you had a chance to argue.

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

The healer was in and out within a few minutes. The burn was deep, but between your Fae healing, and the salve they applied, it was already fading.

Eris sat on the edge of the bed the entire time, listening intently, but unable to watch. You crawled down the bed, wrapping your arms around him from behind.

“I am so sorry,” he breathed, not meeting your eyes.

“I am alright,” you reassured, brushing your lips over his shoulder.

“I hurt you.” His voice was pained, disgusted.

“We both know it wasn’t intentional.”

Eris still wouldn’t look at you. “My father—“

You moved to his side, lightly gripping his jaw, forcing him to meet your eyes. “Listen to me. You are nothing like your father. Not in the slightest. You are good. You are loyal, and protective, and loving and brave. You are nothing like him.”

Eris dipped his chin, tears brimming his eyes. You tried soothing him through the bond as you wrapped your arms around him. “I love you, so much. I love every part of you,” you whispered, your own tears falling down your cheeks. “I love you,” you repeated.

“I love you too,” Eris finally spoke, voice cracking.

You held him tightly. Listened to his broken weeping until it turned to slow, deep breaths. You pulled him against you in bed, resting his head on your chest. By the time you joined him in sleep, the golden sun was peeking through the curtains, birds singing in the trees.

You’re losing me

Summary: Azriel has always put his duties as spymaster above his own needs and wants. How long can you let him keep putting work over you before boiling over?

Author’s note: I am so sorry about this babes, this is pure heartbreak. Anyway angst is a new genre for me so please lmk how this goes for you (good, bad, awful - lmk)

(1k celebration masterlist 🍾)

You sit in the library of your shared home, the soft cushion of your favorite armchair not providing the comfort it used to. The library was your favorite room in the house - you and Azriel spent thousands of hours in here reading independently, reading to each other, or just enjoying the silence with each other for company.

The room was beautiful- you both adored the entirety of the house, but this room drew both of you in immediately. It’s beautiful stain-glass windows creating brilliant hues of color to move about the room during the day, bringing life to the dark wood that adorns the walls of the room.

Vivid colors from the scenes in the stain glass window would dance across the floor, as if reenacting the depictions just for you two.

It’s dark now, the sun having set hours ago, and you can’t remember the last time you enjoyed the light of the room. The last time you and Azriel had enjoyed the light of the room.

The last time you and Azriel just enjoyed each other’s company without knowing he was going to leave in a matter of hours.

It was a song and dance you were familiar with by now - he’d return home from doing some work requested by Rhys, you’d make him some food, you two would snuggle or have sex, and he’d be gone by the time you woke up.

It wasn’t always like this, but the two years since the war have caused Azriel to dive headfirst into his work, accepting every scrap of work Rhysand would push his way, darting out the door like it was calling to him.

You hear the front door open, knowing who it is despite their silent entrance. Sighing, you stand up and walk out of the library, closing the door behind you.

You walked through the halls of your home, feet softly padding on the hardwood floor until you see him across the living room, still in his leathers.

It used to amuse you, when he’d return in his leathers, compared to you in your frilly nightgowns. It was quite a sight, the dark leather surrounded by the satins and cottons of your nightgowns.

Now it just furthered to prove the divide between you.

“Az, we were supposed to go to the bakery today to taste cakes.”

You hardly let him walk through the door before picking a fight, but his absence at the bakery hours ago left you ample time to stew in your negative emotions.

He runs his hand down his face, the purple and blue bruising under his eyes having grown more and more prominent over the weeks. Truthfully, you don’t want to start a fight, but you’ve let too many of these things slide in the past two years and you’re at your tipping point.

Missed dates, rescheduled dinners, missed anniversaries, cancelled trips. You had tried talking several times about it, but you need your fiancé around more than he has been. No amount of begging can make him do anything about it, though.

The most egregious of all was the continually delayed status of your wedding ceremony. You’ve had to rescind the invitations two times now, and you’re have tempted to send out fresh ones that just say “date: TBD”.

He just sighs in response, telling you, “I had to work, I had a mission.”

You sigh, knowing it was the truth. Your fiancé would never cheat on you, but he would put everyone else’s needs above his.

And above your own.

“Azriel, I really needed you today. It was important to me for you to be there.”

“It’s just a cake - pick any flavor you want. You know what I like,” he says, sitting onto the couch and taking off his boots.

“It’s not just a cake! This is your wedding too - I cannot make every decision for this. It’s supposed to be about us, not about me.”

You shake your head, exasperation bubbling to the surface, “I feel insane going to these appointments because I have a fiancé who never shows up! I swear I heard the florist say she pitied me because I pretended to be engaged!”

Azriel drags a hand down his face, “can we not do this now? I’m exhausted and want to bathe before bed.”

You huff out a laugh, as Azriel tries to move past you but you continue to follow him. “When would be a better time? You’re hardly home lately, and you leave at a moment’s notice for Rhysand.”

He whips his head at you, “it’s my job, my duty.”

You roll your eyes, “I’m pretty sure you could delegate a decent proportion of your work to the people under you that you both hand selected and trained yourself!

He sighs, exasperated, “it’s my job.”

A line you’ve heard a thousand times. You knew who he was when you began dating him, you’ve always known who he was and what he did.

But you thought his need to feel worthy would wane with time, not get worse.

“You put Rhys’s needs over mine!” You’re shouting now, something you never do, and Azriel bites back, “he’s my high lord - and yours.”

“That doesn’t mean he gets to keep you at his beck and call!” Your hands were running through your hair, unable to have the same argument again and again.

“That’s exactly what it means.”

“Oh so was it Rhys’s beck and call to push our wedding back three separate times?”

He whirls around at you, pointing, “That’s not fair and you know it.”

“Three times is not fair! It’s like you don’t even want it!”

His silence to your accusation rings through your ears. A damning, deafening silence.

You count to ten in your head, and he hasn’t made a sound, only looking at the ground.

His lack of words echo through your mind, even as his hands reach out to you, his desperate pleadings of “I-” and “baby” falling on deaf ears.

“I’m glad to see where we stand.”

You begin to turn, but stop yourself.

“When I told Nesta our wedding was delayed again, she told me if you really wanted it, really wanted me, you’d suggest we just run off and get married like Rhys and Feyre did.”

You take a shaky breath, “but you never did.”

You step back from him, unable to look him in the eye, unable to do much of anything, except retreat from your shared bedroom, softly shutting the door behind you.

Azriel stands in the now empty room, your footsteps ceasing down the hall but continuing in his mind. Every second he stands there, the further you become. He starts to move, starts to pick up his feet, his shadows urging him to go, go, go.

You can fix this, they tell him. Go, now.

His thoughts are broken up by Rhys’s voice, a smooth sound at such odds with the chaotic edges of his thoughts.

Az, I need you.

Azriel doesn’t even ask if it can wait. You’ll understand. He’s sure of it. He can fix things when he comes home. Rhys just needs him right now, he can help him out, then he can talk to you.

He scrawls a quick note on the table for you to find before retreating into his shadows.

He returns home a few hours later, his assistance speeding up Rhys’s needs. He stops to grab you your favorite flowers, a book you’ve been eyeing, and a necklace he’s had his eye on in the shop for ages.

The necklace gives him pause, as he realizes he first saw it eight months ago, its shine reminding him of your eyes.

Had it really been eight months?

He kept telling himself he was going to buy you the necklace for a special occasion, but so many have slipped by without his acknowledgment this past year.

Gods, he thinks, did he even celebrate your birthday?

Surely he hadn’t gotten that caught up in his work.

Had he?

The streets are quiet as he makes his way back to your shared home. He thinks over the past year and how he hardly saw you, and when he did, he often left not soon after seeing you.

He opens the door, the house eerily silent following your fight earlier. He deserved your silence. He couldn’t tell you how scared he was to marry you, tethering your soul to his for the rest of your lives.

You, who was so kind and so loving, shackled to him for eternity. He knew the insecurities were ridiculous, that you loved him with every part of yourself.

But that didn’t stop the self-hatred from oozing out of him every moment.

He hadn’t been there for you this past year. He had let his own need for approval overshadow your needs.

He groans, needing to find you so he can fix things. He walks through the house, not even realizing the book he’s carrying is a duplicate to the one sitting on the coffee table.

He starts really thinking, trying to remember the last time he had touched you, kissed you, held you.

Too long, he realizes, as he’s made his way through the whole house without a sign of you. A shadow wraps around his wrist, pulling him into the kitchen. He finds the note he had left earlier still on the table, but you had scrawled a second message underneath. Five words that break his resolve, forcing him to his knees. Your handwriting so clear, save for the splotched ink, wet from tears.

I wouldn’t marry me either.

Part two

An Education in Malice — Part Five

Pairing: Vanserra!Reader x Azriel

Summary: With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin.

Warnings: lots of bickering, some IC drama, underlying sexual tension, threats, forced proximity trope, brief mentions of abuse, the sickening sense of being vulnerable and being perceived, helion not being a snitch

Word Count: 8.9k

←Part Four | Series Masterlist | Part Six

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Azriel was many things.

It could take him years to list all of the attributes he held— characteristics that spanned between inherently good and inherently bad. Centuries of living had led him to creating so many different versions of himself, some more kind than others, some more wise. But none of them were weak. 

Since the day he’d been freed from that basement, hands charred and shaky, a newfound anger burning in his chest, Azriel spent every minute ensuring he wasn’t weak.

Yet, your voice persisted in his mind. 

You are weak. 

It wasn’t physical strength you were referring to. Which, perhaps, made the statement even worse. Because deep down Azriel was troubled by the fact that you maybe were right. Maybe he was weak. Somehow, someway, you had gotten under his skin— buried yourself somewhere deep and hidden. As much as he tried, he couldn't dig you out, couldn't stop your voice from echoing tirelessly in his mind.

A slave to your anger.

Azriel’s fists slammed into the training dummy. 

To your impulses.

He threw another punch.

to your High Lord.

A biting feeling nagged at his battered knuckles, at the ridged scars that marred them. 

You have always been weak.

Azriel let out a curse as a streak of pain painted his arm. 

This was an unusual form of training for him, the bare hands and hand-to-hand combat. Usually, he practiced with a sword, with his weapons, and it was often sparring with Cassian. But Azriel needed something more today— needed to feel the pain in his own hands, needed something to pull him back into his body, to tie him down from floating away in his thoughts that were plagued by you. 

His wings flared, shadows whipping around him in a frenzied dance as he remembered the look on your face, the fire in your eyes. He replayed it in his mind over and over, focused on the hurt he had sworn he glimpsed there, a flash of vulnerability that you quickly masked with your anger. He couldn't shake the image, couldn't forget the rawness of your voice as you hurled those words at him. He’d begun to think he imagined it, that he’d somehow convinced himself that you’d shown some semblance of care. 

Weak. 

His self control was weak. Maybe this he could admit. He’d been working on it these past two years, working on how to control his temper, on how to be more approachable to those who hadn’t known him for centuries prior. A part of him had done it instinctively around Elain, scared to spook her like a terrified fawn in a forest. And then he began working on it for himself– to prove, in some sense, that he was still capable of being someone perhaps more deserving of a mate. 

It wasn’t going all too successfully, but he was working on it. At least, he was trying to. But with you, Azriel had no control. There were only three emotions he felt with you, only three reactions that his mind registered: fight, flee, or fuck. It had become too difficult to separate them—

Azriel.

The voice echoed in his mind. He skillfully pushed it away. There was an emotion deep in his chest that didn’t belong to that group of three, one that burned hot, tasted vile and sour. He felt it whenever he thought of you. 

He threw another punch. 

Azriel. 

His name was spoken with a tone much deeper this time, much more firm. It shot him back into a prior memory, into one of him staring into angry violet eyes with an icy defiance. Once again, he pushed away the force in his mind. The space that the call had occupied was quickly replaced by you. 

Rhysand’s face was etched into his memory too, a disappointed and angry look of a newly made father. Azriel didn’t want to see it again, didn't want to bother pretending he felt sorry. 

So he struck again. And again.

“Azriel.”

The voice was louder.

This time, it wasn’t just in his mind. It was real, commanding, and filled with an authority that made his shadows tremble for a moment, skittering to hover above his heavy, black boots. 

Azriel paused, chest heaving, and looked up to see Rhysand and Cassian standing at the edge of the training ring. He gave no verbal greeting, opting to straighten his back and tuck his wings into the blades of his back. 

Rhysand raised a brow, an edge of annoyance creeping into his voice. “I’ve been calling for you.”

Azriel only tossed a glance at Cassian before bringing a hand to wipe the sweat off his brow. Rhys sighed, a sound that was clipped in a sense of frustration. “We need to talk.”

Azriel looked at his hands, taking in the bloodied knuckles and the slight tremble in his fingers. His shadows slowly snaked around his forearms and he felt a tug deep within his chest. 

He cringed at the sensation, at the feeling that had grown to something so routine as of late. 

He assumed it was the nagging feeling of unfinished business, that he was restless and unsettled because, in any other case, he would’ve killed you, would’ve done something to keep you contained—but he couldn’t. He wasn’t allowed to. A beast wandering free and he was feral for you. Not that he’d ever admit it. Not even to his shadows. 

“I’m busy,” Azriel finally said, his voice cold and final. 

The tone of it felt so jarring that even Cassian’s eyes widened slightly in shock. From beside him, Rhysand’s jaw twitched. He stepped closer. 

“Well then. Finish what you're doing and meet me back in my office within the hour.”

Something burned beneath Azriel’s skin. “I’m not your dog,” he snapped.

Something shifted in the air and Azriel didn’t need to look over at his brothers to know he was pushing their patience— he could smell it, the offense that radiated off them. It should have made him sick, made him feel guilty if anything, but it didn't.

It was Cassian who replied first, a flaring anger as he stepped forward, wings extending with the movement. “Az,” he said sharply, a warning clear in his tone.

Azriel almost laughed to himself. Your voice rang in his mind again, loud and entirely too overwhelming. If he was a slave to Rhysand, what did that make Cassian? A better brother, maybe. An even better-trained dog, too.

Rhysand’s face flickered with indecision, as if he were struggling between what role he should assume—  that of the High Lord or that of a friend. Anger flashed in his violet eyes before he pushed it back. 

“No, you are not,” Rhysand said, “But you are my family and this court’s Spymaster. And I am calling on you in regard to those two positions you hold.”

A moment of silence passed and the thickness of it prickled at Cassian’s skin. He let out a scoff, focusing his gaze on Azriel as he shifted his weight on his feet. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Azriel glared at him.  “Nothing.”

Rhysand sighed. “Fine. You don’t want to leave this ring? I can work with that.” He beckoned Cassian to walk with him onto the ring, stepping closer to Azriel. “I’ve set up a meeting with Beron.”

Azriel’s head snapped up. “That is a bad idea.”

Rhysand raised his eyebrows. “You hid a prisoner from me and risked an entire alliance. I’m not asking for your approval.”

Azriel’s shadows wrapped coiled tighter against him. 

“So why are you telling me?” 

“Because you will need to be in attendance,” Rhysand replied. His tone left no room for argument. “And I expect you to be in control. Whatever issues you have with Y/N, you will not be repeating them again.”

Azriel cringed inwardly. His brother didn’t know the full extent of what had transpired. He only knew the story that Azriel had spun– one of you threatening to end the alliance if he didn’t help you with Renard, how he had claimed he couldn’t stand being around you anymore and ended it on his own terms. The beautifully and carefully constructed lie Azriel had fed him so easily that it concerned him. 

Cassian watched the tense exchange with a furrowed brow. It only took a few seconds before his restraint broke, and he let out a small growl in warning. “Cauldron, Az, are you itching for a fight?” he said, “I would’ve expected you to be ecstatic now that you're not forced to spend time with that pretentious bitch of a—”

“Shut the hell up,” Azriel snapped, his head whipping up to glare at Cassian. The force of his words made Cassian step back, the frown deepening on his face. His jaw tightened as he took a step forward, as if to ready himself to strike.

Azriel quickly checked himself and took a deep breath. “This has nothing to do with her,” he said, his voice strained but measured— controlled. “Of course I’m glad to be free of that gods-forsaken arrangement.” He sent a glance Rhysand’s way, a flicker of defiance in his eyes. “It never should have been made.”

Cassian opened his mouth, his protest painted clear in his expression, but Rhysand clapped a hand on his shoulder, silencing him before he spoke. “Cass, I need a moment with Az.”

Cassian looked offended, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to form words. “What—but—”

“Go,” Rhysand said firmly. Once again, his tone held no room for argument. Unlike Az, Cassian complied, but not without a head shake and a scoff.

Cassian grumbled under his breath, casting one last burning glance at Azriel before leaving the training ring. Az made a mental note that he’d have to fix that later, whatever small crack he’d just created between them. He wasn't too worried about it, but he needed to do it before the wound festered.

Once they were alone, Rhysand’s eyes bore into Azriel’s in a scrutinizing gaze. It was heavy, curious, and frustrated at the same time. It felt heavier than usual. “What is this really about?”

Azriel stared at him, shadows swirling around his hands. He shook his head. “Nothing.”

Rhysand’s expression hardened. “Azriel. You have already kept too much from me. I have been graceful.”

A muscle tensed in the shadowsinger's jaw.

“And if I don’t say anything? What will you do then? Command me to be honest?” Azriel’s voice was sharp. While there was a clear challenge in his tone, Rhysand recognized something else in it, something that reeked of insecurity, of a male unsettled.

Rhys narrowed his eyes and his power crackled beneath his skin. “Careful.”

They stood locked in a silent standoff, both rigid in posture and face tightened in a stare. Azriel’s mind raced as he weighed his options, desperately searching for the best route to end the conversation. He settled on a half truth.

“Eris can be predictable. But Y/N is not. And now we have no read on her.”

Rhysand narrowed his eyes. “And whose fault is that?”

Azriel snarled, but Rhysand let out a small sigh that cut through the sound. “Let me worry about that alliance. Get yourself together.”

And then he began to walk away, a picture-perfect image of calm and control.

“When is the meeting with Beron?” Azriel called after him.

Rhysand stopped and shrugged, a faint, almost dismissive gesture. “Maybe in two days. Or two weeks. We will see. Either way—my sentiment still stands.”

Azriel knew Rhysand was right; he needed to get himself together. But the disaster within him, the tangled mess of emotions and unresolved conflict, was driving him more mad that usual. Your face, your words, haunted him still, and he wondered if he would ever find a way to fix the mess you had left in your wake.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You made your way around the library, navigating through the rows of meticulously organized shelves, each one filled with hundreds of beautifully bound books. The scent of aged parchment and faint traces of magic hung in the air and you were almost tempted to linger and explore.

You'd always craved a day in the Day Court's libraries, a time to read and run your fingers along a variety of books. It was just as beautiful as you'd imagined, and you told yourself you'd return another day and appreciate it properly.

But right now, your focus was on a different kind of discovery. Skillfully avoiding the watchful eyes of Helion’s skilled librarians and guards—each dressed casually yet elegantly, exuding an air of quiet power—you moved with purpose.

It only took you a few more minutes before you found the heavy door concealed within a niche, its ancient wood imposing against the backdrop of polished stone. With a mixture of excitement and caution, you pushed it open, revealing a dimly lit chamber tucked away from prying eyes. There were countless shelves laden with dusty volumes lining the walls of the chamber. Small tables and ornate couches were spread throughout the room with faint, glittering faelights that accompanied them.

