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Azriel was tired of waiting. He had watched and waited, as multiple courtiers approached Elain, asking for her hand and leading her to the dance floor. His wings twitched restlessly, even as he danced with Nesta.
His shadows had whispered to him that Elain was watching as he waltzed with her sister. Good. She had mentioned the other day that it was her favorite dance, and he had been practicing. He was practically throwing himself at her, and she was catching him.
Azriel couldn’t help but be his best self for Elain. Thankfully, if anyone noticed that he had primped himself much more than usual tonight, they weren’t mentioning it. It wasn’t often that he wore his finest, and he wanted Elain to see all of this side of him. He’d even borrowed one of Mor’s combs to run through his hair.
He eyed her, on the edge of the dance floor, absolutely ravishing in Night Court black. It certainly wasn’t her favorite color, but the way the gown hugged her figure, the dip in the black, her exposed neck—they unraveled him. All he could picture was him standing behind her in a darkened room, sliding the zipper down her sumptuous back, slipping the wide collar down her arms as he licked and sucked at her neck. He would—
No. He needed to clear his head. If anyone were to catch wind of his thoughts … Well, they had been particularly careful at concealing any small touches or glances over the last year. He didn’t want to ruin that by having Rhys or Feyre get a whiff of how they felt. It was Elain’s decision to make about when they would reveal anything to their family.
If ever. It still didn’t seem real to him that this ethereal beauty could ever fall for him. Yet it had been a year. A year of casual brushes, soft touches, heated looks, secret conversations. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before.
Azriel had known, somewhere deep inside his heart, that Mor could never love him, but he had held onto that belief because he needed an anchor—a shelter from the storm of life—but with Elain, it was easy.
Sometimes he felt like it might be too easy. But maybe that was just a sign that he had finally found the one—no matter that she was mated to another male. It wasn’t like she had the slightest shred of interest in Lucien anyways.
He still couldn’t stand to be in the other male’s presence, but mostly because he couldn’t stand the ownership the mating bond forced. The fact that if Lucien ever scented him, there might be a territory war on their hands.
And he knew Elain wouldn’t want that. Much as she wished to rebuke the mating bond, she didn’t want to cause any strife. Which was why he was so careful. So measured. Never letting on to the others that there was anything simmering between them. He even used his shadows to mask their scents as much as was possible, to keep those sensitive Fae noses from detecting any latent attraction for either of them when glances grew heated.
But he still found himself making his way across the dance floor in her direction, until he had cornered her over by the drinks.
“Care for a dance, my lady?” he asked, ever wary of the hundreds of pairs of eyes on them. He was the respectful courtier, a high-ranking official of the Night Court asking his princess to dance. No one could fault him for the gesture.
“Are you sure?” Elain murmured under her breath, quietly enough that prying ears wouldn’t be able to pick up on it.
“Of course,” he reassured her. “It would be my honor.” He bowed to her, as was custom, offering her a mangled hand, which she took without hesitation, allowing herself to be led out onto the dance floor.
It was another waltz, and Azriel preened as he led her in the three-step count, one hand on her lower back, the other grasping the one she had offered as if his life depended on it.
Every point of contact between them burned, and he needed to remind himself to keep a healthy distance between their bodies. Just the same as when he danced with Nesta. That was his mantra, occupying every spare thought she allowed him, with the way her body effortlessly glided across from his.
It took all his effort to not let his hands wander. But this dance was all about decorum, so he resisted the urge to let the one on her back to wander lower, to feel her supple backside he had been so curious about. To pull her intimately into his chest, where he could lower his chin to rest on her head.
“Everyone’s watching us,” Elain breathed self-consciously.
“Nobody’s paying us special attention.” He had his shadows keeping a lookout in case anyone began to wonder, but it was customary to dance with as many other singles at balls as possible. People would only begin to wonder if they didn’t part summarily as soon as the song was over.
It was why he’d had to steal Nesta away from Cass. Rhys was trying to keep Eris on the hook, and if it became too apparent that those two were already practically mated, their edge would be lost.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he offered her, turning her attention from her preoccupation over being seen. He hoped she was just as eager to be in his arms.
“I feel ridiculous.” Her eyes darted down to the modest black gown.
“You are gorgeous in everything you wear. It may not be your favorite color, but own it. It’s only for one night.” Or whenever their family needed to make a statement.
Azriel’s fingers twitched on her waist. All he wanted to do right now was plunge his fingers deep into her hair, dislodging the two pearl combs sweeping it back from her face and finally kiss her. This need had been building to a breaking point within him for months, but he respected her boundaries. Now, with her here in his arms, as innocent as it may seem, she threatened to destroy him.
Her hand tightened on his as they continued to whirl around the dance floor, as if she knew exactly what was on his mind. It would be so easy, to go appease the others and actually stay in the river home, to sneak into her bedroom later tonight.
He thought of that necklace, burning a hole in his pocket. It would accentuate her slender neck so wonderfully. Perhaps he should have found a time to give it to her before the ball so she could be wearing it now, but he still hadn’t worked up the nerve.
Following the thrum of the music, Elain spun out from him, and Azriel reeled her back in. It was the dance they dabbled in every day. She would do her best to push away from him in public, only to allow him to break down her walls in the quiet, secret moments they managed to steal when the others were preoccupied. And she was doing the same to him.
As the music began to swell and crescendo, Elain began to do some of the more intricate steps associated with the waltz, and Azriel followed her. She didn’t dance with the same life-breathing passion Nesta gave to the music, but he could still tell that she was immensely enjoying herself.
As Elain whirled like the night-kissed beauty she was in front of him, Azriel found himself mesmerized by the creamy skin of her neck, exposed as her waist-length tresses flew free in elation with the beat.
He dreamed of finding a secluded corner of the throne room. Hiding them in shadow. Sweeping that hair aside as his unworthy hands slipped the necklace round her throat. He would claim her in his own way. He could never be her mate, but he could be hers.
He could have her wearing his jewelry. He could kiss up the column of her silky pale skin as his hands deftly hooked the clasp, securing her as his as well. He could finally be with her in the open. He could take her to bed without feeling any remorse because he would know that she chose him as well. It wasn’t just this unrequited pining that was doomed to go unsatisfied for eternity.
But none of that happened. The song began to die down, and Elain made her way back to being securely held by his arm, a little too close for decorum. But she was breathing hard and grinning like a fool.
It took all of Azriel’s willpower to take a step back, to loosen his hold on her waist until that proper distance was restored, but he looked her in the eyes and gave her one of those small, secretive smiles which were reserved just for her.
Because here, in this moment, he was truly happy. It was a shame he had to lean down and murmur, “I’ll come find you later,” before offering her a bow and retreating to the edge of the dance floor, once again taking up his spot by the dais.
His hand slipped into his pocket, fiddling with the cold glass of the flower pendant. Soon, he told himself. It was only a matter of time.