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The squeal of pure excitement that came out of Gwyneth Berdara made Azriel’s chest pinch to the point of pain.
She flung her arms around his neck, squeezing him so tightly that he could only grunt out the words: “Happy birthday, Berdara.”
Gwyn released him and pulled away, taking in the concert hall with a dreamy sigh. Azriel noticed his shadows stretch towards her, reluctant that she had escaped their embrace. Why Azriel’s shadows had such great affection for Gwyneth Berdara, he didn’t know. Only that they had warmed to her nearly a year ago on that Winter Solstice night where he’d found her in the training ring.
What a long way their relationship had come since then. What a long way it had to go.
Recalling their conversation by the Sidra this summer, Azriel felt himself start to flush.
The shadowsinger’s own words came back to him on a phantom breeze. “ So we take it slow. Until we are ready.” That’s what he had told her, what she had agreed to, and exactly where they stood now.
Friends.
Mutually hoping to one day be whole enough to become more.
“It’s a string quartet,” he said, fiddling with the cuffs of his onyx jacket. “I… I hope that’s to your taste.”
Gwyn tore her eyes from the intricate golden ceiling to look at him. Her brows raised. “Is it the same one you told me about? The one that Rhysand hired for that birthday he threw you on the beach? The one where you vomited into a goblet?”
Azriel’s cheeks heated in embarrassment but there was also that warming sensation in his chest again. That pinching feeling. Azriel’s shadows nuzzled his neck affectionately, delighted at their master’s happiness.
“Y-yes.”
Gwyn’s teal eyes flashed with triumph and she turned her attention back to the lobby, where townspeople milled about.
“But we have to go into the concert hall to hear them,” Azriel said with a smirk.
Gwyn huffed, elbowing him in the ribs. “Alright, smart ass, lead the way.”
And so he did.
And Gwyn slipped her arm through his.
Azriel’s back straightened reflexively. They certainly weren’t beyond touching one another, but in public… This was new.
“If this is just the lobby, I’m intrigued as to what the hall looks like,” Gwyn muttered surveying everything from the navy carpet to the gold crown molded ceiling. “This is stunning.”
You are stunning. This entire venue pales in comparison to you.
But instead, the shadowsinger said: “We’re fortunate to have a High Lord and Lady so invested in the arts.”
Gwyn hummed in agreement as they continued to follow the line of people down the hall. They queued up at a set of mahogany doors behind a line of well dressed faeries, waiting as attendants arrived to show each of them to their seats.
Azriel’s shadows wriggled at his shoulders, equally as eager to hear the music. A tendril nipped at Gwyn’s ear playfully, grabbing her attention. She addressed it kindly, but Azriel’s focus was stolen away by the wary glances that fell upon them. The other attendees who finally recognized him.
The shadowsinger. The spymaster. The High Lord’s most fatal weapon.
Here.
At a concert.
With his shadows twining around a pretty fae female.
For the most part, people in Velaris thought nothing of Azriel’s shadows, but his reputation certainly preceded him. If you hadn’t spoken with Azriel on a personal level, you may have found yourself believing only the rumors you’d gleaned. That he was cold. Ruthless. Heartless.
And perhaps he was all those things.
But that wasn’t all Azriel was.
He was kind and thoughtful and lonely and jealous and competitive. Needy and hateful and selfish…
…stop, singer… be kind to yourself… for Gwyn…
On occasion, his shadows did make good points. This was one such occasion.
Azriel was many things, but tonight he was simply a male surprising his best friend for her birthday.
Arriving at the entrance, Azriel handed over two slips of parchment to the attendant donning a crisp, blue uniform.
They glanced at the words and gave a succinct bob of their head. “Right this way.”
Arms still linked, Azriel and Gwyn followed the attendant… but as they were guided down the aisle of pews, the shadowsinger didn’t dare take his eyes off Gwyn.
Her lips parted and her eyes widened as she took in the concert hall. It’s rounded ceiling and silver floors. The stage lined with warm fae light and shrouded by heavy, black velvet curtains. Azriel worried Gwyn may dislocate her neck with how she looked in every possible direction, drinking in the sights and sounds like a desert wanderer parched of thirst.
“Welcome to Velaris’s Concert Hall,” Azriel murmured.
“Welcome indeed,” she gawked.
“Here we are,” the attendant said as they arrived at the middle row of pews. They gestured to the seats and bowed their head. “Enjoy.”
Azriel thanked the attendant and motioned for Gwyn to take a seat. She slipped in eagerly, beaming from ear to ear.
“This is… incredible. This is just like the concert hall in The Fiddle’s Wim,” she laughed. Azriel recognized the title as one of her most recent reads. Gwyn muttered, “Gods, how did you afford this?”
“Easily,” he replied with a nonchalant shrug.
And it was the truth. Azriel had a tidy sum tucked away. A portion went to his mother, another portion was saved, and just a pinch was spent on recreational activities - drinks, dinner, and the occasional book for a certain red headed female…
They continued to exchange easy conversation. The air around them was charged with anticipation for the performance to begin. Gwyn glanced towards the large gold clock at the back of the room every few minutes, waiting for the time to pass. Bouncing slightly in her seat and freezing whenever she heard the softest rustling on the stage.
“Do they only play here? Do they play at any taverns? Or… or Rita’s?”
Azriel shook his head. “No. Not typically.”
“So you can only see them—”
The fae lights dimmed and the velvet curtains were drawn back.
Gwyn’s back went ramrod straight as she whipped her head away from Azriel and towards the stage. Azriel chuckled softly and followed her gaze forward. The quartet stood in their places, instruments at the ready.
Gwyn’s hand was on Azriel’s knee. He nearly gasped as her fingers dug into his trousers and did not release. Azriel’s shadows stirred as the quartet tuned their instruments, warming up together.
...play… play… play…
Patience, Azriel told them.
Finally, the musicians regarded one another with silent nods… then began to play.
Gwyn’s fingers on Azriel’s knee tightened again, then slowly released their hold.
The dreamy ballad was not one Azriel recognized but he found it soothing, calming. A nice way to begin the concert.
The audience sat rapt at the solo and as the song faded, soft applause broke out. Swiftly silenced by another song striking up.
And on and on it went.
Azriel turned to Gwyn, inclining his head so he could quietly ask her what she thought.
But he was dumbstruck by the look on her face. The quiet beauty there.
The way her lips were barely parted in awe. How her chest heaved slowly as she drank in the melody. And her eyes. Those teal eyes glistened with tears.
Azriel’s brows furrowed and the barest hint of a smile played on his face.
Whether it was because he had done so well with his gift or the breathtaking expression on her face, he did not know.
But he did know that his chest sparked when a tear slid down her freckled cheek, and that when her hand found his knee again, it sat there contentedly.