You could only imagine the type of people Helion had housed here, the conversations that must have unfolded amidst the quiet elegance that the space seemed to hold. 

A smile tugged at your lips as you stepped inside. 

And then you stilled as a prickling sensation bit at the nape of your neck.

You whirled around, seizing Azriel’s arm and slamming him against the wall. Surprise flitted across his face, replaced swiftly by a calculating gaze as he reversed your maneuver with effortless grace, pinning you back against the cool stone instead. 

Before you could offer him a few choice words, a faint shimmer of light danced through the air. The large door through which you had entered shut with a heavy thud, the surface of it shimmering faintly, as if an invisible force sealed it shut.

"No, no, no," you muttered under your breath, pushing Azriel off with enough force to make him stumble. His eyes darted across the room as you pressed your palms against the door, trying to push it open again, but it remained resolutely closed. The air around you crackled with suppressed magic. 

"What the hell was that?" he demanded, his voice tinged with urgency.

"It's a containment spell,” you bit out, “We're trapped.”

Some time passed in tense silence as Azriel moved methodically around the room. Your gaze followed his every move, your jaw set in a tight line as you swallowed down the insults that were itching to be thrown at him.

“Can’t you make them do something useful?” you snapped, nodding towards the black smoke that buzzed around Azriel’s form. “Send them to get help or something?”

Azriel rolled his eyes and his shadows seemed to mimic the movement, circling his arms in a fit of annoyance.  “Thank you for that brilliant idea,” he said, tone dripping with sarcasm. “If you haven’t noticed, princess, they are shadows.”

He gestured to the sunlight flooding through the cracks of the grand door.  “They can’t go out in broad daylight. And from what I’ve observed about this library, there's a lot of that. We’re going to have to wait until sunset.”

Helion’s libraries were bathed in perpetual sunlight, with large, open windows that invited the sun's rays to flood the space. It casted a warm, golden glow over the towering shelves in a way that made the space seem dreamlike, made it seem holy. The sunlight wasn’t just a feature; it was a constant presence— the library was filled with sunlight every hour of the day that the sun was shining.

This particular room, however, was the exception. It was windowless, the only light filtering in through the cracks of the large charmed door. The room was designed to preserve the unique and delicate books within, shielding them from the harsh sunlight that could damage their pages. You had come here specifically for this reason, to find a particular book in this carefully protected area.

“Sunset?” you echoed incredulously. “It’s nine in the fucking morning, Shadowsinger. You’re telling me I have to wait until either Helion finds us or until your little shadow dogs can finally go out and play?”

Azriel raised an eyebrow, his mouth falling into a tight line.  “Well, maybe you should break into libraries at more reasonable hours of the day.”

You resisted the urge to pull a book from one of the many shelves and hurl it his way. “I wasn’t breaking in,” you retorted, crossing your arms. “You made this a break-in when you followed me and set off some strange alarms.”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed and he took a step towards you. “I didn’t follow you, and I certainly didn’t set off any alarms. That was all you.”

“You didn’t follow me?” you scoffed. “Then what were you doing? Brooding from afar in hopes that I’d apologize for hurting your feelings?”

A flicker of irritation crossed his features. His jaw tightened and his eyes flashed with something close to anger. “H-hurting my feelings?” he said, his voice low, “You think you hurt my feelings?”

“Yes,” you replied, lifting your chin. “I think I bruised your ego by shoving the truth down your throat.”

“Oh, please. Don’t flatter yourself, ” he sneered. Azriel turned on his heel and took one step away from you before he was spinning around, lifting an accusatory finger your way. “And I don’t brood. I was surveying the area for threats, which, if I recall correctly, is my job.”

“Yeah, in the Night Court,” you snapped back, “We’re in the Day Court, genius.”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed with irritation. “The Day Court is our ally. That means ensuring their safety—and ours. If you weren’t wandering into places you don’t belong, I wouldn’t need to follow you.”

You let out a bitter laugh, stepping closer to him. “So you admit you were following me?”

Azriel stiffened as if he had barely registered the words he’d spoken. He blinked and then he strengthened himself, speaking to you in a voice that was steady and cold. “You’re a threat that needs to be monitored.”

Something burned in your chest. 

“Is that what you were doing every time you slept with me? Monitoring me?”

The words seemed to hit their intended target. For a moment, there was silence. Azriel’s expression hardened and he held your gaze for a beat too long before looking away.

When you realized he wasn’t going to offer a verbal response, you let out a deep breath.

“I don’t understand why you can’t just leave me alone,” you growled through gritted teeth. “I’ve done nothing besides visit an open court. Helion has no problems with me being here. And now you’ve gone and trapped us because you’re an obsessive, paranoid, freak.”

He looked at you again, his eyes guarded and expression unreadable.

“This is not my fault. This is yours. Forgive me if I didn’t believe that you had innocent intentions.”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course, the all-knowing Spymaster assumes I’m up to something sinister. Maybe I just wanted to read in peace.”

“Then why all the secrecy?” he shot back, “Why the need to sneak into restricted sections?”

You felt a surge of frustration flickering in you like a hot flame. You curled your hands into fists, grounding yourself as your nails bit into your palm. “Like I said, I just wanted to read in peace. You don’t know everything. You don’t know what I’m doing or why. So stop pretending you do.”

Azriel studied you for a long moment. 

“Okay,” He began as he took another step towards you, shadows flickering around him like agitated serpents. “Tell me exactly what you are doing here. What book are you looking to read?”

The shadows around him seemed to pulse. You held his gaze, feeling the weight of his scrutiny bearing down on you. Swallowing against the sudden dryness in your throat, you glowered at him. 

“None of your business,” you said, your voice low, cold, and clipped. “Get off my back.”

“Not until I know you’re not up to something.”

“Paranoid bastard.”

“I have every right to be,” he said, “Especially with you.”

“You’re insufferable,” you shot back, feeling the heat of frustration rising within you — fast and unforgiving. It simmered at the edges of your skin.  “It must be so exhausting living in that tiresome head of yours.”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, his jaw tightening as he struggled to rein in his temper. “You have a habit of causing trouble. It’s my job to ensure that trouble doesn’t affect my people or our allies.”

“Your people,” You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. You pushed away the urge to make a further comment on his choice of words. “If you stopped treating me like an enemy, I wouldn’t feel the need to act like one. Everything that I am is what you have pushed me to be.”

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you thought he might actually strike you. But instead, he took a deep breath as a shadow of conflict passed over his features. Before the silence between you could stretch any longer, Azriel straightened, his mask of indifference slipping back into place. 

“Why not just tell me what you’re doing?” 

Because you didn’t owe him an explanation. The thought echoed resolutely in your mind. Beneath your defiance, a familiar, almost comforting, surge of resentment bubbled up—why should you justify your every move to him? He was nothing more than an obstacle, an irritating shadow that refused to fade.

So you said nothing, gave no reply. The silence stretched between you and each passing moment seemed to exacerbate his agitation. You observed the cracks in his usual unbothered, stoic facade— the clenching of his strangely battered fists, the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. He deserved to be unsettled, you thought bitterly. His mistrust was a reflection of his own insecurities, his duty an excuse to assert dominance over you. You refused to be cowed, not by him or anyone else.

“Silence. Beautiful,” he scoffed. Azriel turned away and you reveled in the momentary victory, savoring the small triumph of making him fall into a state of unease. 

He began to pace the room, muttering under his breath— you could hear it only slightly, a continuous complaint about everything from the sunlight filtering through the door to the layout of the library. You stared at him, noticing how his shadows mimicked his agitation, swirling around him in a frenzy. His wings twitched with every movement. 

His pacing became more frantic as he moved closer to the door, placing his hand on it as if trying to force it open. “This is ridiculous,” he growled. “We’re trapped here because of your secrecy. If you hadn’t been sneaking around—”

He paused mid-sentence, his movements halting abruptly. As if the weight of your gaze was tangible, he turned to look at you, eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that almost made you twitch.  

“What?” Azriel snapped, a strain seizing his voice. Even his shadows seemed to jump at the sound of it.  “Do you finally have something to say, princess?”

You remained silent, meeting his gaze with a steady calmness that seemed to unsettle him further. After a long moment, you finally spoke, your voice cool and measured. “I just have a question.”

Azriel scowled. “And what would that be?”

You observed him closely, tracing every miniscule movement of his body. A wicked smirk tugged at the corners of your lips.

“What color collar would you like?”  You asked, raising an eyebrow as if to feign impatience. You leaned forward slightly. “You know, to go with all of your bitching and whining? I’m thinking a sapphire blue to coordinate with your gaudy jewelry.”

Your eyes flicked down to his siphons, and as if in response, the siphons glowed angrily. Underneath them, his fists clenched tightly, his whole body seeming to vibrate with anger. If Azriel wasn’t angry before, he was fuming now. The atmosphere crackled with animosity.

“Shut up,” Azriel said through clenched teeth. 

You tilted your head, a defiant glint in your eyes. “Why should I?”

With a sudden surge of aggression, Azriel stomped towards you, his footsteps echoing in the confined space. He came to an abrupt stop just a few paces away, visibly fighting to maintain his composure. His fists clenched at his sides, shadows swirling around him like black smoke as he took a deep breath.

“Until we’re out of this gods-forsaken room,” he said tightly, “Just shut your damned mouth and stay over here. I’ll stay on the other end, out of your way.”

You weighed your options for a moment. You gave him a nonchalant shrug. “Fine. Works for me.”

Azriel shot you a final piercing glare before turning away, his back rigid with tension. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You weren't sure how long had passed, but it had certainly been longer than an hour. 

The enchantment that bound you and Azriel to this room seemed to turn every minute into an eternity. You were suffocating. 

The weight of time pressed down on you as you scoured the shelves, determined not to let Azriel and this infuriating enchantment thwart your purpose. This restricted area of Helion's grand library was vast, filled with more books on folklore and legends than you had anticipated—and a rather peculiar assortment of erotic 'vampire' poetry that you tried your best to ignore.

Despite your persistence, you had yet to uncover any clue as to the whereabouts of what you sought. Each book you pulled from the shelves yielded nothing but disappointment.

You sighed, turning away from yet another shelf of books when your eyes caught sight of a one that stood out amidst the worn and weathered bindings. It was a slender volume with a vibrant red leather cover, contrasting sharply with the tattered browns around it. Without fully realizing your own actions, you reached out and delicately plucked the book from its place, cradling it in your hands.

The cover felt smooth and cool to the touch, the red leather soft against your fingertips. The title was written in an elegant, swirling golden cursive. It wasn't what you had been searching for—a book of love poems wasn't going to help you find the edge you sought—but something about it called to you nonetheless.

You landed on one particular page. The corners were marked with a dog-eared fold, a simple act that nearly drew a smile to your lips at the thought of Eris’s disdain for such casual treatment of books. He would have scoffed, made some remark about how it marred the delicate pages and diminished their value. 

Before the rift between him and Eris grew too wide, Lucien used to sneak into Eris’s room and borrow his books, delighting in folding the pages to mark his favorite passages. Eris would fume at the sight, scolding Lucien for disrespecting not only his belongings but the value of the books themselves. Lucien basked in the frustration and would laugh so hard— a bright, joyous sound that echoed through the halls until Beron wearied of it. 

Lucien stopped stealing those books soon after. He quickly learned that his place was not in his brother's room— it wasn’t even in his own home. 

You turned your attention back to the poem on the page before you, your heart skipping a beat as you recognized the title. Something as heavy as a stone settled in your stomach. 

Your mother was a lot of things. She was quiet at times, yes, but it was more pensive than it was shy. She was unbelievably brilliant, to a point where it pained you to think about it, to let yourself wonder how different her life could have been had she married someone other than your father. How different her life may have been if she never had any of you.

When you were younger, she fed you her fascination of books. Besides Eris and Lucien, your other brothers never took to it as much. They much preferred sparring in rings and finding ways to appease your father. While they lived off of the praise they received like good soldiers, you lived off of the stories your mother could tell you at night. 

It was during those quiet hours, after Beron had retired to his chambers and the River House grew still, that she would sit by your bedside and brush the hair from your face. She would whisper stories into the darkness, tales of far-off lands and brave heroes, of mythical creatures and forbidden romances. But there was one story she cherished above all others.

It was a short poem from the perspective of two lovers torn apart by war. They loved each other fiercely, but the cruel hands of fate kept them separated in life. So profound was their longing that they struck a bargain with Death himself, pledging their souls to be together for eternity in the afterlife. The poem spoke of their sacrifice, their undying devotion, and the bittersweet beauty of a love that transcended even death.

You loved it almost as much as your mother did. 

Love was real. This you knew. But it wasn’t for people in Autumn. It wasn’t for people who shared your blood. 

Your mother proved it. The way her eyes would glaze over as she recited the poem, the way she’d talk about a love that you knew was never referring to Beron. She longed for someone that wasn't your father, someone she could never be with. And Jesmindas death only solidified the fact that love wasn’t made for Vanserras. 

You still heard her screams at night, still held the image of Lucien’s blood curling sobs. 

Loving someone, as much as you craved it, was selfish. It was a death wish— not only for you, but for them as well.

You read the poem again and a heavy feeling itched itself into your heart— something like a dagger of melancholy, stirring emotions that made you feel small and weak. Your chest tightened and you gripped the book tightly, feeling a flicker of fire growing within your bones. 

Your mothers poem was here. In a book that was so clearly loved, so clearly worn. It felt almost sacred, imbued with a history of love and loss, cherished by someone who, like you, sought solace in its verses.

In this spell-protected sanctuary, amidst the hallowed halls of knowledge and ancient books, a realization hit you with a chilling clarity. You fought to regain composure, blinking away the tears that brimmed on your waterlines. 

A soft, feather-light sensation around your wrist startled you back to the present. You looked down at your hands, watching as Azriel’s shadows flitted around you.Their touch was so gentle, so tender that it made you itch. You snapped the book shut, shoving it back into the shelf with a loud thud. 

“If you don’t stop, I will pin you and your wings to the wall like a fucking decoration.”

Azriel let out a growl, but he refused to look your way. He didn’t have the energy needed in him to properly reciprocate the threat, didn’t quite care enough to be bothered by it. 

You let out an angry breath. “Can you please control your little creatures?”

Your hand swatted at the shadows that still circled your wrists relentlessly. 

“What are you talking about—”

Azriel’s words died in his throat as he looked at you. His body stiffened, and within seconds the shadows were dissipating from your wrists. They curled around his body, a single tendril wrapping around his ear.

Azriel’s face softened slightly, a crease forming between his furrowed eyebrows. He held your gaze for a moment. And then he was stoic once more— no trace that he had felt anything at all.

He said nothing and turned around sharply, a wave of agitation passing over his features as his shadows swirled around him. You frowned at the abrupt change in his demeanor and watched as he paced back and forth, his boots tapping softly against the library's polished floor. The repetitive movement was starting to get on your nerves and you opened your mouth, ready to make a biting comment to make him stop.  But you hesitated. Your mouth fell closed once more. 

Something felt deeply wrong. You couldn’t place your finger on it, couldn’t explain why you felt it deep in your chest, but something was wrong. 

Azriel’s shadows, usually dark and smooth like ink in water, appeared unsettled and disjointed. They moved with an unusual haste, swirling around him with an air of desperation. It wasn’t there— that seamless synchronization they usually held with him. 

His hands were clasped together, fingers flexing and fidgeting, marred by various cuts and bruises. He lingered near the sunlight that poured through the door in sharp lines across the floor. He seemed almost drawn to it, yet hesitant, like a moth wary of the flame.

Perhaps it was the troubled look on Azriel’s face, or the tenderness of his shadows, or the memory of your mother—  but something inside you settled. Whatever it was, the pointed edge in your voice melted into a more rounded, concerned tone. You threw a quick glance over your shoulder at the red leather-bound book you had clutched moments ago. 

"What's wrong with you?” 

Azriel’s eyes flicked towards the sunlight again, and you saw a wave of something you couldn’t quite place—fear, perhaps, or deep discomfort. His shadows recoiled slightly as if the light was pushing them back.

“Nothing,” he muttered, but the word rang hollow, lacking conviction.

“Bullshit,” you shot back, not unkindly. “You’re pacing like a caged animal.”

He stiffened at your words and his movements came to a halt.  

You knew what Azriel's past had been like, not fully, but enough.

Vanserras were talented in making it their business to know everyone else's, and you had made it your point to ensure you knew everything about one of your family's greatest enemies— the male standing before you now. You knew what his brothers did to him, even made pointed comments about it recently, ones you fully meant in the moment. But you had never thought deeply or long enough about it, never truly imagined a younger Azriel. Now, as you watched him pace back and forth, his wings tightly folded, his hands fidgeting near the sealed door and the sunlight, you couldn't help but see a different side of him.

Azriel had been confined to a basement, a place likely with little light and minimal freedom. Now, he was trapped here, in this room, with you. Your heart tugged with a mixture of empathy and unease, a wave of nausea rising in your throat. Before you fully comprehended what you were doing, you spoke.

“I suppose since we’re both here, I should thank you.”

Azriel spun around, caught off guard by the unexpected tone in your voice— one that was uncharacteristically gentle. His brows furrowed in suspicion as he stared at you, eyes narrowing slightly. “Thank me?”

You nodded, swallowing back your pride as you continued, “Renard came back to Autumn. I don’t know what my father did to him after, but his story was that he’d fallen into bed with a female and got lost in the pleasure — drunken bender and all.”

Azriel’s expression remained guarded, but you detected a sweep of something in his face— a wave of release as his tension visibly faded— only slightly, but enough to where his wings shifted behind him, flaring out to occupy more space.

“So thank you,” you repeated, your eyes not leaving his. “I know it was Rhysand who influenced his mind, and I know it was you who asked him to do it.”

Azriel shrugged, a terse gesture that seemed to dismiss the weight of your gratitude. He looked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You hummed and annoyance simmered beneath your attempt at gratitude. "Fine," you said curtly, turning away to inspect the nearby bookshelves. But after a few steps, you stopped yourself and pivoted back toward him. "Actually, no. Why didn’t you just kill him?”

Azriel’s eyes met yours as you continued. 

“Renard, I mean. You could have. Probably would’ve been easier. I assume it would’ve saved you a lecture from your owne-'' You stopped yourself, and within the same breath, corrected the word you spoke. “Rhysand.”

Azriel hung onto your hesitation, his brow raising in silent inquiry as he fixed you with a penetrating stare. He cocked his head at you. “Well, that could have gotten you killed, couldn’t it have?”

You blinked and your chest tightened.  “I wasn’t aware you cared if I lived or died.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t either,” Azriel said quietly. As the words left his mouth, he stiffened and took a deep breath.

“What I mean to say is,” he started, his voice now strained with a different tone.  “You’re no use to me if you’re dead. It would be hard to maintain an alliance with your brother if I got you killed.”

You snorted, a smile playing on your lips as you absorbed his words “Right.”

But the smile you wore wasn’t bitter. It was amused if anything, which seemed to ease Azriel’s mind enough to where he was saying your name in an attempt to gather your attention. You met his gaze.

“What are you really doing here?”

There was no use in hiding. You glanced at his shadows, noting their restlessness, and realized they might even help. You decided to tell him the truth. The air was still, the room still locked, but you no longer felt suffocated. Looking at him, at the hazel in his eyes, you began.

"Renard did tell us everything we needed to know," you said, your voice steady. "He doesn't know anything because Beron doesn't know anything. He's trying to find any information on how to get power. I just thought that if I could learn more about Koschei, I could figure out how to step forward."

Azriel watched you intently. Something burned in the hazel of his eyes.

You sighed, the weight of his gaze heavy on your shoulders. "I know Helion has a special interest in folklore and legends. And I know somewhere here is a very old, very special book that has the story and origins of that stupid death god."

You thought of Eris, of your mother, of how Autumn had been these past two weeks. Beron's temper had grown more volatile, his punishments more severe. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the flash of his cruelty, felt the sting of his whip. Your stress was a living thing now, coiling around your chest, making it hard to breathe. You were exhausted— so exhausted that you couldn’t muster the energy to be angry at Azriel as much as before, couldn’t find the effort to hide your vulnerability. 

You waited for him to say something dismissive. Instead, he simply said, "Okay.”

He glanced at his shadows. They darted out from him, spreading around the room like wisps of smoke seeking the smallest crevices. You frowned, watching as they probed the shelves and corners. 

“They’ll find it,” Azriel said. His tone was casual, but the burning in his eyes betrayed his focus. You held his gaze as it seared into you. You already knew that this look would be etched into your memory, that it would surface at times you wished it would not.

A clear hesitancy found its way onto your face through knitted brows. He was too quiet, too nice. It made you wary. 

“Unless you're eager to search hundreds of books one by one?” he added, raising a brow at your silence. “I’m happy to sit back and watch your unsuccessful search resume.”

You scowled. "No. This works."

Azriel gave a small nod and resumed his pacing, though this time, it seemed more purposeful.

You watched as the shadows flitted from shelf to shelf, their dark forms moving with an eerie grace— slipping into the gaps between books, brushing over spines, and teasing open pages.

Your mind wandered back to the poem you had read earlier, the love and sacrifice it spoke of. For some reason, your mind wandered to the shadowsinger that walked a mere few feet from you. As much as his cold exterior suggested otherwise, there were moments—fleeting, rare moments—where you saw a flicker of something more than just anger in his eyes. You wondered if Azriel understood such depths of emotion, if he had felt such love for Morrigan— if that was what blinded him into his deep loathing of you and your family.

The minutes ticked by, and you found yourself glancing at Azriel more frequently. The tension in his posture had eased, his wings now slightly unfurled as if he too felt some semblance of peace.

It was odd, being in this situation with him, and suddenly not feeling a burning, biting hatred at his presence. You were so used to that feeling of anger, that fierce, consuming rage that burned so hot it turned into desire. That you understood—the satisfaction that came with knowing he was hungry for you despite everything he hated about you. The push and pull, the electric tension, it had always defined your interactions.

You wanted to shred your skin because this female now, this emotional, open one, who was beginning to see Azriel as something more than a male to fuck and a dog to rile up, wasn't you. It made your skin crawl with a kind of vulnerability you had long since sworn off. 

You forced yourself to look away, to focus on the task at hand, but the unease lingered. The minutes stretched into an eternity before Azriel spoke again, breaking the heavy silence. 

You looked at him, noticing the shadows curling around his wrists. He was holding a book, its cover worn and ancient, and he lifted it slightly. "Here it is."

You quickly strode over, reaching for the book, but he lifted it out of your grasp. You clenched your jaw. "Give me the damned book."

He stared at you, his expression unreadable. "We can look at it together."

"Are you kidding me?" you snapped, "Are you seriously so afraid of me that you won't allow me to read a book in your presence?"

Azriel's eyes darkened slightly, but his voice remained calm. "You're not the only one seeking information about Koschei and his origins. We're on the same side about that—unless you've forgotten."

 “Fine,” you said, then added with a sarcastic edge, “I’m honestly surprised you can even read. You lack so many manners that I figured you were as slow as the rest of your kind.”

Azriel growled but handed you the book anyways, and a small smirk of satisfaction tugged at the edges of your lips. You took it from his grasp, fingers brushing against his. 

A strange jolt of something—recognition, perhaps—passed between you. You ignored it, focusing instead on the text before you.  You placed the book on a nearby table, feeling Azriel’s presence behind you, his shadows hovering around the pages. You resisted the urge to swat them away, recognizing that they were probably relaying the information to him. 

Time went by, and frustration began to mount as you found nothing new. “So he’s deathless, has no body, is powerful, confined to a lake, and has a thing for trapping females. We know all of this,” you muttered, snapping the book shut with such force that the shadows flinched. “He’s a powerful freak with a fetish for holding women captive.”

You glanced over your shoulder, a mocking smile on your lips.  “He’s basically an Illyrian without wings.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened as he stared at you. His eyes darkened for a moment, and then something flickered in them. He raised an eyebrow. “We should just offer you to Koschei. One day with you and he might be tempted to kill himself just to be free of it.”

Your eyes widened as a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. Despite sensing his expectation for your anger, you let out a laugh. Azriel blinked in surprise and his shadows stilled momentarily. He felt it again, that strange chill that ran down his back at the sound leaving your lips. His wings shuddered for a moment and he traced the movement of your mouth as it curled into a grin. 

"That was actually kind of funny, Shadowsinger," you remarked, meeting his gaze squarely. "Who knew you had a sense of humor under all of that self-loathing and impulsivity.”

Azriel glared at you, his expression carrying his usual intensity, but there was a subtle softening in his eyes. The sharp edge that usually accompanied his gaze seemed to dull slightly, hinting at a glimmer of amusement. Under the weight of his gaze, you turned your head back towards the book in front of you, finding a place for your eyes to settle that wasn’t his hazel ones. Still, the heat radiated off his body— he was too close, entirely too close.

Ignoring him, you glanced towards the door and noticed the sunlight had lessened. "I believe your little creatures are safe to wander," you remarked coolly, "I think you could do us both a favor and send them to get us the hell out of here."

Azriel let out a grumble, but you observed as shadows flitted across the floor and through the cracks. Relief washed over you at the thought of soon being free from this place, away from Azriel's unsettling presence.

Yet, you could still feel him staring at you. 

"Why go through all of this trouble?" His voice was steady, probing.  "Search for a book you weren't even sure had any answers? Without my shadows, you could have spent hours going through each shelf to find it."

You gritted your teeth. "Gods, do you always ask so many questions?"

"Humor me," he replied evenly.

"I think I've done a bit too much of that recently," you retorted, a hint of exasperation coloring your tone.

You sighed, feeling his intense stare burning into your back. Turning around completely to face him, you gripped against the table, trying to control the heat rising within you. Azriel’s eyes were already on you when you found the will to look at him. 

"You admitted it yourself a few weeks ago. You'd go to extreme lengths for your family, too.”

He raised his eyebrow slightly. “All of this effort for that cruel brother of yours?"

Your anger flared and you felt your body tense as the ember of your powers simmered beneath your skin. But as you glanced at Azriel, his gaze unexpectedly open, you recalled your last conversation with him, how angry you were at the realization that Eris deserved better, that no one would ever let him live down his past. But here, staring at Azriel, in a space that felt so intimate, maybe you could push a new perspective even harder, force a seed of understanding. 

Taking a breath to steady yourself, you decided to reach out beyond the walls of your blinding anger.

"The only difference between your brother and mine is that Eris won’t try to write off his actions as for the greater good. Sometimes bad things are just bad things. And we all have to do bad things to survive."

Azriel scanned your face, his gaze lingering so long that you immediately regretted saying anything. The feeling rose in your throat like bile and a simmering heat spread through your chest, a fire you almost wished would consume you. 

“I’m sorry,” Azriel finally said, “That you couldn’t find anything. That you wasted a day here.”

His tone was so soft that you were almost tempted to believe that he meant it— that he was being sincere. Your chest tightened. That reality was unlikely, and you quickly let your defenses kick in, looking away with a roll of your eyes. 

"Don’t mock me," you snapped.

Azriel's expression hardened as he frowned. "What?" 

Meeting his gaze angrily, you reiterated, "I said, don't mock me. Pretending to care is cruel, even for you."

You released your grip on the table and turned to walk past him, but he reached out, grabbing your hand firmly, pulling you to him. The touch sent a chill through your arm. 

“By the Cauldron, must you fight me on everything?” He said through clenched teeth. “Can’t you just let me say that I'm sorry?" 

You stared at him, taking in his troubled expression, the way his eyes seemed to hold a storm of conflicting emotions. Pulling your hand from his grasp, you rubbed the spot where his touch lingered, as if trying to erase his imprint on you.

"I'm just supposed to believe that you've suddenly had a change of heart?" 

Azriel ran a hand through his hair. "You are infuriating, you know that?" 

"Ah yes, a supposed genuine apology followed by insult. Hypocritical as usual, Shadowsinger." 

Exasperation flickered across Azriel's face. "If I wanted to insult you, princess, I'd do a much better job than calling you infuriating."

You held his stare, anger and suffocation swirling within you. Your hands curled into fists as Azriel's troubled gaze continued to burn into yours.

He followed the line of your neck as you swallowed, his eyes lingering on you in a way that felt too intense for the confined space. Perhaps it was the lack of his shadows, the absence of his usual watchful companions, but Azriel found himself moving closer to you despite your recoil.

"What is it about you that drives me insane?" he murmured his voice barely above a whisper.

Your brow furrowed in confusion and your stomach twisted into a knot.  "What are you talking about?"

"These past two weeks," he continued, his tone tinged with something raw and unguarded. "You have not left my mind. I hear your voice, calling me weak."

You scoffed and looked away. "So I have hurt your feelings. A bit pathetic, don't you think?" 

Azriel shook his head. "No. You didn't hurt my feelings, Y/N."

The sound of your name on his lips sent a shiver through your body and your chest tightened.  His gaze flickered down to your mouth briefly before meeting your eyes again. You found yourself unable to look away.

“You want Eris to be High Lord,” Azriel stated, “I will help you make that come to fruition.”

You stared at Azriel, momentarily stunned. His words hung in the air, mingling with the charged, suffocating atmosphere between you. The intensity of his gaze made you feel exposed, vulnerable, and yet there was a gleam of something else—it felt like hope, buried deep beneath layers of mistrust.

"Why? You hate Eris.”

"It is one cruel leader for another. But at least this way, it will benefit my home. And then I can be free of you and work to take down Koschei."

His words sunk in slowly. He can be free of you. You tried to read his expression. Azriel extended his hand towards you, palm upturned. 

"We seal this bargain," he said solemnly, his eyes searching yours. “No more sneaking around and I will help you. You get what you want.”

You hesitated. But something inside you—a desperate need for a way out of this predicament, a glimmer of hope for a future where Eris could be High Lord—compelled you to reach out. You placed your hand in his, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours.

As soon as your skin touched, a surge of energy coursed through you both— a burning sensation, starting from your intertwined hands and spreading outward. Azriel's eyes widened imperceptibly, and you sensed him searching for the hidden markings that sealed your pact. He found nothing on your exposed skin. 

You withdrew your hand slowly. There was a newfound weight to the air. You opened your mouth to speak when a burst of sunlight pierced through the dimness of the room. 

You took a large step back, gaze darting to the entrance of the room. Helion strode in with characteristic grace, his presence commanding the room effortlessly as tendrils of shadow snaked towards Azriel, winding their way up his body.

Helion's eyes swept over the scene before him. His expression gave away nothing as he observed you and Azriel. After a moment, he finally spoke. 

"Out of all the collectables in this room, I have to say seeing you two together is the rarest thing I've set my eyes on.”

You shot a quick glance at Azriel. You offered Helion a small smile. “Helion–”

Helion lifted a hand gently. "I'm not sure I want to know," he said. His gaze settled on you. "Have you done anything I need to be wary of?"

You shook your head firmly. "No."

"Then that's all I need," Helion replied casually, his attention now turning to Azriel. "Am I correct to assume Rhysand has no idea you're here?" 

You frowned, head turning to look at Azriel, who managed to meet your gaze briefly before looking back at the High Lord that stood before you. Azriel said nothing, opting to clench his jaw. 

“Alright.” Helion let out a small breath, pursing his lips in thought. "I'm known to keep a secret or two.”

He did, indeed. You knew this now more than ever.

You took advantage of Helion’s presence to observe him closely, taking in his chiseled features and the graceful stature in which he stood. Despite the reputation both you and Eris had garnered, Helion had always been fair to you, not quick to judge. You wondered now if that was due to something beyond an innate sense of empathy he held— if he had a sense of loyalty to you because of the blood that ran in your veins. 

"Let me escort you both out," Helion offered finally, breaking the silence that had settled between the three of you. Without waiting for a response, he turned towards the door. 

As you walked with him, you heard a faint shuffling behind you. From the corner of your eye, you glimpsed Azriel adjusting his posture, the tail end of his movement obscured as he tucked his wings further and clasped his hands behind his back. His shadows coiled around him more tightly than usual. He fell into line behind you. 

You felt a peculiar sensation in your chest. Instinctively, your hand rose to settle over the spot just above your heart. There was a subtle sensation of heat— a tingling warmth that lingered beneath your touch. 

You ignored it as Helion led you out of the library.  

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

enemies.... to enemies to with benefits.... now to tentative allies....dare i say.... friends?

this is a lil turning point for our two cunty losers bc now their bickering is less cruel and vile and its just teasing ugh my HEART

permanent tag list 🫶🏻:

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @sarawritestories

An Education in Malice — Part Four

Pairing: Vanserra!Reader x Azriel

Summary: With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin.

Warnings: 18+ heavy making out and wandering hands, lots of bickering, sexual tension, threats, name calling, torture and wound descriptions, abuse, two emotionally dysregulated cunts tbh

Word Count: 7.7k

←Part Three | Series Masterlist | Part Five

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The air between you and Azriel had taken on a peculiar tension lately, some overwhelming, suffocating force that made you feel entirely too nervous for your comfort.  

Neither of you could ever pinpoint who made the first move— or rather, neither of you were willing to admit who did— but somehow, like clockwork, your dress was hiked up, his leathers were undone, and he was rutting into you from behind. It was always the same: a possessive grip on your waist, in your hair, or on your breasts, breath hot against your ear as he whispered words that only fueled the fire between you, responses to whatever comments you had made to rile him up.

It had become a distraction, this strange dynamic you created, that even Renard's interrogations had taken a backseat in lieu of it. It was proving increasingly difficult to get work done between fighting or fucking. 

The chamber was a dismal pit, darkness swallowing any hint of light that dared to enter. Moisture clung to the walls like a thick veil– the dirty, fetid atmosphere was tainted with the unmistakable stench of blood and other bodily fluids. You wrinkled your nose in disgust.

Azriel approached Renard, head cocking slightly to the side as his shadows danced around him— seemingly curious, excited almost. A twisted sense of satisfaction grew within you at the sight of Renard's pitiful state—starving, bloody, bruised, and desperate. 

Perhaps you should have felt some semblance of remorse or pity; even with how cruel Renard was, a compassionate soul should still feel a sense of guilt, a sense of sickness. But as you searched your body for it, as you attempted to muster it up, you came up empty handed. Instead, a rush of power surged through you. It felt like karma– well deserved karma.

You glanced at Azriel. There seemed to be a mirrored expression of satisfaction on his face, an unphased coolness to the situation before him. Even his shadows seemed at home, falling into familiar, rehearsed positions as he moved.  Deep down, something within you rested at the realization that he felt no remorse, either. 

“Is your plan to just stare at him until he confesses his secrets?”

Azriel could already anticipate the scowl on your face from the tone of your voice alone. He slowly turned his head to toss an unamused glare your way, hazel eyes momentarily scanning your figure. 

For the first time since this arrangement had begun, you were clad in something different, a departure from the usual dresses that adorned your form. The ensemble was a blend of regality and practicality, more akin to the attire of a warrior than a courtly lady— fitted pants and a tailored tunic, fabric adorned with subtle embellishments of autumn. It seemed as if Azriel wasn’t used to the sight yet— or he was entirely repulsed. You weren’t sure which, but you didn’t quite care, either. 

When his eyes met yours again, you gave him an impatient eyebrow raise, nodding towards Renard’s limp body. “Are you done checking me out yet?”

Azriel’s stare remained on you for a few more moments before he followed your line of sight back to the male before him. 

“Maybe if I didn’t have an incessant pest over my shoulder, I would be more successful.”

You stepped closer to him, a faint smell of night-chilled mist and cedar reaching your nose. “Maybe if you were actually good at anything besides harboring a grudge, you would’ve already been successful.”

Azriel didn’t move, didn’t so much as toss a glance your way as he responded, “Being a hypocrite isn’t a look fit for a lady.”

You let out an angry breath. 

Too much time had passed with Renard missing. Soon enough, your father was bound to get suspicious— and Eris was bound to get worried as well.  There wasn’t any doubt that Renard didn’t know much, not only because your father was a paranoid ruler, but because he failed to plan ahead more often than not. You didn’t need much information. All you needed was an idea of what Beron was planning, some inkling. Once you knew that, you could easily prevent it and ensure he didn’t gain any more power— ensure that Eris was set up to successfully overthrow him. 

But Azriel seemed to be taking his time, attempting to get other information about your court that could prove useful for the Night Court. 

“I think we’ve already established I’m past that title.”

Azriel looked at you. “Clearly.”

An all-too familiar simmering prickled at your skin and you clenched your jaw, matching the intensity of his glare with one of your own. 

Renard let out a weak chuckle, blood staining his teeth as he lifted his chin. 

“Listening to you two bicker is almost worse than the actual torture. You’re like a married couple. It’s pathetic.”

Azriel’s head snapped towards the male and a growl rumbled through the room. “Watch your mouth.”

But Renard only sneered, turning his bloodshot eyes to Azriel. “Big bad Shadowsinger, always lurking in the dark. Afraid to face your own inadequacies in the light, boy?”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed, tendrils of shadows now swirling around him, agitated, buzzing with a need to move. Renard offered a sickly, bloodied grin as he observed their movement. “No wonder you hide behind those shadows—they're the only things that can stand being around you.”

There was a pause as Azriel’s gaze grew predatory. And then a small, involuntary sound left your lips. 

It surprised you as much as it did Azriel, who turned to look at you with a furrowed brow and growing scowl. Your eyes widened a fraction at the sound, and within seconds, you let out a laugh.

The softness of it felt sinful, felt completely and utterly wrong— and something rippled throughout Azriel’s body at it, dug its way deep down into him until his wings felt slightly limp. From around his arms, his shadows slowed, coming to a curious, awe-filled stop. They began whispering, but he paid no attention. He pushed the foreign sensations away, his surroundings registering in his mind as he scowled.

“What the hell are you laughing at?”

You shook your head, another laugh escaping your lips at his face, contorted in frustration—  in an irritated confusion of being so caught off guard. His wings flared out, twitching slightly in response to the repeated sound.  “Nothing,” you said, “Your life just may be more pathetic than I thought if you’re getting psychoanalyzed by the male you’re torturing.”

Azriel’s irritation deepened as a grin grew on your face. “Shut up.”

A weak scoff drew your attention back to the bound male next to you. 

“You shouldn’t be laughing, princess.”  Renard’s eyes gleamed with malice as he shifted his gaze to you.  “Pretending to be tough, but the only reason you’re here is because you’re too weak to do anything on your own. Everyone knows Beron’s little girl is just a pathetic, needy bitch.”

The laughter died in your throat almost instantly, jaw clenching as your amusement quickly faded into a red haze of annoyance. A flame flickered at your fingertips. 

“Careful,” you warned. You moved to take a step towards Renard, but Azriel’s hand shot out instantly, stopping you with a firm grasp around your arm. 

You glanced down at where his hand met your body before pulling yourself away with a scowl. “Can you just do your job so we can kill him already?”

Your voice had a bitter, agitated edge to it now, a drawl that sounded more whiny than it did threatening. Azriel folded his arms, a gleam in his eyes as he responded with a mocking, “Why? Did he hit a nerve?”

You growled, watching as the edges of his lips turned up slightly— just enough for you to notice, just enough for that hint of an arrogant smirk to bother you. 

 “I think I preferred when you stayed quiet and sulked in your shadows.”

Azriel continued to stare at you, the ghost of a smirk still plastered on his face. A sense of annoyance prickled at your skin, mixed with something that tasted nauseatingly like embarrassment. Faintly, you felt the rush of heat threatening to spread to your cheeks. 

You clenched your jaw harder, gaze flickering from Azriel’s amused face to Renard’s bruised, snickering one. You landed back on Azriel with a sneer. 

“Wipe that stupid look off your face before I do it for you.”

Azriel watched in amusement as you stormed off, disappearing with another huff of annoyance and a vulgar gesture over your shoulder. 

Renard turned to him with a vile grin. “I have to ask. What’s she like, Shadowsinger? We’ve all wanted to fuck her. I bet she’s just as desperate in bed as she is—”

Azriel's expression darkened instantly, shadows swirling violently around him as he flared his wings out, poised and deadly. He held Renard by the throat, grip unyielding, siphons glowing angrily. His voice was deadly calm as he muttered, "I warned you to watch your mouth."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Only a couple hours had passed when Azriel found you again in the Spring Court, standing in the small house he’d grown strangely accustomed to. 

“You're here.”

You glanced over your shoulder, a sarcastic smile tugged at your lips. "Great detective skills on your part. Think you could use those with Renard?"

Unphased, Azriel rolled his eyes, the motion barely perceptible but unmistakable to someone who had spent as much time with him as you had. He moved with silent grace until he was standing right behind you, shadows hovering over his shoulders. 

"What's all this?"

His tone was flat as he took in the various items you had strewn across the table.

You shrugged, not bothering to turn around. "I brought some things so I wouldn’t need to keep going back and forth."

You could feel his presence behind you, the warmth of his body caressing over your skin as he leaned closer. Azriel's gaze landed on a leather-bound notebook among your belongings. 

"What's the notebook for?"

You stared at it for a moment, gingerly picking it up in your hands. There was a smirk on your lips as you turned to face him, face seemingly innocent and sweet. 

"All my private thoughts and hopes and dreams. At night, I sit with it and write in cursive letters, 'I hope the shadowsinger shuts the fuck up and stops being nosy.'"

Your voice started light, teasing, but as you finished the sentence, your expression hardened into a glare. Azriel seemed anything but amused, and a muscle feathered in his cheek. He gave no verbal response, opting to keep his gaze trained on you until you let out a huff of annoyance. 

He’d collected certain observations of you over the past few weeks. 

You rolled your eyes in almost every conversation he held with you. You smelled like a crackling fire and forest pine branch, something so similar to fresh fall air. He’d seen you sneer more than he’d ever seen you smile— which was once, today, as Renard commented on his shadows and apparent self-loathing. But most of all, you hated prolonged eye-contact. It made you angry, frustrated— flustered even. Azriel wouldn’t deny the satisfaction he felt every time he watched your jaw clench, watched the tinge of pink appear on the apple of your cheeks.

“What?” You snapped, glaring at him through your lashes. 

“Any particular reason you're more insufferable than usual?” 

An eye roll. “Bite me.”

“Hmm.” A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. “Do you want me to?”

Your mouth parted for a fleeting second. And then you scowled, nose scrunching at the movement. “I brought this to keep track of everything I find out about my father and Koschei.” You shoved the journal into Azriel’s chest with a little more force than necessary.

Azriel frowned, catching it effortlessly. His shadows flowed to his fingers, gliding across the cover as he flipped it open. He glanced at you through his lashes, a single brow arching in question. “This is empty.”

“Point proven,” you shot back, “Go back to Renard and find something useful. We’re running out of time.”

He stood up straight, rolled his shoulders back, and narrowed his eyes at you. “I wasn’t aware we were on a deadline.” 

You chewed the inside of your cheek. Another sigh of annoyance left your lips. "Beron is bound to realize that Renard isn't on some drunken bender anymore. He's going to come looking. I don't want there to be anything for him to find."

Azriel's lips quirked in a small, humorless smile. "I think I'm capable of hiding a trail or two."

"Are you sure about that?" You narrowed your eyes. "Because you barely seem able to get Renard to do anything besides read you like a boring, sad, self-loathing book."

Azriel let out a scoff, glancing to the side as he threw the journal back onto the table behind you. You clenched your jaw at the movement, at the sound of the thud it created as it fell onto the wood. 

"Your insults are getting weaker, princess. Maybe you should take some lessons from him."

"Shut up," you snapped, the words coming out more petulant than you'd intended. 

He crossed his arms across his chest. Your eyes fell to his hands, to the siphons that beamed with color in front of you. His shadows followed the movement, gliding down his forearms and around his wrists.

“What would happen if Beron found out you were sneaking around? That you were holding Renard?”

His voice drew your attention back to his face, where his eyes were narrowed in on you in a deep, curious, almost unsure gaze. 

Your answer was swift, no hesitation. “He would kill me.”

Azriel wasn’t quite sure why his body reacted the way it did, why he felt himself flinch, why his wings seemed to twitch in discomfort. Whatever the reason, you noticed the reaction immediately, noting how his brows seemed to furrow ever-so-slightly—- a motion nearly minuscule for the normal eye, but you were talented at picking up these things. Years of blending in gave you such abilities— and weeks around Azriel made it easier to read his tells.

There was a feeling in your stomach that you couldn’t make out yet, but it was heavy and made you antsy. You broke eye contact, dropping your eyes to the ground as you absentmindedly kicked your shoe at some tracked-in dirt. 

“Don’t act so surprised,” you said nonchalantly, “My father has no ties to me beyond the unfortunate blood in my veins. I’m a bitch to be bred by the highest bidder.”

Something tightened in your chest as you paused for a moment. You blinked away the images that were flowing in through the corners of your mind. “I’m not worth any extra hassle.”

A silence followed. Your gaze was still on the ground, still on your black boots and the floor beneath you. A faint motion caught your eye and you watched as a tendril of Azriel’s shadow drifted to the ground— cascading down his ankle before it fell to the ground, stopping at your feet.

“I’d say,” Azriel murmured.

His words ran through you like a cold chill.

Azriel watched as something dark and fleeting passed through your eyes. You stood up straight, dropping your hands to grip the edges of the table as you leaned the small of your back against it. The faint smell of something burnt lingered in the air.

You tilted your head at him, gaze flickering between his eyes. And then a mocking, sly grin pulled at the edges of your lips. It felt unnatural. “Says the man who fucks me in the forest like a starved beast.”

Azriel’s hands slowly dropped from his chest. He took a step forward. A sense of tension crackled in the shared air, and you felt it within your stomach— a small flicker of fire.

“You let me.”

You shrugged. Heated pooled in your veins.  “A good fuck is a good fuck.”

Azriel’s lips curled into a smirk, and his hand reached out to trace up your arm. You tightened your grip on the edge of the table as the touch traveled through your skin. “It doesn’t bother you that it’s me?”

There was something inherently dangerous about the way he spoke, about the taunting, accusatory tone his words now dripped with. He traced the movement of his hand with his eyes, continuing a path up your arm. 

“I could ask you the same thing.”

His eyes flickered up to yours. You took a deep breath. 

“Truthfully?” He leaned in closer.  “I loathe it.”

His movements momentarily stilled, but you felt his shadows continue the path he’d started, felt as they slowly snaked up your arms. 

“Yet you keep coming back.”

His eyes darkened, and then he let out a soft, cool hum.  “A good fuck is a good fuck.”

By now, you were inches apart, the space between you a thin, taut with a suffocating tension that made it hard for you to breathe. His shadows slithered around you, caressing your skin so delicately you could’ve sworn it mimicked a lover's touch— their darkness wrapping around your neck, weaving themselves through strands of your hair.

You bit your lip, and Azriel's hand moved to your mouth, the pad of his thumb slowly pulling your bottom lip down. "You said you don’t care about Koschei,” he murmured, “That you just want to help your family.”

He released your lip, thumb resting on your skin as he held your chin in his hand.  He titled your head to his line of sight. “But Eris doesn’t know about Renard.”

"No, he does not.”

Your voice was quieter now, a low, soft tone that made Azriel almost groan in response. The feeling went straight through his body, coiling in his stomach and making his cock twitch. 

"Would he disagree with the methods?" 

Azriel’s lips were inches from yours, the space between you practically nonexistent. 

You frowned at the question, feeling your chest tighten as his mouth hovered near yours. Your knuckles turned white as your grip on the table turned iron, feeling the chipped wood beneath your fingertips. 

"He would disagree with me interfering so boldly with my father.”

"Because it would get you killed," Azriel stated.

"Yes.” 

His nose brushed against yours, and he met your gaze as his hand moved to wrap around the base of your neck. 

"You’re willing to continue this even if it risks your life?" 

You felt strangely exposed, naked in a way that you’d never felt before— not even when your clothes had been torn off and he was deep inside you, hands roaming your naked skin with a scorching touch and a ravenous mouth. This felt intimate. You didn’t like it. 

You traced the features of his face, his gaze still laser-focused on you, intense and wanting. He had a few freckles across his cheeks that you’d never noticed, and the flecks of green in his eyes were overshadowed by his dilated pupils. You took a deep breath, finding the courage to meet his heavy gaze once more. 

"Wouldn’t you do something similar?"

Azriel paused. A sense of conflict passed through his eyes as he pulled back slightly, just enough to scan your face entirely. 

"No," he finally said. He hesitated for a moment. "I’d do the exact same thing."

There was a beat of silence. You stared at one another, breaths turning heavy, ragged. Your heart thundered beneath your ribs. Before you could come to your senses, you closed the distance between you, wrapping your hands around his neck to pull him into you. Azriel responded eagerly, mouth slotting over yours with a natural, practiced ease. 

His hands fell from your neck, tracing down your waist until his palms gripped your hips, pulling your body further into his own. You let out a sound of pleasure at the feeling, at how his hands explored you, how the heat of his body seared against yours. You melted into his touch.

Azriel’s lips trailed along your jawline, and with a guttural groan, he  suddenly spun you around, pulling you back against him with a possessive force, his arousal pressing hard into your beck. 

The sudden change in position only fueled the haze in your mind and you placed your hands over his, following as he roamed over your curves. You threaded your fingers through his, roughly guiding his palm up your chest, moving to cup it over your breast. 

His lips nipped at your ear from behind.

"This change in wardrobe is interesting," he murmured, voice husky and rough with a delicious sense of desire.

You tilted your head slightly, reveling in the feeling of his breath against your skin. "Don't like it?" 

He chuckled lowly, his hands cupping your breast roughly. “Don't particularly favor how difficult it seems to take off."

The sensation of his touch sent a rush of heat coursing through you. Every inch of you burned with need— an all-consuming, humiliating need. 

Your eyes fluttered shut and you leaned into his touch, head falling back onto his shoulders as his lips found the skin beneath your ear. 

You raised a hand to tangle your fingers into Azriel’s hair, your eyes opening once more as his touch grew hungrier, rougher. 

The view of the table slowly came into focus. Your gaze fell to the notebook, its empty pages seemed to mock you with their blankness, and you blinked as a sense of sanity washed through you like a cold tide. 

With a jolt, you pushed yourself away from Azriel, prying his hands off your body as you broke the heated embrace.

Azriel blinked, shadows rushing back to him as if startled by the sudden pull away. His hair was tousled, lips still tingling from the kiss.

"What is it?" he asked, breathing heavy. 

You took a moment to compose yourself, patting down your disheveled hair with quick hands. "I’m bored. This isn’t doing it for me," you lied. You swallowed as Azriel’s stared at you with a furrowed brow. "Just go work on Renard."

You left no room for him to respond. Within the blink of an eye, you had disappeared from Azriel’s sight. 

His hands ran through his hair, attempting to shake off the lingering effects of the moment with you. The air still felt suffocating, still smelled of you and the sweet, addicting scent of your arousal. He scowled to himself.

His shadows slowly moved down his frame, falling to the ground and gliding across the floors. His eyes fell down to their movement, watching as they wrapped around a foot of the table, as they made their way up to the tabletop. 

He squinted at where they landed, reaching a finger out to the area that they traced. There, etched into the wood, was a faint outline of a burnt handprint— a perfect replica of your palm. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Even with the familiar scene of pine and earth, returning home to the Forest House– to your court— never brought you a sense of comfort. But today, with the heat of your blush still spreading through your cheeks, you welcomed the quiet, empty halls. 

The soft patter of paws drew your attention as Laney approached with her head lowered. A small smile grew on your lips as she nudged you with her wet nose, but quickly the smile dropped as a small whine escaped her. 

Kneeling down, you gently ran your fingers across her coat. "What's wrong, girl?"

She only nudged your hand once more and turned, leading you deeper into the house.

A sense of foreboding settled over you as you followed her through the corridors. Your steps quickened when you spotted Flint lying outside Eris’s room. The dread in your chest grew heavier. Eris had a special connection to Flint. There were only a few situations in which he’d refuse the company.

Your face fell as you pushed the door to Eris’s room,  heart clenched at the sight before you. 

Eris sat on a small, velvet bench at the end of his bed, his head snapping back to the sound of his door opening. His expression quickly softened when he met your eyes, and you watched as his shoulders slumped.  “It’s just you.”

You gave him a small nod as he turned back around, your gaze falling to the blood-soaked shirt he wore, the crimson color spreading throughout the thin fabric. Flint and Laney pushed past you, paws pattering on the ground as they entered the room. A heavy feeling settled in your chest, something entirely dark and queasy. 

Eris grumbled as Flint neared him. “Shit. Y/N, close the godsdamn door.”

“I-” You snapped out of your daze, quickly closing the door before rushing over to him, gently pushing the hounds aside. “I’m sorry.”

You sat down next to him. “They just want to help you,” you said quietly. 

Eris sighed, a deep, weary sound. “I know. I just—”

Your eyes wandered to the hounds who had settled down nearby. Such regal, cunning, smart creatures. You’d never think them caring enough to sense such pain, yet here they were, eyes reflecting a deep understanding of the situation. Flint let out a small whimper, laying his head on his paws.

You looked back at Eris, slumped with his head in his hands, spine curved in a manner that made his wounds pour deeper into his shirt. A similar thought made its way through your mind. Your brother, regal and intelligent, a male who carried so much, who bore his father’s wrath time and time again– a male with a warm heart somewhere deep within the anger he radiated. The heavy feeling in your chest grew, began to fester into something fighting between fury, loathing, and suffocating sadness. 

“What happened?”

Eris didn’t lift his head, voice muffled by his hands. “He found me talking to my men. It wasn’t anything. Wasn’t about Koschei, wasn’t even about him.” 

There was an exhaustion in his voice that dripped with every word. 

“He was feeling particularly upset today,” Eris finished as he lifted his shirt, revealing the full extent of the damage. The lashes were deep, and you could see the dark, almost blackened edges where your father’s special concoction had seeped into the wounds. Eris bit back a groan, jaw clenched tightly.

That heavy feeling in your chest turned hot, burning— all consuming. So many things ran through your mind, overwhelming, crushing floods of emotions drowning your senses. 

You registered the anger first, the empty, crushing pressure of it, a feeling you’d grown too familiar with. Anger at your father, at the situation you were all trapped in, at the sheer unfairness of it all. 

And then it was guilt. Dark, suffocating, guilt. Renard missing had probably put your father on edge. Not only had you lied about it, kept it a secret, but you hadn’t been there when Eris needed you most. Instead, you’d been entangled with Azriel, a male who had no respect for you, for your family, who would so willingly watch your brother suffer. Selfish, selfish, selfish. 

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. There was nothing you could say, nothing that would make this situation okay, that would take away Eris’s pain– that would prevent it from happening all over again. You swallowed.

“Eris-” 

He lifted his head and turned to you a resigned expression, eyes slightly wide with desperation.  "I’m going to call it all off. We can’t meet with them now, not for a while.”

You didn’t need to ask for clarification, you already knew who he was talking about, what alliance he was referring to. You shook your head. “No, we need-”

"It’s too dangerous," he interrupted, voice urgent and pleading. "He’s watching everyone more closely now. If he finds out you're involved, I don't know what he'll do."

You shook your head faster, a hard sense of determination flaring in your chest. "We can’t, I can't. I need to figure something out. I need to help you."

Eris sat up straighter, grimacing at the motion as he reached out, his hand finding a firm but gentle on your wrist. "You need to stay safe, Y/N. Please. Nothing else matters."

You looked at him, brows furrowed and throat tight. Your strong, protective brother now reduced to pleading with you. You took a deep, ragged breath. “It all matters. I need to help you, okay? I need to make sure you have the upper hand."

Eris just shook his head, shook it so firmly and desperately that you could’ve sworn he was a teenager again, hand on yours as he scolded you for breaking something.

"Please," he repeated, his voice breaking. “Just listen to me."

A wave of helplessness washed over you, and now you felt small again, felt as if you’d shrunk in place. Your mind traveled back, throwing you into memories where you’d hide away from your father, fearing his disappointed hand, desperate for approval but receiving only pain. The same feeling bubbled in your chest.

You swallowed hard.  "I can't just stand by and do nothing."

Eris's eyes softened. "You want to help me? Stay safe.” 

You frowned, biting the inside of your cheek. The words you wanted to say caught in your throat. You couldn’t promise him that. You couldn’t lie. So instead, you turned your attention to his back, to the angry wounds that marred his skin. 

"Here, let me help you," you murmured. He gave you a long look, then nodded, slowly moving his body to expose more of his back to you. 

You moved your hand to his back. Heat surged through you, flickering at your fingertips. Your hands shook, trembled as you attempted to focus. You tried to channel it, to control that divine fire within you, but the energy was wild and unsteady. A self-loathing bite gnawed at you. 

"I can't—" you whispered, the words laced with frustration. 

Renard’s's taunting voice echoed in your mind. Too weak to do anything on your own.

Eris turned to look at you again, calm words breaking through the rising storm you felt inside your chest. "It's okay,” he said, “I can do it."

"I'm sorry.”

He shook his head at you, a small smile gracing his features. “There's nothing to be sorry for.”

There was something about the fact that he was able to smile, that he pulled such a gesture out for you, that made the bitter loathing inside of you spread even faster. 

"Just stay with me?” Eris asked. 

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Of course.”

With one hand, he held yours, and the other twisted over his back. You watched as his own hands began to heat up, glowing with a controlled, steady flame. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

All you felt was anger. All you saw was red.

Memories flashed in your mind, one after another. Eris’s bloodied wounds and the far-off look in his eyes, your mother hid away from the world and the echoes of her crying, being forced to clean the floors of your brother’s blood, your paralyzing inadequacies. It all twisted inside you, each image wrapping itself around your ribs, wounding itself tight enough to make you struggle to breathe.

You weren’t sure how you got here, but the smell of blood in the air tasted sweet on your tongue. Renard lay slumped in the metal chair. Despite his appearance, a mocking grin spread across his split lips as you entered.

“Come back for more, have you?” 

The sight of him, significantly more battered than the last time you’d seen him, brought a welcomed sense of satisfaction. At your sides, you clenched your fists until they were white. 

“I’m done playing,” you said, your voice a low, dangerous growl. “Tell me what you know.”

Renard’s grin widened, a cruel glint in his eyes. “I'm trembling in fear,” he mocked, “What's a dolled-up whore like you going to do?”

Something inside you snapped. 

With a snarl, you lunged forward, hands slamming down onto the metal chair. All the anger, all the pain, everything you’d been holding back, surged through you. The metal beneath your palms began to heat up, the sensation almost soothing in its intensity— cathartic, even. 

Renard’s eyes widened. “I already told you both, fuck, I already gave you all I know!” he shouted, painful groans leaving his mouth as the hot metal below him began to bite at his exposed skin. “We don’t know anything.”

“You’re a liar!” 

In the back of your mind, you grasped at your resolve, grasped at the strength you needed to keep your desperation hidden— all attempts proved futile. You grabbed Renard’s neck, fingers digging into his flesh as a simmering heat radiated down your arm. “Tell me what you know!” 

Renard’s screams filled the room, his body writhing in agony. “I don’t—” he choked out, voice hoarse with pain. You stared at your hand, stared at the flicker of flames that began had to grow, watched as they moved to Renard’s skin–

But before the flames could fully spread, black smoke enveloped your wrist, wrapping around it with a smothering, extinguishing touch. 

Not smoke—shadows. 

A hand grabbed you next, pulling you back with a rough hand. 

You pulled against the familiar grip. “Let me go, you foul-bred animal!” 

Azriel’s voice was a low growl in your ear. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

You struggled against him, but his hold was firm. 

Within a blink, you were winnowed to an open area in the forest, the sudden transition leaving your senses reeling. A cool breeze brushed against your skin, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. You blinked. And then you pushed Azriel off, staggering back with the force of the motion. Your heart pounded with residual fury, a trickling sense of adrenaline still coursing through your veins. 

“What do you not understand about 'let me go'?” you spat, “Is there something in those bat genetics of yours that makes you lose brain functioning at random intervals?”

Azriel’s didn’t budge. “Do not go back there.”

“You don’t tell me what to do, Shadowsinger. I think it’s time I handle this on my own.”

“Handle it?” he echoed, his shadows curled at his fists. “You were about to burn him alive, losing control like some child throwing a tantrum.”

The color drained from your face. “And you’re the expert voice on self-control?”  The taste of resentment lingered on your tongue, sour and sickly familiar. “Where was this energy when you slaughtered and tortured my brother’s men? When they were being controlled, when they knew nothing?”

Azriel’s wings twitched almost imperceptibly. Your voice fell slightly to a tone lower, more raw. 

“Was what I was doing truly that bad, or do you only care that it’s me doing it?”

There was a beat. Azriel looked away before finding your eyes again. He shook his head, a small scowl on his face. “What are you implying?”

Something inside you shifted as you stared at him, every detail seemingly magnified, as if your emotions had sharpened your perception at last. You’d noticed this intensity around him, wrote it off as the thrill of an adversary. But you realized now, as Azriel stood before you, that he was something else entirely: a stark embodiment of everything you loathed, everything you sought to avoid, and everything you secretly craved. 

He wielded cruelty with impunity, praised for his ruthlessness, while his family basked in the warmth of love and freedom, despite their own moral shortcomings. And now he stood before you, a bastard-born nobody who had stumbled into luck, blind to anything beyond his own skewed perceptions. 

There was a defiant, knowing glint in your eyes, as if something had been confirmed— as if that you'd found the answer to some question you’d asked for centuries. 

“You are so desperately searching for some confirmation that I am as horrible as you’ve made me out to be.”

Azriel's eyes narrowed slightly. His demeanor remained outwardly composed, a practiced facade of stoicism and indifference, but the glow of his siphons gave him away. 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You raised an eyebrow, fists slowly unfurling at your sides. Your breath was more even now.

“I understand more than you think. You’ve been waiting for me to slip, to prove that I’m just like—” 

“Beron.”

You paused, slighting flinching at how much contempt was fit into one word.

Eris. You were going to say Eris. Not Beron. Not your father. 

A flash of hurt crossed your face and something in Azriel’s chest tightened. His shadows fell into a frozen wreath around his arms. 

“Right,” you scoffed, moving to brush past him. “Then I better do a good job and prove you right.”

Azriel stopped you with a casual sidestep, wings flaring out to block your path further.  “Do not go back there.”

“I will do whatever the hell I please,” you hissed, meeting his gaze defiantly. There was a burning hatred in your eyes that he’d never felt before, something more foul and rotten than what had been there before. 

Azriel’s jaw clenched even further as he let out an angry breath. The strength of your gaze alone triggered his hand to instinctively wander to the dagger on his hip, to the cool steel of Truth-Teller. His shadows curled around his fingers, threading through them as if calling him back to reality. He blinked, and then pulled his hand away, flexing it as he looked at you once more.

“Why?” 

Azriel's voice was probing, his gaze searching—  scanning your face with a scrutiny that made you itch. 

“Why what?”  you snapped back, your tone sharper than you intended, the itch spreading, making you want to pace or scream, anything to shake off his intense stare, to rid yourself of the tightening in your chest.

“You’re desperate. This wasn’t as thought out as you tend to be.”

You let out a dry, humorless laugh, feeling the sound scrape against your throat. "Because you know me so well?" The words felt like ash on your tongue, a bitter taste lingering in your mouth.

“Yes,” he stated simply, his eyes piercing into yours still. “We’re allies. Explain yourself.”

"I was just trying to pick up your slack and get information." The lie rolled off your tongue naturally.

But Azriel wasn’t buying it. "No, that’s not it," he countered, "We’re working for the same side. There is no reason for you to go off like this."

You gritted your teeth, the pressure making your jaw ache.  “We are not working for the same side.”

“We have an alliance.”

His calm demeanor only fueled your frustration. Your hands fell into a familiar position at your side, curled into tight fists, your nails biting into your palms.

“Your alliance with Eris is to support him when he takes over the throne. But when it comes to Koschei, there is no doubt in my mind you’re willing to undermine your allies to get rid of his threat. And in doing so, you’ll endanger me and my family.”

Your voice was rising, the words spilling out in a rush of pent-up emotion. “ I want to— I need to know everything before any moves are made. My brother needs an edge to stay ahead, and he sure as hell isn’t going to get it if he’s playing by the rules and having to defend his every move because of this stupid agreement.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening to near black. “Eris wouldn’t need to defend himself if he wasn’t a vile snake.”

Rage boiled through you, its fiery grip yanking onto your stomach and your chest.The intensity of it casted a hazy glow, distorting your vision with its searing heat.

“I am fed up with your little group thinking that we need to beg for your forgiveness. Tell me, does it get cold on all of that moral high ground? Does the high horse ever get uncomfortable?”

You stepped closer to him, pushing against his chest with your finger, the contact sending a jolt up your arm. Azriel's hand shot out, gripping your wrist tightly.

 "Perhaps Eris feels the need to beg for forgiveness because of the acts he’s committed.”

“And what has he done? Besides refusing to give in to every whim?” 

You tried to yank your hand free, but his grip held firm. Your pulse pounded in your temples, a steady, throbbing beat. You felt that familiar prickling feeling grow across your skin, a simmering fire creeping up your arm.

“He left Morrigan in those woods to die.”

He dropped your hand, the action almost dismissive, as if he couldn’t bear to touch you anymore. You pulled it back into you and took a step back, shaking your head. Of course. The thought echoed in your mind, bringing a bitter realization that settled like a stone in your stomach. 

“It always comes back to that, doesn’t it?” 

Azriel’s expression hardened, centuries of a grudge etched into every line of his face. His shadows danced around him, dark tendrils coiling and writhing like live fire across his body. You felt it radiating off him in waves— a palpable hatred that made your skin prickle. It was a feeling so intense you wondered how he had managed to lessen it before, how he could bear to be inside you, even with you turned away.

“My brother didn’t put that nail in her. He didn’t touch her at all.”

Azriel’s eyes were hard as steel. “He left her there. Naked, scared, and dying.”

“He gave Morrigan mercy in the only way he knew how.” 

“You call that mercy?” 

“Yes! Eris was just as much of a child as Morrigan was.”

Every word felt rancid now, burned like bile in your throat, fueled by a protectiveness born from years of standing by your brother's side. You stepped closer to Azriel, not bothering to hold back the flames that now licked at your skin. His shadows coiled around his arms, formed an almost protective barrier around his clenched fists. 

“Do you know what my father would have done had Eris touched her, helped her at all? He didn’t take lightly to the disrespect and humiliation she passed. He would have made a public show and slaughtered her. Just as he later did with Jesminda.”

Azriel stayed quiet, stayed eerily still as he watched you. You didn’t expect a response. A new emotion curled itself into your gut, something much heavier than anger, than rage. You thought about Eris, thought about the lashes on his back, thought about how he used to stay awake at night to wander the halls, listening outside of your parent’s chambers in case your mother needed help. You thought about how he’d helped you bury Jesminda, how he’d kept a figurine of Lucien’s to give to you. 

No matter what he did, or what you did for him, he would never be free— not truly. Not from his past and the assumptions people have made of him. He would always be cruel. And you, in association, would always be evil. Vile. It was in your family's nature. You felt foolish for thinking otherwise, for not learning how to take your rage and make it something useful, forge it into a weapon, train it like a beast to eat the remaining shreds of your empathy.

Eris deserved better. He was better than Rhysand. He was better than the male that stood before you. 

"But none of this matters to you," you continued, your voice tinged with bitterness and resignation. "Even if it's the truth.”

Azriel’s wings twitched. You didn’t need further confirmation that your words held true. He would never accept a version of that night besides his own, because a version that included the truth would force him to see Eris as something other than a wicked, evil male. As long as your brother was worse than Azriel, as long as there was someone worse than him, he’d never have to face the fact that he wasn’t as good of a male as he claimed to be.

"You make excuses for your brother, but where are yours?" Azriel finally spoke. "You've done cruel things. You've hurt people. Killed people." His gaze flickered to your fists wreathed in flames. "Burned them alive," he added.

The fire at your arms grew in response to his words.  You cocked your head. And then you ignored him. "You threatened my life. At that High Lord’s meeting—  you lost control, put my brother in a chokehold, and threatened my life."

Azriel's nostrils flared and his siphons began to shine with a dangerous, angry glow. 

"I dare you to live up to your word, Shadowsinger," you challenged, taking a slow step towards him. "I'm here. I've been here.” His eyes traced your every movement. 

“And yet, you've just fucked me."

There was a flicker of something in his eyes, a mix of anger and shame that he quickly masked behind a veil of indifference. But you saw it, felt it, reveled in it.

"You're weak, Azriel," you said, voice low and calm. "A slave to your anger, to your impulses, to your High Lord. You have always been weak."

He blinked at the sound of his name falling from your lips, a wave of uncertainty washing through his face. But his eyes stayed on you, still burning, still angry. They simmered hotter now, heavier with a new strain of contempt. 

Your breath escaped in a half-hearted chuckle. "It's a pity," you said, shaking your head slightly. Your flame dwindled to a faint firefly glow. "To see such a pretty face marred by blind devotion."

With one final glance, you turned on your heel and winnowed away. You didn’t see Azriel again for two more weeks. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

←Part Three

guys.... the next part is one of my favorites tehehehe cause its mainly just azriels perspective and where his mind is at. PLUS this is where those content warnings start to get lighter :DDDD

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen

azriel tag list: @thisiskaylin @serrendiipty

An Education in Malice — Part Two

Pairing: Vanserra!Reader x Azriel

Summary: With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT /sexual content (not reader and az this time tho), swearing, eris having a soft spot for his sister, some low-blow comments and jokes about experienced trauma, mentions of sex, slut shaming if you squint

Word Count: 5.9k

← Part One | Series Masterlist | Part Three

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It was night by time Eris returned home.

The room was capped in a comfortable silence, only the crackling of the fire next to you and the soft breaths of the two hounds that surrounded you— Laney at your feet, Flint lying on the floor nearby. The couch was soft below you as you lay comfortably on it, fingers absentmindedly tracing the paper edges of the book in your hands. Despite the peace of the room, something not often found in Forest House, your mind sat heavy with racing thoughts. 

Every single one seemed to drift back to Azriel. 

You had already bathed, had already spent time delicately rubbing your skin raw of any scent, of any traces that might connect you back to your earlier decisions. It was a blessing, truly, that Eris had spent the day with his own affairs. You made a note to thank The Mother for the grace given to you— if you had returned home to your brother in the state that you had been, there was no doubt in your mind he would have made a decision even more rash than yours. 

But it didn’t seem to help. You weren’t able to wash it off as well as you’d hoped. There was something that still lingered, something ingrained into you, into your bloodstream itself. You weren't a stranger to questionable decisions— but this, this was perhaps your worst to date. 

Because there was something deep in you that now felt powerful. 

Azriel was driven by duty— by a devotion to his little family that made you angry, a devotion that left him blind and prone to defensiveness. The thought that he would have to return home, to face his family knowing he’d broken some boundary, some sense of trust…. It warmed you in a way that the fire next to you never could.  

A small creek echoed and from below you, Flint perked up, head lifting in alertness, ears perched and engaged. A moment later, Eris emerged, his eyes meeting yours instantly as he offered you a small, tired smile. He took in the scene before him as you closed the book in your lap. 

“Eventful day?”

He let out a small sigh, perching himself on the edge of the couch opposite you. Flint laid on the floor still, watching him closely as his tail thumped lightly against the ground in greeting. "I suppose.”

There was a pause as he ran a hand through his tousled hair. "And the Shadowsinger?" 

You glanced down at the book in your hands, fingers running along the edges of the pages before responding with a casual shrug. "Uneventful,” you replied, “He gave no updates.”

Eris only let out a breath in response, a single eyebrow raised momentarily.

"He’s very…reactive for a Spymaster," you added, a wry smile now playing at the corners of your lips. “You would think they’d be more collected.”

"They’re all reactive," Eris chuckled softly, his mouth turning up in a smile that mirrored your own. His gaze flickered towards the hound at your feet, and you followed his line of sight, reaching down to scratch her head gently.

"Almost more reactive than sweet Laney over here," you teased, earning a soft huff of agreement from her wet nose as she leaned into your touch.

Laney was one of the only female hounds your family owned, a true vision of regal elegance. Eris had trained her specifically for you, a hound just as stubborn and reactive as yourself— and loyal to a fault, as he had told you. 

Eris chuckled once more, a sound more gentle and quiet than his normal tone. When you turned to look at him, you were met with a face lost in contemplation, eyes glazed over as his gaze remained fixed on Laney. You frowned, feeling your brows furrow as you took him in, taking notice of the dark circles below his amber eyes.

“Go rest,” you said quietly, giving him a smile as his gaze snapped to yours. 

Eris gave you a small nod as he rose from his perch on the couch. Flint followed the motion instantly rising up from the floor to stand at his side. Your brother crossed the room to where you sat, taking large strides to the hallway behind you. There was a playful gleam in his eyes as he passed you, his hand reaching out to tousle your hair affectionately. 

"Goodnight, sister," he said softly, hand lingering on your head for a moment before he continued walking.

He made it a few more steps before you called out to him. 

"Eris," you began, turning your body to place your hands on the couch and rest your chin upon them. "I want to come to more meetings."

He turned to face you, brows furrowing in mild confusion. "Why?"

"I want to be informed.”

His eyes scanned your face. "I tell you everything I know.”

You let out a sigh, casting a quick glance toward the cracking fire. Then you looked at your brother with a small frown. “I want to be more than just a recipient of passing messages."

It was true. Although you did all the favors Eris asked of you, which extended to taking his place in meetings, he tended to avoid involving you unless it was necessary. You knew that it came from a place of protection, a sense of comfort knowing that he could perhaps save you from hurt so long as you never came near it. But you felt useless, and you wanted to do more. Collecting intel from your father’s acquaintances and listening for news was the most you’d been able to do. You didn’t want to admit that you’d been offered the taste of a newer freedom today— and you suddenly had a craving you weren’t able to smother. 

The next words that came from your mouth weren’t needed. It was wrong to guilt Eris, to take advantage of the soft spot he held for you and your power. But you did it anyway.

"I am more than just a pretty face,” you told him, “Prove to them that not all of Autumn believes females to be weak."

He hesitated for a moment, lips twitching in thought. 

"Okay," he conceded, "But not too often. We still need to avoid suspicion."

You gave him a smile. "Thank you," you said softly.

Your brother stared at you for a moment, his hand absentmindedly rubbing at the hound that stood next to him. 

"Thank you for taking my place today," He finally said, his tone sincere. "I know that meeting must not have been entertaining, with the brute and all."

A flicker of guilt sparked in your stomach, but you shrugged it away. Quickly, it was replaced with a sense of pride. What Eris didn’t know surely wouldn’t hurt him, and despite how questionable your decisions may have been, they weren’t dangerous— and certainly wouldn’t be repeated again. You gave him a grin. 

"I know how to tame beasts." 

As if on cue, Laney perked up from her position at your feet, her extended neck looking over to where Eris stood behind the couch. He let out a chuckle.

"Indeed you do.” You offered you the small, almost sad, smile once more. “Goodnight.”

With a nod of acknowledgment, you watched as he exited the room, the soft sound of Flint’s paws padding after him. 

You waited until it was quiet again, until the a distant creak of Eris's door closing reached your ears, before you turned yourself around on the couch. You brought a hand to rest on Laney’s head, leaning in closer as you gently rubbed your thumbs on her coat.

"Well that was fun, huh?" you murmured softly, the words directed more to yourself than to the hound in front of you. Laney nustled further into your touch. 

For a moment longer, you lingered in the quiet of the room, the weight of your thoughts mingling with the gentle warmth of the fire. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Azriel was going batshit crazy— this he knew for certain.

He was a sick male. A male now plagued with a disease he worried had no cure. He was on the brink of a certain madness that was driven by you, and you alone. 

A part of him wondered if your sudden involvement had anything to do with your latest encounter with him. But it made no sense— you were at every meeting with Cassian, causing him to come home grumbling about how he was forced to deal with not one, but two pretentious cunts. Yet, it was only ever Eris when Azriel was free to receive updates. 

You had always been some sort of mystery— a fact that used to drive Azriel crazy. He didn’t like unknown factors, didn’t like not knowing his threats properly. You were often shrouded away in the shadows, hidden in the affairs of the Autumn Court. In line with the Vanserra philosophies, as Azriel saw it, you, as a female, truly had no place outside of your court. The times that he did see you were all the same— some snarky comment made from your lips, a sneer at him or anyone from his family, usually Mor.

Yet, you had been there with him three weeks ago. And Azriel hadn’t been able to read you. Not properly anyway, not even when he was inside you, not even as he pushed you to completion.

And he couldn’t stop thinking about how much he enjoyed it.

You were the perfect middle ground. Not exactly an enemy— Azriel would never betray his family so deeply. But you weren’t exactly an ally either, weren’t someone he owed even an ounce of respect to— weren’t a person he needed to keep a face with. And gods did it feel good to think about how he could ruin you— how furious your brothers would be at the idea of him enjoying such intimacies with you. Eris, especially. Azriel couldn’t kill the pretentious fucker, but he could damage him in other ways. Fucking his sister seemed like a good place to start. A wonderful place for him, at least.

Not much scared Azriel. Not much at all. But this, this hunger he felt, the enjoyment he got from experiencing you, it scared him enough to instantly seek out something to distract him. 

But there was an itch he wasn’t able to scratch.

And that itch looked like you, smelled like you, sounded like you–

Azriel blinked hard, trying to shake off the haze of his thoughts. His attention snapped back to the present, finding himself gazing down at the blonde kneeling between his legs. Her blue eyes met his as she sucked on him, tongue swirling around the head of his cock as she worked the base of him with a perfectly manicured hand. 

She removed her mouth from his tip, hand still pumping the length of him as she looked up at him with wide eyes. A seductive smirk danced on her lips as she bit down on them. "I love sucking your cock,” she whispered huskily, “Does it feel good?"

Azriel stared at her for a moment, eyes still slightly glazed over. He bit the inside of his cheek as he hesitated. Then he nodded. 

"Keep going.”

He wrapped his hand in her hair, guiding her movements as he took control, bucking into her mouth with urgency. But every thrust, though pleasurable, felt unsatisfying. 

He tried for a few more minutes, tried to readjust himself on her blue velvet couch, tried to lean his head back and close his eyes as he bobbed her head on his cock— nothing worked. The image of three weeks ago was seared into the back of his eyelids, staring back at him every moment he blinked. He was stressed, frustrated, and had a boiling anger that had only continued to build up recently. Nothing seemed to be working for him, not in his duties, not in his life, not even in his sexual activities. 

He tried to focus on the sensations coursing through his body, on the pleasure the female before him was offering so freely to him. But every noise she made, every movement she made, only served to remind him that he was too on edge to enjoy it. And fuck, Azriel couldn’t even remember her name. With a frustrated growl, he pulled her off with a pop, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps. She frowned as Azriel’s hands left their place on her scalp.

When he wouldn’t reach her eyes with his own, she climbed up on him, her voice a seductive purr as she offered herself to him. 

"Use me however you want. Let your frustrations out."

For a moment, Azriel hesitated, his mind torn between desire and something else, something deeper. He could do it— and he could probably enjoy it. So long as she wasn’t facing him, so long as he could pretend it was...you?

With a sudden surge of energy, he pulled himself up, his hands gripping her tightly as he threw her onto the bed. She let out an excited sequel as he moved towards her, positioning her at the edge of the bed for him to slot himself behind her. As he entered her, a low groan escaped his lips, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through his body. 

Her high-pitched whine echoed in the room, mingling with his grunts of exertion as he pounded into her, his grip on her hips firm—  almost bruising. She let out breathy moans in response, her body arching against his as he began to move relentlessly, beginning to buck his hips into her fast and hard.

It was then he felt a cool sensation trailing up his body, disembodied whispers drowning out her words of praise.

She walks along the mortal lands, his shadows whispered, deep in the forest.

The female below him gave another whine. 

Alone, Alone, Alone. 

Quickly, Azriel pulled out of her, leaving her gasping for air and reaching out for him in confusion. But he was already moving, hastily gathering his clothes and rushing towards the door.

Without a word, he threw some money onto the nearby dresser, barely sparing a glance as he made his way out of the door. She turned herself around to stare at the scattered payment on the counter, a frown marring her features. With a frustrated grumble, she fell back onto the bed.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Eris hadn’t told you much.

Beron’s men were thinly spread these days— running in and out of the court, falling into hushed whispers behind your father’s private quarters. Eris’ soldiers told him as much as they could, but with their low numbers, there wasn’t much they could do, not many places they could sneak to without notice. 

Eris was still recovering from the loss, from the men he lost to Azriel and Cassian’s slaughter— to Briallyn and her ability to render them mindless attackers. Your brother wasn’t only mourning his forces, but his friends as well. All of them meant something to him, their loyalty, the bond he had formed to gain their trust. But he would never admit it, not to himself, not even to you. There was no time for mourning in the Autumn Court. 

So you found yourself along the border to the Mortal Lands now, seeking out any sign of where your father’s men may be hiding out. From what you’d gathered so far, they had some areas of rest in the moral lands, areas that were hidden far enough to where they couldn’t be trailed, but close enough to Koschei if it was needed— and that was your fathers entire plan. He was getting desperate, he was getting paranoid— scared of his future, scared of Eris. 

You paused, a prickling sensation crawling up your spine. There was a bristle behind you and you lifted your chin in response, taking a deep breath of the air. Something flickered within you. Without turning around, you spoke into the stillness of the forest.

"Do you always stalk the females you fuck, or am I just special?" 

A voice, hard as stone, responded from behind you. "I'm not stalking you."

You turned slowly, your eyes meeting the shadowed figure emerging from the depths of the trees. Azriel stood before you, his expression flat as usual. His shadows spread out from his form, floating around him like a faint black outline. 

"Then what do you call following a lady into the woods from afar?" 

Azriel’s face remained stoic, save for the slight raise of an eyebrow. 

 "Show me a lady and then maybe I'll tell you," he said, voice dripping with a sardonic wit that set something inside you alight— something deep in your gut.

You let out a sound of surprise before you were laughing at the snark, lips curving into a smirk. Azriel tensed, his jaw tightening as the sound reached his ears.

"Oh, someone's feeling playful," you remarked with a teasing lilt, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "Rhysand give you a longer leash?"

Azriel said nothing in response, his gaze locked onto you with an intensity that made you unable to stay still. A moment passed as his eyes continued to bore into yours. And then he spoke, a tone cutting through the air like a finely sharpened blade. “You’ve been avoiding me."

There was a tinge of irritation in his tone that made you want to grin. 

So he’d noticed.

It was unintended at first, truly. Things were difficult in Autumn recently, with all the whispered rumors of your father planning something questionable. You found yourself only able to attend the meetings in which Eris met with Cassian and his, now, prized mate. 

But in the back of your head, a part of you was amused at the idea that Azriel may begin to overthink— that a part of him would get frustrated that you were just out of reach. You weren’t exactly sure why that reaction would be warranted, but you knew it would happen nonetheless. You had an idea, now, how that pretty little mind of his worked. After all, he was a paranoid, anger-prone insomniac. Those types rarely made sane decisions. Seeing him before you now, on edge, irritable, it made it worth the wait. 

You raised an amusement eyebrow.

“Have I?"

The feigned innocence in your tone burned deep with annoyance in Azriel’s gut. He grit his teeth in response. 

"Yes," he replied.

You scoffed lightly. "You have a mighty inflated sense of self. I don't decide my activities based on the likes of you."

Azriel's expression remained impassive, but you swore a flicker of something passed through his darkened eyes— a hint of frustration, perhaps. It was delicious. 

"You've begun to join Eris in our meetings.”

Your eyebrow quirked up in response. You said nothing. Azriel continued.

 "And yet, never the ones with me.”

You tilted your head at him, eyes in a narrow-squint as you ran your tongue along your teeth. Azriel’s eyes dropped to your lips, tracing the motion. A grin grew on your face.

"Have you missed me, Shadowsinger?" 

“No,” Azriel responded swiftly, “I’m suspicious of you."

"Yeah?" You crossed your arms across your chest. Once again, Azriel’s eyes fell as he took in the motion. “And whys that?” 

His eyes seemed to narrow at the playfulness in your voice, but he gave no further physical reaction, simply continuing to hold your gaze as he responded. "I don't trust you.”

You rolled your eyes. "Get in line."

"You are bordering the mortal lands," Azriel stated, his voice a low rumble. "If there are updates regarding Koschei, we should be informed."

"Why?" you challenged, a note of defiance now coloring your tone. Azriel’s jaw clenched, light pouring through the trees in a way that made the shadows on his face even harsher. His own moved around him in an uneasy dance. 

"Because we have an agreement." 

"Uh uh," you retorted, shaking your head. "You have an agreement with Eris, not me. I don't owe you shit."

His self-control was wearing thin now. Azriel hadn’t forgotten how much you tested his patience— but the past three weeks had somehow softened the aggravation he felt around you in his own mind. He was being reminded now, in real time, why it was a good idea for him to keep his distance. 

"Careful," he growled. You didn’t miss the slight twitch in his wings, still carefully tucked between his shoulder blades.

You raised an eyebrow.  "Is that a warning or a threat?" 

Azriel's gaze hardened. Without breaking eye contact, he shifted his weight, a predatory grace in his movements as he took a step closer.

"Both." 

"Let me guess,” you said mockingly, “If I'm not an ally, I'm a threat.”

Azriel narrowed his eyes, shadows swirling around him like a storm brewing. “Yes.”

You pursed your lips, taking a step towards him. Azriel’s eyes widened slightly, a small crease forming between his brows as he traced the movement. A heat stirred within you. 

"Do you fuck all your threats?" 

He clenched his jaw, a muscle ticking in his temple as his shadows danced with a restrained bite. You paid it no mind as you continued to step closer to him, closing the distance between you.

"That's why you're really here, isn't it?" 

Your voice was a low, sultry taunt. You were inches away from him now, looking up at him through your lashes as you reached a hand out to touch his chest.

He tensed beneath your touch. With a smirk playing at the corners of your lips, you slowly trailed your fingers up his chest. It took Azriel a moment too long before he grabbed your hand.

Your smirk widened, eyes flickering to where his scarred hand wrapped around your wrist. You met his eyes next, a deep, angry, brown that bore into yours. 

"How did it feel?" you said, voice dropping to a low purr, "When you went home and looked your brothers in the face, knowing you'd done yet another thing to disappoint them?"

The remark hit Azriel in his gut, twisting in his stomach with a burning intensity that he wasn’t used to. Whether it was anger, guilt, or annoyance as the vulgarity, he wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. His grip tightened almost painfully on your hand, eyes narrowing with a dangerous flame as he stared down at you. 

You didn’t flinch, didn’t tear away from his gaze. There was an addicting sense of satisfaction at having struck a nerve with him once more. You took a second to revel in the discomfort you provoked, in the way his muscles tensed at your voice– in the scent change you smelled in the air, now thick with unspoken desire and heady arousal. 

Azriel leaned down, voice dropping to a heated whisper. "I've done a lot worse than you."

He released your hand from his grip. You let it fall to your side.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” you said with a knowing grin. "And it eats you up the same, doesn't it?"

Azriel didn’t move, didn’t so much as bat an eye at you. A moment passed. And then another. Something flickered across his face. You could have sworn his eyes were now adorned with an amusing glow, that the corners of his lips tilted upwards. 

"How was it when you returned home covered in me?" he challenged, voice edged with a sweet, sweet, bitterness. “In my scent, filled with my cum?”

Shivers rippled across your skin as a cool sensation cascaded over your body. You glanced down, watching as dark shadows slithered up your form.

You took a deep breath, ignoring their ghostly touch as you raised an unphased eyebrow in response. "No one batted an eye," you replied coolly.

The shadows continued to move in Azriel’s silence, now wrapping around your neck with a possessive grip that made your heart race. You gritted your teeth at the sensation, pushing back the rush of memories that were now flooding into your mind— memories of the last time his shadows had caressed your skin, tracing every curve and dip of your body with intimate knowledge. Your eyes met Azriel’s.

"Guess you didn't leave that much of an impression.”

A low snarl escaped Azriel's lips. "Or perhaps they're used to you carrying a male's scent.”

You mocked him with a smirk, taking a step back to maintain your distance. His shadows fell from their position around your neck swiftly, rushing back to his body as Azriel's jaw clenched.

 "Well now I'm getting mixed signals. Last time I was deprived of a male’s touch, now I'm a whore?"

Azriel said nothing. His teeth seemed to grind against each other with such force that you half-expected them to break under the pressure of his frustration.

"For someone who is so sensitive about his delirious crush being called a slut, you're sure eager to throw such terms around to me." 

Your words dripped with a sense of sarcasm, a sense of mockery, that Azriel could almost feel. His wings flared out slightly in response. 

"I never said that," was his only reply. 

It wasn't an apology. No, Azriel wanted to make sure that whatever words he said were the exact ones he meant. A memory tugged at the corners of his mind, a reminder of the last time you’d stirred such a response in him, of when he had called you those very words in the heat of passion— if he could even call it that. And you had responded in kind, your body yielding to his touch with a fervor that belied any notion of innocence.

Before he could stop himself, he felt himself speak once more. "Although you seemed to enjoy it quite thoroughly when I did."

Deep in your chest, there was a flicker of flame, his words igniting a spark of something within you. You bristled at the insinuation, but dutifully ignored the comment— ignored the connotations that came with it. Instead, you hummed in response, shaking your head. 

"That's the thing with you hypocrites. You never just own up to it, do you?”

With a faint smirk still playing on your lips, you took a few steps backwards, eyes trained on him and the shadows coiling around his arms. 

“Always a displeasure to speak with you, Shadowsinger.”

As you turned around and began to walk away, there was a queasy feeling in your stomach, a realization that you'd do something to be in this position again, to find a way to rile him up. The thought of igniting that volatile spark between you, setting off sparks like last time—it was too tempting to resist. 

But as you felt the burning of his gaze into your back, you couldn’t ignore the nagging truth. He wasn't just a fun toy to play with. Azriel was obsessive, that much you could gather from him— from his history with Morrigan, from his methods of interrogation, from his pride as a spymaster. And the way he was before you now, with the intensity that he regarded you with, it would surely prove to be a problem; a hindrance to being able to help Eris to the best of your ability. 

And before your fun— before any amusement you found in Azriel— came one thing. Your loyalty to your brother. 

With a steadying breath, you paused and glanced back at him over your shoulder. "Oh, and one more thing," you called out, "If you follow me again–"

You turned around completely to face him. With a hand wreathed in flame, you lazily pointed to his hands, fisted at his sides. 

"I'll pick up where your brothers left off.”

Azriel's gaze flickered down to your hand,  down to his own, and then back up to meet your eyes. 

You brought the same hand near your lips, blowing a kiss in his direction. Azriel watched as a flame danced in the air, swirling and twirling in the shape of a small heart. 

Then, without another word, you turned and left, disappearing into the forest. 

His gaze followed the flickering flame as it dissipated into the cool breeze. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You found Eris in his room, seated at his desk as he wrote on one of many scattered papers.

Eris’ room was more full of life than one would expect, adorned with a carefully curated selection of artwork that perfectly showed his refined tastes. Various books lined the shelves of his walls. He had always been quite the scholar at heart, with a keen eye for art and literature. It was a side of your brother that few outside the family knew— a facet of his personality that he shared with Lucien. It was one of the things they shared so closely, but they never talked about it, never truly had any chance to bond beyond the trauma of existing in your family. 

The thought of it made your heart hurt. You pushed it away as you moved to sit at the edge of Eris’ bed, watching as he put his papers together before turning to look at you. When he met your eyes, you shook your head. 

 "Nothing,” you said, “But I wasn't able to get far, anyways.”

Eris lifted an eyebrow in response. “What do you mean?”

"That Shadowsinger sure knows how to keep himself busy.”

There was a tick in Eris’ jaw that told you he was more than annoyed— and that he had a few choice words he was fighting to say. But, instead, Eris simply rolled his eyes. 

“Of fucking course,” He said as he leaned back in his chair. He ran a hang along his face. "Are you able to handle him?"

You resisted the urge to snicker, at both your brother’s irritation and the experiences you’ve had with Azriel. Your mind replayed the subtle giveaways that Azriel’s body had given in response to your taunts— and then continued to pour in images of how those taunts had led him to succumbing to a primal desire. 

You met your brother's gaze with a smug shrug. "Yes,” you responded, “Very well, I’d say. He hasn’t killed me yet.”

Your words were a simple joke, but Eris seemed to tense at them nonetheless. You frowned, but the reaction was short-lived as he nodded in thought. His eyes flickered to yours. 

"Good, because I need you to take my place.”

You blinked, your brows furrowing as you leaned forward. 

"What do you mean, ‘your place'?" 

Eris met your gaze casually. "Meeting with them," he clarified, his voice steady and unwavering.

“You want me to go in your place permanently?”

You knew for certain that the look on your face was nothing short of annoyance and disgust. 

"For now," Eris replied evenly. "If they’re suspicious of you, give them a reason not to be."

You paused. Your mind raced with countless disembodied thoughts and images, the realization that you’d be around Azriel once more– and much more often; that you'd have to deal with them all. Deal with them and their blinding arrogance. Eris, for all of his outward appearances, had an ability to be diplomatic— to a certain extent at least, given his bite. But you wouldn’t be able to handle that. Not all the time, not without your brother. Your previous meeting with Eris, Cassian, and Nesta proved your point— one more comment from you, and you were sure the brute or his death-bride would have killed you on the spot.

You tilted your head at Eris. 

"And you’ll follow the leads with your men."

He nodded.

He needed your help. And if you weren’t able to keep Azriel at arms length, the least you could do was keep him occupied enough so his wandering eyes wouldn’t travel to your brother. Now that— that was something you could do. You could ruin him.

With a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and lifted your chin.

“Fine,” you said, “I’ll do it.” 

Eris gave a laugh. “How sweet that you thought you had a choice.”

You rolled your eyes as Eris stood up, brushing himself off slightly as he walked towards you. 

"But you do know that I will have to tell them our suspicions eventually.”

You scrunched your face, looking up at him with a distasteful, frustrated frown. 

"Why?" 

He lifted his brows, baring a facial expression that mirrored that of an exasperated parent. 

"Because we have an allian–”

You interrupted him with an annoyed flick of your hand.

"Alliance, yes, I know," you muttered. "Which I still don’t understand."

Eris sighed. "Y/n—"

A pent-up frustration bubbled beneath you, a simmering heat in your stomach that made you feel antsy. You did your best to bite it down, to swallow the annoyance that was suffocating you, but it was no use. You were never good at holding back your outbursts.

"No, actually, doesn’t it bother you?" you asked, your voice rising slightly. "That they think they're so much better than you, than us?"

Eris clenched his jaw, but he remained composed. This was a conversation you’d had many times before, a frustration that you’d voiced and struggled with since you learned what the emotions of hate, of contempt, truly were. 

"I don’t worry myself with what night-dwellers think of me.”

You let out an angry breath. 

"Yet you're put in a position to constantly defend yourself.”

Eris was losing his temper now, his voice growing strained as he fought to keep composure for your sake.  “I don’t enjoy aligning myself with them, but it's what's needed.”

"I would kill Beron tomorrow if you’d let me. We could do it alone."

Eris shook his head firmly. "No," he stated, his tone left no room for argument. "That is a risk I’m not going to take. Not with you, not with our mother."

"They will never see you as anything worthy of respect, Eris.”

“Their respect is not something I need,” he snapped, "When I’m fixing this court, it won’t matter.”

"It matters to me.”

There was a strain in your voice that you didn’t notice until Eris’ eyes softened. And then he was letting out a deep breath, looking at you with the hint of a frown. 

"Don’t let it.”

His voice was softer now. The same voice he’d used to soothe you during thunderstorms, the same voice that coached you through learning how to control your fire. 

"I hate them. I hate that we have to cater to them because they're our only aid right now."

"The feeling is mutual. That’s what makes this work.”

“But we have reasons to hate them," you countered, “Very valid reasons.” 

Eris sighed, a tired resignation in his tone. “They believe they have reasons, too.”

You fell silent, shaking your head in disbelief as you bit the inside of your cheek. That simmering anger still boiled beneath the surface—  the anger of feeling wronged, of being backed into a corner and then being punished for biting. 

Eris watched you closely, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

"They do not matter," he reassured you. "They will never matter— not truly. We use them now, and you will never have to be near them again."

You nodded as Eris brought you into his chest, giving you a small hug as he held your head in his hand.  

But a nagging doubt lingered in the back of your mind. Deep within the corners of your mind, deep within your chest, something told you that his words were wrong. Something old— something strong. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

PART THREE

a/n: who is ready for some nasty slutty feral enemies with benefits… 😋😋 ME YALL ITS MEEEE

i was worried about writing a part w no smut but these dynamics need to be built up first 😮‍💨 its so funny to me that both her and az are like ya... i have the upperhand here.... i am winning....

enemies who actually don’t like each other >>

enemies who didn’t “always love” each other >>

enemies to forced proximity trope >>

the future of malice! az & malice! reader going from no respect towards each other to playful flirting banter >>

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria

malice series tag list: @going-through-shit @sidthedollface2 @justasillylittlegoofyguy @mal-adaptive-dreams @alainabooks143 @mybestfriendmademe @sfhsgrad-blog @marina468 @wonderwomanlovesyou @the-darkestminds @circe143 @starsandsins @acourtofdreamsandshadows @ysmtttty @mendes-bae

azriel tag list: @thisiskaylin

An Education in Malice

Pairing: Vanserra!Reader x Azriel

Summary: With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT, rough, angry, hate sex basically. sexual degradation (name calling), p in v penetration, sex in da woods, bickering and insults, inner circle slander

Word Count: 6.6k

a/n: i know technically we wouldnt be a princess... but we r a high lord family so were running with it for the sexual tension. also dedicated to my soulmate and the brilliant babe, @itsswritten who told me to write sumthin smutty like this. thank her 🫡

Series Masterlist | Part Two

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

“Hello, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched at the sound. 

He’d almost forgotten how grating your voice was to his ears, how it made his body tense with an emotion he could never quite describe. He turned around slowly, taking you in where you stood leaning casually against a tree. 

The dress you wore was reminiscent of autumn court elegance, fabric cascading around you in rich hues of crimson, gold, and amber, like the vibrant foliage of the season brought to life, sleeves like flickering flames. There was a sense of wrongness in seeing such an elegant form amidst the wild, your commanding presence even more striking than that of your other family members. If he didn't know who you were, he would have been tempted to describe you as something of unparalleled beauty, a vision amidst a forest of wilderness.

But Azriel knew who you were. He knew what you were. 

He had noticed the similarities between you and your brothers quickly, from your mannerisms down to the curve of your lips. You and Eris shared the same snarky smirk– a smirk Az wanted to wipe clean off your faces. You were using it now, holding his gaze with the corners of your lips upturned and amused eyes. 

“You look thrilled to see me,” you said. 

Az did nothing to hide his disdain as he narrowed his eyes at you. “Where is your brother?” 

“Busy,” you responded, absentmindedly running the tips of your fingers along the tree you leaned on. You took a moment to observe the bark before you turned to face Azriel again, a small taunting smile on your lips once more. “I’ll let him know you missed him.”

Azriel held your gaze for a moment, a tick in his jaw as he let out a short exhale. Then, he was turning around to leave, a clear dismissal. A small flicker of anger rose in your body. Quickly, you winnowed in front of him, your sudden appearance setting his shadows into a frenzied dance around him, coalescing into a swirling mass around his neck like a collar of live snakes ready to strike. 

“Don’t be rude,” you said, “I’m here on Eris’ behalf. Give me information to report back to him.”

“Nothing to report,” Azriel said, voice flat. He stared at you for a moment, eyes scanning you. And then he was making another notion to leave, brushing past you with a small shove to your shoulder. You nearly laughed at the action, at how easy he was becoming to rile up— at how much your presence bothered him. 

“You don’t want to stay and chat?” You said over your shoulder. A flutter of triumph spread in your chest when you heard his footsteps come to a halt. You turned to face him, his back still to you, shadows swirling around his body like black flames. “It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other.”

Azriel turned to face you, a small scowl on his beautiful features. “Not long enough.”

You laughed, the sound stroking his body in a way that sent shivers down his spine. You let out a sigh.

“I get bored in Autumn sometimes, you know?”

Briefly, something flickered in Azriel’s hazel eyes, but it faded faster than you could decipher what it meant or where it came from. He titled his head slightly, eyes taking you in fully.

“Not enough cruelty for you?”

“Something like that.”

You both held each other's stares, his icy gaze against your fiery one. He lifted his chin slightly, rolling his shoulders as if to straighten his already stiff posture. You didn’t miss the way his wings extended slightly from their tucked in position, just enough to stand as a warning, as a reminder of who he was— what he was. 

“This is a waste of my time.”

Yet, Azriel made no move to leave— not this time. 

“Because you have such important matters to return to?” You asked with a raised brow, “You said it yourself, nothing to report. So, are there some damsels in distress to be saved? Something to make you feel important?”

You made sure to pay extra attention to when you mocked his previous words, tone dropping slightly deeper to imitate his. Azriel’s eyes narrowed even more, a dark wave of evident anger washing through his face, nostrils flared, jaw clenched. You bit the inside of your cheek to contain your grin. 

You were playing with something dangerous, this you knew. But Azriel was so fun to rile up, so easy to. You understood, now, why your brother seemed to enjoy these meetings so much. You’d assumed Eris was some sort of masochist, somehow finding pleasure in the necessity of being allies with the Night Court, the same people who so commonly disregarded you and your family as evil and cruel— although, they were right to a certain extent. But perhaps Eris had found some sort of entertainment with this affair. 

“Stop talking,” was Azriel’s only reply. 

“Why?”

He took a step forward. You made sure to stay still, to hold his gaze as he peered down at you. 

“Because you’re trying to get a rise out of me,” Azriel responded, his voice cool, “and it will not work.”

“Oh please,” you scoffed. “Play the unphased act all you’d like, we both know its bullshit.”

He said nothing in response, his eyes remaining locked on yours. Azriel’s stare was harder now, colder. A clear warning was written in his features, carved out between his clenched jaw and narrowed eyes: do not fuck with me. 

But you welcomed the challenge. If he wasn’t going to admit it, you were more than willing to prove your point. 

“You put my brother in a chokehold in a public meeting. You have no self-control. You’re just constantly one spark away from igniting.”

Azriel growled. “Your brother deserved it.”

You raised your brow in a small taunt. 

“Because he called your precious Morrigan a slut?”

Whether Azriel wanted to admit it or not, you were very easily tearing at his resolve. He moved quickly, his hand naturally falling to the dagger at his hip. Shadows moved closer to you, but with a swift movement of your fingers, they were met with the spark of a small flame, quickly retracting back into their mass form near Azriel’s shoulders. You winnowed back to your original place, back against the rough tree bark. 

“Careful, Shadowsinger,” you sneered, “You’re forgetting your manners.You didn’t even let me finish.”

Azriel wore a clear scowl now, brows furrowed as he held your gaze from afar, hand still on his weapon. There was something deadly about the way you made him feel, the intensity of those feelings far surpassing any hatred he held for your brothers– Eris, specifically. In truth, the more time Az spent near Lucien, the more he saw him as someone good– and the less similarities he seemed to bear with you, his conniving snake of a sister. You opened your mouth to taunt him once more.

“I don’t agree with my brother,” you said, “Hell, I admire Morrigan for her freedom. I do love a pretty dress. So, I would have called her something else… a liar, perhaps?”

Those words were all it took to light Azriel’s fuse.

Within a blink, he was in front of you, the cold steel of a dagger, Truth-Teller you presumed, pressed against your neck. His wings flared out angrily behind him. Shadows surged around you, a suffocating darkness descending like a shroud, swallowing the sunlight and leaving only a void of darkness. You stared into Azriel's eyes— cold, and angry.

"Shut up," he snarled.

For a moment, a sense of fear flickered deep in your stomach, but you swallowed it down, the flame diminishing before it could properly ignite. Even as his shadows threatened to consume you both whole, you refused to back down, meeting Azriel's gaze with a defiant stare of your own. And then, you grinned. A cruel, wicked gesture that made his blood boil.

“Nice to see you perform without an audience, too.”

Azriel's voice was laden with disdain as he responded, words dripping with venom. "You and your brother are exactly the same."

But instead of flinching at the accusation, you maintained your smirk, unfazed by the blade pressed against your neck. "Which brother? I have quite a few," you countered, your tone teasing, almost playful.

Azriel's grip tightened, images of your family conjuring in his mind. Az could barely remember the names of your other brothers, their features blurring into a blurry mess of fiery auburn and copper. Instead, his mind focused on you– the female before him, under his grip and his dagger, standing next to the two males he despised for different reasons. 

“You can decide,” Azriel finally said, “they’re all equally terrible.”

“I’d say Lucien is a good male,” you laughed bitterly, “I’m willing to bet your sweet Elain would agree.”

A surge of fury rose within him, a deep primal instinct to lash out and silence your taunts once and for all. But even as he bristled with anger, he realized you were right.

He was constantly teetering on the edge, one step away from losing control. It had gotten worse recently, watching everyone around him find their place, their people; Elain growing closer to Lucien, his brothers spending time with their mates. Azriel was frustrated. He was angry. You’d done exactly what he told you wouldn’t happen– gotten a rise out of him. He hated it, hated you, hated himself even more.

Azriel took a deep breath, your heated gaze still on him, eyes narrowed, a small smirk on your lips that he filled him with a burning anger. It wasn’t as if he could kill you, no, he couldn’t even really hurt you. One mark on the Vanserra’s youngest and only daughter would be a mark for war. This was a battle Az couldn't win, indulging your provocations for the mere sake of your entertainment. He needed to calm down. Regain control. 

The shadows around you began to recede and sunlight filtered back into the clearing as Azriel  pushed you away with a snarl. You leaned your head back against the tree as you took a deep breath.

He studied you for a moment before saying,  "You'd think someone as pretentious as you wouldn't need to rely on irritating someone for an ounce of attention." 

There was a subtle shift in your demeanor—a swallowed response, a flicker of vulnerability. His gaze followed the movement down to the column of your throat.

“Pretentious?” 

You gave a bitter laugh.

"Yes, pretentious. All of you Vanserras," Azriel retorted with a bitter edge, “Every single one.”

"That's ironic coming from you. You think we're pretentious?"

Azriel's gaze hardened. "Yes. Cruel, evil, and vile. You think you're better than all of us."

Your mouth widened as you scoffed. And then you let out a laugh of disbelief. 

"Oh my Gods, does it ever get tiring?" you retorted, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Wallowing in your own self-pity and then using it as a means to hate everyone outside of your incestuous little circle?"

"Do not speak of my family," Azriel snapped.

You smirked. “So you admit your family is incestuous?”

Azriel said nothing, a sudden realization that his anger, once again, had beat him to his rationality, somehow giving you another weapon to use against him.  He clenched his jaw, feeling a simmering heat building in his stomach. 

"You stand in front of me and pretend to be shocked when I call you for what you are?" he countered with a sneer, “Your family isn't quiet about their disdain for my family, for my kind, or for me."

You lifted your chin. “You don’t even like your own kind, Shadowsinger.” 

There was another flare of his nostrils and you knew that you’d gotten him once again. Azriel’s fists clenched at his sides, a sight lost to you as his shadows covered them. You continued as he stayed silent.

“I will admit, my family can be a bit narrow minded. Why would I hate you for the things you can’t control? Where's the fun in that?”   

Again, Azriel remained silent. He knew if he made a move, if he said a word, it would likely be something he regretted, something that would come back to bite him in the ass. 

"I don’t hate you because you’re from the Night Court, or an Illyrian, or a bastard, or whatever it is you tell yourself at night," you continued, your words like a dagger aimed at his pride. "I hate you because you are hot-headed and arrogant. You’ve held a grudge against Eris for something that wasn’t his fault and have utterly screwed Lucien to no end. Your little family is a disease.”

Azriel’s resolve was cracking. He didn’t have enough self-control for this, for you. He’d barely mustered up the diplomacy needed to meet with Eris. 

“Stop talking,” he said through gritted teeth. He felt it again, the flicker of frustration that threatened to engulf him like an unattended flame.

You gave him a withering glare. “Or what, you’ll make me?”

Azriel blinked, his eyes scanning your body instinctively. There was something about the words you spoke, the way you had spoken them, that made his body shiver. A small jolt of electricity passed through his muscles. Unfortunately for him, you caught it as quick as it manifested. Your eyes widened as you let out a dry laugh, forming a small smirk on your lips.

“Oh my gods,” you said, taking a step closer, “I bet you’d like that, wouldn't you? Is that why you’re such an ass today? 

Azriel’s wings twitched behind him. You gave him a mocking pout as you stared up at him. 

“No one to torture, no sweet female to make love to? Poor, powerful, Spymaster.”

Azriel thought for a moment. He thought about the anger boiling in his body, how on edge he’d been, how every little thing had been setting him off. He thought about you, in front of him, a female he despised from previous meetings– loud-mouthed, vicious, and selfish. A female from a family he hated, a family that took things from his family, from him. 

And then he began thinking of how great it would feel to show them how wrong they were about him. To prove to them that they weren’t better than him, that he was just as, if not more, powerful than their damned bloodline.

You had been right again. He was pent up. He hadn’t taken a lover recently, hadn’t fucked anyone since that one almost-night with Elain– where she’d been sweet, sensitive, and gentle. But even before, with the females who’d asked for it rough, told him they could handle it, he hadn’t indulged himself too far. He still respected them. They were still wide-eyed and kind, sweet to a certain extent. He didn’t want to hurt them. They were ladies. Azriel respected ladies. 

“I said stop talking,” Azriel growled. 

There was a tick in his jaw. 

“And I said, make me.”

But you, you weren’t a lady. You weren’t sensitive, sweet, or kind. You were a viper. A snake with beautiful lips and a body he found incredibly inviting— not that he’d ever admit it to anyone. But standing in front of him, that defiant look in your eyes, the pride seeping off you, the smirk on your lips… Azriel felt hungry. He felt ravenous. 

So, he thought for one more moment. And then he was taking a step forward, one that you matched with an equal stepback. 

“Y/n,” Azriel drawled as he continued to take another step. You matched him again, moving back while you glared at him. “Are you not getting enough attention? Is that it?”

Your back hit the tree and you let out a small exhale as Azriel took a final step forward, inches away from you as he stared down with a dark gaze. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You bit out. 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

You attempted to regulate your breathing as his eyes drank you in, a clear and unashamed desire painted over his face. 

“Do I look like a fucking mind-reader?”

 Azriel gave a dry chuckle. You were unraveling before him, scrambling for control. “Such a vile mouth for a princess.”

“Fuck you.”

“Is that why you came?” He brought a hand to your chin, roughly tilting your face up to look directly at him. “Do you want to be fucked, Y/n?”

The answer was yes, you did. There was a sickening sense of excitement that ran through your blood, a heat pooling between your thighs. But you wouldn’t admit it. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction, weren’t about to prove him right. So instead you stayed quiet, pulling your face out of his hands and turning your cheek. 

“I came for intel,” you said through gritted teeth, “in Eris’ place.”

Azriel gave another chuckle, something dark and humorous. His hand trailed to the side of your neck, pushing the hair off your shoulders to expose the line of your collarbone. You swallowed.

“Interesting,” he said. He leaned in, lips against your ear. “Then what is that desire I smell?”

You let out a sharp exhale as he leaned away. Taking a deep breath, you looked at him, biting the inside of your cheek at your body's betrayal. You needed to balance this.

“Maybe its you that needs a good fuck, Shadowsinger. Like I said, you seem real pent up. Noone quite scratching that itch?”

But Azriel no longer seemed angry at your words, instead, he seemed amused– hungry. He was quiet for a second too long, simply staring at you. A sense of irritation prickled at your skin.

“What?” You snapped.

“I can admit that,” Azriel said coolly, “if you can admit something to me.”

“What, are we trading secrets now? I wasn’t aware this was a children's sleepover.”

Azriel didn’t respond. You registered the movement of a dark shadow as it fled from his body, slowly sneaking around your collarbone. You attempted to hit it away, but it quickly slithered back to Azriel, running up his chest to curl around his ear. He smirked. 

“When was the last time someone fucked you, Y/n?”

The air left your lungs as you let out a small gasp. You blinked. Quickly, you regained your composure.

“Excuse me?”

Azriel kept his smirk. “It must be hard getting anyone to touch you when you’re so sheltered by those males you call brothers.” 

He reached out a hand to your bare collarbone, but you caught his wrist in your hand, allowing it to hover in your grip. His eyes slowly trailed up to your face, heavy-lidded and darkened with a sense of attention that made your stomach clench. 

“What the hell are you getting at?” You sneered.

Azriel simply stared at you, the ghost of a smirk still plastered on his lips. His reactions had you gritting your teeth in anger and rubbing your thighs in anticipation at the same time— you hated it.

“Don’t ask questions you know the answers to.”

“You're pathetic,” you spat, “Save your games for a bitch who cares.”

But you still gripped his hand in yours, still felt the heat radiating off his skin. And you made no motion to move. No motion to let him pull back. Azriel didn’t fail to notice this, either. 

“That snarky mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble. But I bet that's why you use it, right?”

Your breathing was heavier now. Azriel’s gaze flickered to where you still gripped his wrist.

“You can fool everyone, Y/n,” he said, “But not me.”

You shouldn’t have enjoyed the way his voice sounded on your skin, shouldn’t have felt a breathlessness filling your body as he spoke to you. But you felt it. And it was a burning, hungry desire that made your chest tighten. This was what you wanted, it was what you needed. 

Azriel was right. The bastard had read you like a book. Your family, your brothers, never let anyone near you for fear of embarrassment– fear of you bringing some sense of shame. But Azriel was right. You wanted it. You craved it. You wanted to forget who you were, to give up the control you always had to wield. 

Before you could overthink it, you loosened your grip on Azriel’s hand and pulled it towards you, situating it on the side of your throat. You let out a small gasp when he quickly wrapped his fingers around the base of your neck. 

And then he was pulling you into him with a deep and angry kiss. All teeth, tongue, and fire, mouths crashing together almost painfully, but neither of you stopped. With every movement of his mouth, of his tongue on yours, a dormant flame deep within you awoke. 

A primal desire surged through Azriel’s veins like wildfire, the scent of you– of your want, of your desire– filling his senses in a way that had his cock throbbing. There was no room for rational thought, only the raw, unbridled passion that engulfed him in a fiery embrace. His hand found its way into your hair, fingers brushing along your scalp as he yanked your hair to expose your neck to him. His lips wandered to your exposed collarbone, giving a harsh suck to the skin near the column of your throat. 

“Is this what you wanted?”

“Shut up,” you responded, reaching your hands out to fumble with his leather clothes. Azriel pulled back slightly, grabbing your wandering hands in his. You let out a sound of protest as he ran sloppy kissing along your neck.

“Oh how i’d love to fuck that foul mouth of yours,” Azriel murmured against your skin, his mouth reaching your ear. “But we’re short on time.” He took your lobe in between his teeth and you let out a small groan.

“I bet all you’ll need is a few minutes– and that's being generous.”

Azriel’s hand gripped at your waist, traveling up your chest to roughly grab your breast through your dress. 

“No wonder you’re so insufferable.” he said, his voice amused as he pulled back, his other hand tugged at your hair once more. “You haven’t been fucked properly.”

You snarled. "Fuck you." 

Azriel grinned.

"Oh, princess, I will.”

And then he was pulling the front of your dress down, exposing your bare breasts before him, nipples peaked in the fresh air. You let out a gasp as a small faint ripping sound traveled to your ears. Before you had a chance to react, Azriel was spinning you around, pulling your back against his chest, one hand bracketing your throat as the other traveled down your stomach, grabbing at the fabric at your dress. 

"But first, you're going to beg me for it,” he breathed into your ear, his voice so low you felt it more than you heard it. His words traveled straight to your core, leaving you dripping with want. Yet, you refused to let the words leave your lips. You gritted your teeth, bristled at the suggestion— pride and defiance warring within you. 

“Like hell I will.”

Azriel made a sound of disapproval, his mouth still running along your ear, “No?” he asked, hand slowly trailing from your throat to your chest, his fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake. “So you don’t want me to touch you?”

His hand fell over your breast, cupping it in his palm as his thumb brushed over your nipple. You watched as black tendrils of shadow danced around his forearm, meeting where his fingers tweaked your nipple. Their cool gentle touch sent a ripple of sensation through you and your head fell back against him as you let out a small whimper. 

“Stop being a fucking tease.” 

Azriel found that he loved the way you whimpered, loved the tinge of frustration in your voice as he touched you. Here you were, melting into his touch, attempting to avoid admitting in words what your body was showing in actions.

“I asked you to do something.” 

He rolled your nipple between his fingers. You let out a deep exhale, pushing yourself back onto him, grinding into the evident bulge that pressed against you, the thin material of your dress doing nothing to disguise his hardened length. 

“Just fuck me already,” you turned your head to catch his gaze, darkened and pupils blown with lust. “I know you want to.”

You covered his hand in yours, molding his hand into your touch, urging him to grab your breast again– harder, firmer. 

The corners of his lips quirked up. “That doesn’t matter. Beg for it.”

Agonizingly slow, his hands roamed your trembling form, lighting flames of desire that you almost feared would consume you whole. Second by second, you felt yourself losing control. The heat of his touch seared through you, eroding the last crumbs of your resistance until all that remained was a burning need to be filled by him, to succumb to the primal urges coursing through your veins. You wanted him. You needed him. 

“Please,” you whispered, the truth spilling from your lips in a voice so meek you barely recognized it as your own. 

"Please what?"

With a trembling breath, you finally let go of the last shreds of your resistance, your voice coming out in a deep, frustrated plea.  “Please fuck me.”

Azriel's lips curved into a predatory smirk. 

“Good girl,” he said, his voice low and sultry as he pulled away from you. In one movement he was pulling your ass closer to him, forcing your body forward to brace yourself on the tree. In seconds you felt the cool air on your body as Azriel pushed your dress above your hips. Naturally, you felt your body bowing at the sensation. He let out a groan at the sight. 

Then he was spreading your legs, baring you before him, glistening cunt on full display. His rough hands gripped your bare ass. He massaged it for a moment, but the motion was brief, and soon you felt a hard hand land on the fat of your cheek. You let out a small shriek, but it was followed by a low moan as he delivered another smack. Azriel smirked at the sound of it, at the sight of your ass reddening with his handprint. 

“Are you going to fuck me or not?” You managed to grit out as you pushed your ass out further,  “I’m growing bored.”

“Bored?” He ran finger through the wetness that pooled at your core. “Your cunt doesn’t seem to think so.”

You moaned at the feeling, pushing yourself back against his hand.

“Too stubborn to admit anything,” Azriel murmured, “But your body gives you away.” 

Azriel took a step back, your body cold at the loss of contact as he freed himself from the confine of his leather pants, each movement filled with a primal urgency that would’ve made him unsettled— embarrassed even— if he had been in a more rational state of mind. But Azriel wasn’t being rational. All he could think about was you, and staring at your beautiful glistening cunt, all he wanted was to fuck you into oblivion, to let his frustrations out. To tame you like a wild animal— his most tantalizing challenge yet. 

He settled himself behind you and stroked his cock along your folds, allowing it to glide against your core until both of you were slick with your desire. He teased you slowly as he moved up and down your entrance. You pushed against him, urging him inside, inviting him to take you. 

Azriel only laughed darkly at the movements, and you whined in response, frustrated and irritated. 

“Remember this the next time you insult me,” he said, “Remember how you were begging for me to fuck you.” 

Half a breath later, he pushed himself inside you, sheathing himself to the hilt. You exhaled in tandem, your cunt clenching him, pulsing around the stretch of him.  He adjusted his angle and picked up the pace, sending pleasure rising in a wave that you couldn’t hold back, your mouth falling open as he began to take you harder. 

You let your forehead fall against your hands, braced against the rough texture of the tree. You faintly felt the ridges under your palm, but there was no pain, no irritation that you knew you were bound to experience later. All you could truly feel was Azriel deep inside you, stretching you out and using you in a way you hadn’t experienced for a very long time. The lust Azriel felt, the experience of being with you, of claiming you as his, was no longer a desire, no longer a want. It was a need. An animalistic and primal need that he felt deep in his chest. 

Azriel's movements were relentless, each thrust sending ripples of pleasure rippling through your body, clouding your mind in a haze of ecstasy and melting away all coherent thought. There were sounds emitted from your lips, this you knew, but they were incoherent whimpers, quiet murmurs whispered towards the ground as your forehead dug into your hands with every buck of Azriel’s hips.

“You had so much to say earlier, Y/n,”  Azriel said, pulling out until he was barely inside you. He thrusted back in, resuming a hard and brutal pace. 

“Why so quiet now?”

Thrust.

“Did you just need the attitude fucked out of you?”

Thrust.

"What will your brothers think?” he taunted, his grip on your hips bruising in its intensity, “Your father?”

Thrust.

“If only your family only knew what their precious princess was up to. Taking it from the likes of me, like some common pleasure hall whore."

The mention of your family sent a surge of burning shame coursing through your veins, you felt the heat rise to your cheeks, flushing against your exposed skin. But amidst the suffocating shame, there was something else, something primal and insatiable that stirred within you—a hunger born of defiance, of indulging in a forbidden ecstasy. It filled you with a sense of exhilaration that bordered on madness.

Quickly, that spark of defiance ignited within you, mingling with the fiery hunger coursing through your veins, an urge to bite back at him. You craned your head to look over your shoulder, catching his eyes as you let out a moan, taking your lips in between your teeth. 

"Do common whores get you this riled up?" you purred. There was a feigned innocence in your tone that made Azriel twitch inside you. His gaze burned into yours. "Do they make you this hungry?”

A part of you wanted the confirmation, wanted the triumphant feeling of knowing you could ruin him for everyone else— that you felt better than the females he had bedded, that you, the one he loathed so openly, were the only one to truly quench his thirst.

“Do they feel as good as me, Azriel?”

He let out a deep, guttural moan. The sound traveled through your body, lighting your skin on fire as you bucked back into his movements, meeting every roll of his hips. 

“Say that again,” Azriel groaned.

When you gave no reply, he twisted your hair around one fist and gave it a tug, pulling your body up to him as before. His thrusts never staggered, not even as his hand traveled to wrap around your throat, matching the reddening print from his earlier grip. The other hand remained steady at your hip, gripping into the fabric of your dress and the exposed skin of your body. 

“Say my name,” he growled and your cunt tightened at the sound, at the way he gripped your throat harder. You grasped at his arm with your hands, holding on to his skin as he bucked into you. 

“No.” 

Azriel growled, pulling out of you almost completely before he pushed back in a heavy, angry stroke. Your body arched in pleasure, a small whimper leaving your mouth instinctively.

“Don’t be a brat.”

“Fuck you.” 

“I am,” Azriel said, “And your cunt is swallowing me whole, princess. Like it's made for me, like its been begging to be fucked.”

He released his grip from your throat, letting you fall forward as he placed his hand on the small of your back, arching your body for him as he pounded into you from behind. You fell forward, hands planted on the tree before you, fingers clawing at the bark like an animal in heat. Azriel watched as his cock disappeared into your cunt with every thrust, watched how your ass bounced back on him with every movement, how your tits moved with every roll of his hips. He fought not to finish from the sight alone. 

You struggled to find your voice through the haze of pleasure that clouded your mind, that seemed to twist and tie your tongue to where you could only gasp incoherent words of ecstasy

“Oh, fuck. Azriel.”

Azriel drank in your sounds of pleasure like a male thirsted for centuries, the sound of his name on your tongue sending a wave of pleasure through his body.

“Are you going to cum, Y/n?”

You let yourself surrender to his touch as he continued to ravage you with ruthless abandon, his voice caressing you in ways you never knew a sound could do. You wanted him to go faster, harder, rougher; wanted him to fuck you with all his might, with all that anger you saw. As if he could read your mind, Azriel’s thrusts sped up, slamming into you.

“Fuuck, yeah, you are. I can feel this pretty little cunt clenching me.”

He continued his pace, fucking you with long thorough strokes that left you completely pinned between him and the rough bark of the tree. You felt him heavy against your back, breasts pressed against his hand as he moved between gripping them both roughly, holding onto them for leverage as he fucked you from behind.

"Look at you," he taunted, his grip tightening around you possessively. "So desperate, so needy. You're nothing but a pretty little slut, begging for release, aren’t you?"

Azriel continued, moving deeper and faster, pumping into you with snaps of his hips that had you writhing underneath him. 

"And yet," you managed between breaths, gasps leaving your lips as he drove into you. "You’re the one pounding into me like a brute who can't get enough.” 

With a low groan, Azriel's hand tightened around your breast, his grip possessive as he leaned in to bite at your shoulder with a hungry intensity. He was beginning to think that you’d surely be the death of him, that he had created something, some beast inside him, that refused to be satiated by anything other than you— and that was dangerous. But he didn’t think too much about it, not now, not as he felt your cunt massaging him from the inside, felt your walls clamping onto him in a way that set his body on fire, his cock throbbing. 

Azriel railed you over and over, nothing slow or gentle about his movements. And with every thrust, you whined in ecstasy. His grip on your hips tightened, holding you in place as he kept pounding into you. He fell forward, grinding against you, pushing you further into the rough bark of the tree.

You could feel it, a deep pressure building in your stomach as his cock stretched you in the most delicious way. And you could feel him too, hot against your back, his deep breaths and the groans that reverberated through his body. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in your ears, muffling out the sound of your moans as your whole body tensed.

Then you felt it, a cool trail snaking up your legs. Dark tendrils of Azriel's shadows slithered through your thighs, caressing your skin with a tantalizing touch that made you clench at the sensation. You gasped as they coiled around your clit, winding you up with a feeling you’d never experienced before. With a loud moan, your orgasm rolled through you in a violent convulsion,  white spots dancing at the edges of your vision.

Azriel hated to think it, hated to admit that the sound of you coming undone on his cock was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever heard, that feeling your cunt clench around him as the sound filled his ear was enough for him to unravel. With a choked moan, Azriel spilled into you, spurts of his seed coating your walls. You let out a final, breathy whine at the sensation of him spilling into you, feeling as it began to drip as Azriel slowly pulled out.

With a heavy breath, his gaze lingered on the glistening trail connecting the tip of cock to your cunt. The lust in his eyes faintly faded, and a moment of clarity washed over him as the reality of what he’d just done hit like a sudden, cold wave. He didn’t regret it, no, not at all. This was exactly the release Azriel had needed. In fact, a part of him nearly grinned at the realization, at the relief he now felt in his body. But the other part of him, the rational side afraid of disappointing his family, of fucking something up, awoke in a panic. What the fuck had he just done? And why was he so proud of it? 

You slowly stood up, straightening yourself out as you turned to face him, face flushed and hair a tangled mess. There was a ghost of a smirk playing on your lips as you took them between your teeth and bit down. Your breasts were still exposed, nipples peaked and reddened marks from his rough grip. Azriel's eyes traveled down your form, swallowing hard as he took in the sight before him. He could smell the desire that filled the air around you both, could smell himself on you— the image of him plunging in and out of you still fresh in his mind. 

The idea of it alone made his cock stir again. There was something intoxicating about this situation to him. The image of you returning home, covered in his marks, in his scent, in his seed. Eris smelling him on you, realizing that you’d not only fucked someone he despised, but sullied yourself with an illyrian– just as he’d told Mor. And you, you’d remember this. You’d remember him inside you, remember how you let him use you, fuck you like a common-court whore. And you’d have to live with that. Every insult you’d give him, everytime you sneered at him in the future, there would be a part of you that remembered falling apart on his cock as you begged him for more, for him to fuck you harder.

With a gentle flick of your fingers, your dress was perfectly restored, the fabric falling gracefully around your figure as your hair cascaded down your shoulders in silky, untouched, waves. You smoothed out the sleeves of your dress with a practiced gesture before turning your gaze back to Azriel, scanning him from head to toe. Your eyes lingered on his still-exposed cock, covered in the mixed fluids of your cunt and his seed. A smirk played at the corner of your lips as Azriel looked down, realization flickering in his eyes as he hastily pulled up his pants, stuffing himself back into them. 

"Well, this was fun," you remarked casually– almost bored. Azriel resisted the urge to frown at the words, at the tone you used.  "Catch you later, Shadowsinger."

Before he could respond, you were gone, leaving him standing alone in the forest, staring at the empty space before a tree.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Part Two

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria

To Feel At Home

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Winnowing out from Under the Mountain, you know you need to find him—it doesn't seem real, to feel so at home.

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: Angst

a/n: A little angsty piece because I can't stop writing for some reason. I hope you enjoy :)

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

On shaking legs, you pressed forward. Rhysand was still at the Moonstone Palace—still in Mor’s arms and coping with the impossible. You had made to stay, but Mor had given you a shake of her head that conveyed more than any words could have.

Mustering up the morsel of power that had returned to you after Amarantha’s death, you winnowed to Velaris. 

Not in a good spot. You hadn’t had access to your power in over five decades and much of Rhysand’s wards were still in place. Given the circumstances, getting yourself to some random alley at the edge of Velaris was a feat. 

The sun was blinding, invading your senses that had gotten so used to the darkness Under the Mountain. You brought a hand up to cover your eyes and trekked on.

No more winnowing. 

You had tried—it hadn’t worked. 

As you walked, stumbling through families taking strolls and having normal days, you searched within you for that golden thread. It had been absent for longer than it had been alive, your time as mates barely reaching a decade before your disappearance. 

You sifted through the pain and grief and loneliness, desperate for the relief you would find once you felt the weight of him. 

Nothing yet. 

He had to know things had changed Under the Mountain. Even amidst the secrecy and the hiding, you knew he would check.  His shadows would cross continents to find you. 

But—you stressed, as you made it to a main road lined with cobblestones—that could mean he went there. Azriel could be under that mountain at this very moment, searching through the fae still sorting out their lives before they went home. 

And you were here. 

You had no reason to panic. 

You were home, safe, alive; you had more reason to feel at peace than you had in the last 50 years. But if Azriel wasn’t here… 

Your breath came out in short pants as your fingers found purchase on a wall. But you kept going, kept watching your feet as they stumbled past each other, just to have the chance of seeing him. 

There were no shadows yet. 

They always found you first. 

You weren't sure how much time had passed—seconds, minutes, hours all lost their meaning under Amarantha—but the shadow of the mountain that held your home was soon cast over your body. You gasped out uneven breaths and pressed a hand to the towering figure, to the entrance that held the ten thousand steps you had every intention of climbing. 

Your body would surely fail. 

The last five decades had not been kind. 

With a determination fueled solely by desperation and hope, you began the tunneled pathway to the harrowing climb, but then you stopped at the entryway. 

A broken rendition of your name met your ears, so cracked and ruined you could have passed it off for something else. 

But you knew that voice, the way the vowels flowed and connected. 

Another broken sound permeated the air, this time from your own lips. 

You couldn’t look. You wanted to, ached to, but you couldn’t. So much anticipation led up to this moment. And you were different now, a fraction of the person you had been all those years ago. 

“Y/n, my love, look at me,” Azriel begged, the lowest you’d ever heard him speak. But you hadn’t heard him speak in so long, so perhaps you were misremembering. “Please.” 

You couldn’t. 

Moving was impossible. 

Your legs began to shake at the sound of footsteps, and then your knees gave out. 

A loud sound vibrated against the tunnel walls as your hands slapped against the floor. On the ground, steps away from the only person who could fix this, your waterline filled with tears. 

But you didn’t have time to second-guess or run or wonder if this was all too much. You were gathered into a strong pair of arms, pressed into a firm chest that smelled like home, and tears made paths down your cheeks. They flowed in damp trails in silence, Azriel holding you closer and closer until you weren’t sure space existed between you. 

His nose pressed into your hair. 

His chest rose and fell in uneven patterns. 

More silence. You felt your body begin to rock gently back and forth. 

This wasn’t real—it couldn’t be. 

You had resigned yourself to never seeing him again many years ago. Even as you ran through the streets of Velaris without your breath or your reasonable mind, you hadn’t expected to find him. This was a dream, Azriel wasn’t here, it was only a cruel play on your mind. 

Someone was trying to hurt you, and it was working. 

Maybe Amarantha had finally gotten Rhys to crack. 

Maybe this was his doing, his manipulation of your deepest hopes. 

Something was moving against your ear, soft and rushed and incoherent. A hand smoothed back your hair. You kept rocking. 

“You’re okay.” Words filtered through ringing. “You’re okay. You’re okay. I’m here.” 

Over and over. On a loop. 

Something encased you. Darkness followed—you were used to darkness. 

The pattern of the words lulled your heart back to a normal rate. Tears continued to fall. Your breath was shaky. 

“I love you so much,” Azriel broke the repetition, shocking your system. “I love you. I love you—” 

A sob wracked your body, the first real sound to leave your mouth. Azriel shushed you in response, but when he buried his face in your neck you felt the wetness of his own cheeks. 

This had to be real, it had to. There was no other alternative. You wouldn't survive feeling this way just to be thrust back into that nightmare. 

It had to be real, it had to—

“It is,” Azriel choked out. He pulled back, your face in his hands, his expression conveying a picture of pain and love and disbelief. “It’s real, angel. Gods, you’re so beautiful. I never thought I’d—” Words cut off and restarted. “I tried so hard to get to you.” 

His forehead met yours. 

This was real. 

You felt the shadows wisp along your skin. 

You could never feel them in dreams. 

“I missed you,” you croaked, voice so unused to the words. “So much.” 

Azriel squeezed his eyes shut only to open them after not even a breath. Desperate not to lose sight of you. Anguished at the thought of missing the picture of you in his arms. 

“I’ve missed you more.”